Saturday, 28 February 2015

Silly point
                          Mother Teresa and All That
The latest remark by the RSS chief that Mother Teresa‘s sole motive in the so-called service of the poor was a desire to convert them to Christianity has sparked off yet another needless controversy. This is singularly unfortunate, because such comments tend to project a strangely unfamiliar face of Hinduism which has had a highly tolerant attitude towards religious debate and discourse.
One of the earliest encounters of the Sanatana Dharma was with the Parsis. These adherents of Zoroastrianism had to run away from their native Persia because of trouble there. When they arrived by ship in what is modern Gujarat, the ruler welcomed them to his kingdom.  He expressed the hope that they would sweeten the social dialogue just as sugar sweetens milk. The Parsis have since been proving his strangely prophetic remark right.
The first happenstance recorded with Christianity was when Jesus Christ himself appeared before the King of Kashmir. The story unravelled by Christian scholars themselves alleges that Jesus survived his crucifixion and his disciples managed to smuggle him to India.     Contemporary records have been cited to show how the encounter went off. Jesus apparently told the King that he was Yeeshu and wanted permission to settle down and propagate his teachings. The King extended a warm welcome to him and said that he was at liberty to spread his faith.
This story might be apocryphal, although its proponents have discovered the tomb of Jesus at a place appropriately named Christabal in Srinagar, Kashmir. But no one can deny the palpable presence of a sizeable Christian population in Kerala,. They call themselves Syrian Christians. They trace their origin to the early Christians who were persecuted in their native Syria and sought shelter in Kerala, coming in by the sea route long before Vasco da Gama had officially “discovered” the sea route to India!
The Hindus have had a singularly relaxed approach to religious debate. We have never given total primacy to a single book. Even the Vedas which are supposed to be acceptable to all Hindus have been challenged with impunity. Hindus never gave themselves a name. The very phrase “Hindu” has not been coined by them. It is supposed to be a play on the word “Sindhu” and was used to refer to people living beyond the river Sindhu.
Even “Aryan” does not refer to the Hindu faith . In Sanskrit texts, the word was used to refer to persons of dignity and grace. A woman would address  her husband as “He Arya!” meaning “O Exalted One!”
The nearest anyone came to give Hinduism even a name was when it    was referred to as “Sanatana Dharma”, which was translated by Aldous Huxley as “the Perennial Philosophy”.
Hindus never let their faith freeze into a mould that could not be broken. Far from denying people the right to challenge established interpretations of the scriptures, they invented the hugely popular mode of “Shastrartha”, literally “ deciphering the meaning of the scriptures”. Debate and discussion was encouraged and the common people thronged to assemblies where such debates took place.
It is out of such fertile exchanges of ideas that our ancestors discovered the three major ways in which a human being could encounter the vast totality that confronted him. The Dwaita(doctrine of dualism) which saw the divine as the other, Vishishtadwaita( the doctrine of qualified monism) . And Advaita which saw the human and the divine as a single unity, the One without a Second.
Hinduism has had the strangely assimilative power of accepting everything and rejecting nothing. Brahmo Samaj was a peculiarly Hindu response to the modern encounter with the faith that accompanied our British rulers. The Hindus were ready to worship Jesus along with the myriad other gods and goddesses they already boasted of.
Let us not forget that Swami Vivekananda came to Ramakrishna Paramhamsa after being first attracted to the Btahmos.
This assimilative power was demonstrated most dramatically in the case of Buddha. Buddha gave a strong challenge to the Vedas by saying, “Never accept anything because the Buddha says so. Never accept something because the ancient scriptures say so. Nor because your elders say so. Only that which appeals to your intellect and you find practical on the basis of your own experience, accept only that.” When asked to sum up the gist of what he taught all his life, Buddha said, “Be a light unto yourself”
The Hindus assimilated Buddha on two fronts. On the one hand, Buddha was added to the Hindu pantheon and became one of the Avatars of Vishnu. On the philosophical front Shankaracharya stole his thunder by inventing Advaita Vedanta, which is nothing but Buddhism in Sanskrit!
The response of the RSS supremo to the challenge posed by Christianity to Hinduism is not in tune with the traditional defence mechanisms invented by the Sanatana Dharma to remain in business.
He could learn something from the following stories which suggest a more interesting response.
A Muslim claimed that islam had a unique doctrine in the concept of Aakhriyat.That is, there had been thousands of prophets in the past but Mohammad was the last. A wag replied that Indians had propounded the doctrine of Aakhriyat thousands of years before Islam. Look at the theory of Avtars. Vishnu had only ten Avtars. The tenth , the Kalki was always coming but never actually came! Look at Buddha. There were millions of Budhisattvas before him. Buddha was the last! Look at Mahavira. He was the twenty fourth Teerthankara and predictably the last.
The true unity of faiths can be seen in their strictly commercial approach. In a village that boasted of all the three faiths, a Hindu pujari, a Muslim Mullah and a Sikh Granthi met for their usual gossip session after lunch. The pujari said that he had kept a donation box in the temple. Whatever the devotees put in the box went to God, what was thrown on the floor was his. The Mullah said that he spread a green cloth in the prayer room. What fell on the cloth went to Allah, he took the rest. The Granthi said that he spread a white chaddar before the Granth Sahib. After the prayers, he picked up the chaddar and lofted the offerings to Waheguru in the sky. Whatever was kept by Waheguru was his, what came back to earth was the Granthi’s.
The RSS supremo should learn a lesson from this story. We know that there is a commercial angle to Hindutva. Such statements might be good for the worldly success of the RSS. But the damage that they cause to the BJP government is incalculable. Many astute observers claim that it is the shenanigans of the saffron brigade that catapulted Kejariwal to victory in the recent Delhi polls!


