134 Monday Musings - Saada Haq

134- Monday Musings - Saada Haq

If movie songs were to be any indicators of the spirit of the times, inspired by or inspiring the tumults of that period and in the process becoming anthems, then gear up to listen to 'Sadda Haq...Ithe rakh' (Give me my rights..NOW) not only from on air and in the dim lit pubs and bars but also on sundry social and corporate occasions alike for a long long time. I can think of a few more in the last few years which had acquired a deep symbolism and shouldered the onus of describing the angst and imagination of the times they became popular.

'Papa kehte hain bada naam karega' was a gentle reminder in the 90's of the huge burden of expectation that the youth shouldered and how the he was clearly ready to chart a course of his own by refusing to become and engineer or a businessman, rather finding solace in the elixir of love. The same actor exactly a decade later gate crashed into the imagination of the carefree youth to move away from the beaten path by announcing 'ham hain naye, andaaz kyon ho purana'. India was changing by the end of the last century and the exhort 'badle duniya, badalne do...hum apni dhun me chalte jayen..hum hain naye..andaaz kyon ho purana' became the