Well might Narinderbhai sing a couplet from a famous Urdu ghazal:
                              Dushmanon ke siitam hamen manzoor
                               Doston ki wafa se darte hain
( I can well accept the torture inflicted by enemies
What I fear most is the loyalty of my friends! )

                                                                        M.K.Kaw
Silly point
Niti Aayog or Atithi Aayog?

When I first heard   the policy pronouncement of the new Government that the Planning Commission was going to be abolished, I felt like celebrating. Since the early sixties when I joined service I have harboured a deep-rooted prejudice against this leviathan.
The reason was simple. Even a blind man with his eyes bandaged could plainly perceive the incandescent truth that the Deputy Commissioner and the Superintendent of Police were the two draught animals who pulled the bullock-cart of peace and progress in the field. Yet the Planning Commission was totally blind to this reality. So much so that the revenue and police were the only departments which did not have a plan scheme to their name.
Resultantly, the patwari who had been around since Sher Shah Suri and Raja Todar Mal did not have a patwarkhana to run his office cum residence from. The most decrepit ramshackle huts were the police stations which had existed since the Kali Yuga began. And the brand new buildings and gleaming vehicles belonged to the pampered sons-in-law of the Yojana Ayog, the Block Development Offices and the Irrigation department guest houses.
As I progressed up the hierarchy, the sightlessness of the Planning Commission became even more evident. Whether required or not, there was always money available for plan schemes. Literally not a naya paisa was allotted to the non-plan budget under which existing assets had to be manned, maintained and sustained. Very soon I joined a select band of officers who clamoured for the distinction between plan and non-plan expenditure to be abolished. Whenever I could, I diverted funds to the patwarkhanas and police stations.
When the Government was annoyed with me for pleading the cause of Tata Singapore Airlines, what better parking lot for me than the Principal Advisership in the Planning Commission? I looked around and found some of my best friends also cooling their heels as Principal Advisers. We were led by no less a personality than the redoubtable Naresh Chander Saxena, who was ranked as the topper of the 1964 batch. I spent the one year of my vanvaas in dreaming up a scenario of an India minus the denizens of Yojana Bhavan.
The Deputy Chairman was Jaswant Singh, who was a most interesting conversationalist. He had a soft husky voice which was orchestrated by Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony while the blue smoke rose in peaceful vertical streams towards the nearly invisible ceiling of a softly lit room. Although he was a retired army major, he did not possess the warlike demeanour of some of the mustachio’d Generals who engage in slanging matches with their Pakistani counterparts in Arnab Goswami’s Newshour. I suspect that he was too gentlemanly to shout at the likes of Rabri Devi in the annual discussions with the States. His soft exterior encouraged me to present a blueprint for the abolition of the Planning Commission. Jaswant Singh did not bat an eyelid. That was 1999.
So when I heard the announcement by the new Government that they were going to write finis to the Planning Commission, for a second I thought that someone had reactivated my 1999 paper. I waited anxiously for the contours of the new body to emerge, trying to imagine how the new babus would bring about cooperative federalism in this country. I wondered whether they would recall the criticism that all the previous regimes had buried fathoms deep the only constitutional body which could have ushered in cooperative federalism in this country, namely the Inter State Council , while they tinkered around with an illegal enterprise called the Planning Commission which had emerged from a mere resolution of the Government of India.
The suspense is over. People are bound to say that it is old wine in new bottles. There is no dearth of cadgey critics in this country who will recall that the Janata Government had replaced Indiraji’s Garibi Hatao programme alias Integrated Rural Development Programme alias India’s War on Poverty by the Hindutva-sounding Antyodaya programme. They will comment that the more things seem to change in Delhi, the more they remain the same!
They will refuse to see the absolutely novel features of the new incarnation. There used to be some Cabinet Ministers in the Commission. Now they are called ex officio members. Full-time members have been reduced to two. Much of the work will be done by part-time members and short-term consultants, who will come and go. The member Secretary has been rechristened as Chief Executive Officer or CEO, thus giving the think-tank a corporate flavour.  There used to be a National Development Council consisting of all the Chief Ministers. Now there will be regional meetings of the CMs of the BIMARU region, the CMs of the north-eastern region, the CMs of the Himalayan region, the CMs of the Southern region and the CMs of the Western region. They will focus on the problems of           each region separately. That is “cooperative federalism” at last.
Alas! My Kashmiri genes rebel. I have essentially a very simple mind. I liked Modi’s simple solution to an age-old problem when he decreed that you can attest a document yourself; you need not hunt for a gazetted officer. Absolutely fine! I would have liked it even better if he had abolished the concept of the official gazette altogether. As also the concept of a gazetted officer!
I had sent a simple proposal to Narinderbhai. Reduce the number of gazetted holidays from 16 to three. Make it a six day week. Do not let employees take their mobile phones to their tables. Don’t let them go for interminable cups of tea in the Canteen. Serve the tea free, hot and steaming, at their work tables. These simple steps will raise the productivity of the babus by a factor of eight.Try it, Narinderbhai.
Administration is basically very simple. Take the question of a biometric identity card. There was a tussle between the MHA and the Planning Commission, between the Aadhar and the National Population Register. Transfer the Aadhar to the MHA. Let them merge the databases. This simple gambit will save thousands of crores. Try it, Mr. Prime Minister.
The solutions are well known. What is missing is the action. Who does not know that if the third level of governance is established, benefits will start reaching the common man in the village and the town. Yet only a handful of states have brought this revolution about on the ground.
Everyone knows that if you can guarantee the provision of about fifty basic services to the masses through legislation that mandates time limits to such provision on pain of penalties to be imposed on the babus who prevent such guaranteed supply, things will improve dramatically.
Everyone knows that if you construct small check dams, you can prevent soil erosion and raise the water levels and transform the productivity of agricultural operations.
Who does not know that a simple rule that a Chief Minister can appoint whosoever he wishes as the Chief Secretary but cannot remove him without the okay by a Civil Services Board, can galvanise the administration?
Millions of such simple totkaas lie buried in reports of Commissions and Committees. All we need is implementation. If the Niti Aayog selects only five such totkaas every month and reviews the implementation in two committees, one of Chief Secretaries for the States and one of Secretaries to the Govt. of India for the Central Govt. that will be enough. There will be a revolution in the country.
Modi is a doer. I hope he reads the G files India and implements the ideas retired babus delineate without fear or favour every month.
For us delhiwallahs he has solved all the problems by the right choice of two stalwarts. The two major difficulties we face are traffic and sanitation. By choosing Crane Bedi as the Chief Minister-designate, he has solved the problem of traffic. By appointing Sindushree Khullar the former NDMC chief as the CEO of the Niti Aayog, he has ensured a Swachh Delhi.
What more can we ask for?
Endpiece: Now whether he calls it Niti Aayog or Atithi Aayog where he can call his NRI friends for short-term consultancies over an extended holiday, it does not really matter.


Kaw caw
Teaching maths to Amrit
Ever since my grandson Amrit secured 50% marks in the quarterly test in his Maths paper, our relations have progressed to a distinctly higher level. Urvashi, his mother, has realised that the old man who was giving him tuitions for the past three months has not achieved much. He just pocketed the Rs. 500 he got as the tuition fee.
“Daddy!” she bleated, “His concepts are not clear. He does not understand what subtraction means. You will have to start from basics.”
That evening while I sat on the computer, I overheard my wife teaching math to Sandhya, our maid’s daughter.
“Look,” she said, “You have ten beans with you. Amrit snatches three away. So how many beans are left with you?”
“Three,” said the brilliant Sandhya, with a beatific smile on her chubby face.
“How?” shrieked my wife, almost tearing her hair in fury. “How?”
“You said that Amrit snatched three away from her. So that is why.” Sandhya paused, waiting to get a shabaash from Mummy.
“What is wrong with you? I have explained ten times to you already. You had ten beans. Here are the ten beans. (Raj actually took out a bunch of beans from her pocket and placed these in front of Sandhya. ) Now, Amrit! you take three beans away from her. (Amrit, mischief writ large on his face, who was just waiting for an excuse to disturb Sandhya’s lesson, pounced on the opportunity and took away all the ten.) “So how many beans are left with you, Sandhya? “
Sandhya looked tearfully at Mummy and the vacant floor in front of her. “None, Mummy, none. He has taken them all!”
“Amrit!” shouted Raj. She tried to feign anger. But Amrit is our youngest grandson and has an innocent cherubic face. No one can be angry with Amrit for long.
“Why have you taken them all?” screamed Raj.” You were supposed to take only three.”
“ I took them all so that I can win the game.” Amrit patiently explained.
“What game? This is not a game.”
“If this is not a game, why am I taking beans away from her? Is it not like cricket? The more runs you make, the better your chances of winning the match.”
“No,” shrieked his grandmother. “This is not a game. It is not like cricket. I am trying to teach mathematics to Sandhya.”
“Then, teach her mathematics. Where did the beans come in?” Amrit wanted to know.
“I give up. This fellow will give me a nervous breakdown one day. He has such fundamental doubts.”
I could not bear to see her agony any longer. Intervening, I said, “You are tired, Raj. Let me try and make his concepts clear.”
Next evening, Amrit came with his “Enjoying Mathematics” textbook. We started on the lesson on Fractions.
“Look, Amrit. We have one cake. There are two boys to share it. How much will each get?”
“½”, said the genius.
“And suppose there are three boys to share the cake. How much will each of them get?” I continued.
“1/3”, said the latter day Ramanujam.
“Wonderful! That is correct. Now tell me, will the first group get more cake or the second group?” I asked.
Amrit appeared to think hard. At last he ventured, “The second”. He looked anxiously at my face, trying to guess whether his answer was correct. I must have been transparent, because he hastened to add, “No, no. the first.”
“Think carefully. Is it the first or the second?”, I countered.
“I am not sure,” he said at last.
“Why are you not sure? If the concept is clear, the answer should stare you in the face.”
He looked at me with a blank expression. And our parry and thrust went on for an hour. In between the lad took a break for potty, to take an orange and to eat a bowl of namkeen. At last his concentration broke down completely and I let him go.
Next evening when he came to me to learn the basic concepts,  I confronted him with a piece I had written about his struggle with Mathematics.
“What will you do with it?” he asked.
“Have it published in Naad” ,I replied.
“No. You cannot do that. I will delete it from the computer,” he threatened.
“You will be immortal Twenty years later when your son goes to DPS, ‘Teaching Maths to Amrit’ will be one of the lessons anthologised in the English textbook. And your son will smile and say, ‘How unlike you he is, Papa! You are a Ph.D. in Mathematics. And look at this Amrit.’ “
“Fortunately for you there will be no author’s name in the lesson. It will be shown as ‘Anonymous’.”

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GETTING OLD

kawcaw
Getting Old
When I was a young stripling, my birthday was celebrated with great éclat. The family was still in Srinagar. The Maharaja was on the throne. Shevur Bayu was our family priest and he used to come to our house in Mallapora, Bana Mohalla.
The Janamdin Pooja was a long drawn out affair. The climax came when Shevur Bayu took out a new Janeyu from his bag and put it around my neck while reciting the Gayatri Mantra. At the end he blessed me with long life. The words were “Jeevo tvam sharadam shatam” (May you live for a hundred years!)
At that time I was innocent and hundred years seemed to be a reasonable span of life. One did not see many centenarians around and a century appeared to be just the right age for exiting from this life.
Now that I am seventy three, and victim of the multitudinous maladies that the metropolitan flesh is prey to, a span of 100 years appears to be too long. Even the smallest task has become burdensome.
Can there be anything simpler than making water? An enlarged prostrate renders even this puny chore irksome and fraught with dangers.
The other day I was returning home from a public meeting. I should have reached home in twenty minutes. Unfortunately we were caught in a traffic jam. One hour and   we had just reached Niti Bagh. Meanwhile, the bladder had started pressing the panic button.
What to do? The Prime Minister may exhort this nation of 125 crores to bring about a Swachch Bharat. The youthful Aamir Khan might berate the persons pissing by the roadside. But if the municipality does not build urinals at 15 minute intervals by the roadside, what is the old man with his swollen bladder to do?
The problem becomes even more acute if you are travelling in a posh colony like Greater Kailash. There are uniformed guards outside each bungalow, whose main occupation seems to be to protect their owners’ property from urinary attacks. You hope and pray for a house under construction with lot of building material strewn around and no bright flood-lights.
The matter does not end there. I recently participated in a half-an-hour discussion on this crucial subject in the pensioners’ corner of our Ornamental Park. Speaker after speaker described the great travails they are subjected to even when they have secured access to a toilet.
In old age, and especially in winter, the chief instrument of action is shrivelled and shrunk to a pale shadow of his youthful self. Your hand searches and seeks but all in vain. Even when this non-performing asset  is located, he refuses to open up. He has to be persuaded and cajoled into assuming his active form.
When  at long   last the stream trickles out in a thin yellow streak, it does not make a positive forthright statement, but comes out in multiple sprinkles and droplets, some curving inside to wet your trousers, others besmirching the toilet floor. There is lot of humming and hawing . At the end, when the lad has ostensibly finished his oration, there are some last minute addenda.
 As the poet has said,
Howsoever you may shiver, jiggle and shake,
 Some drops are bound to wet your innerwear make.”
That is the tragedy of old age.


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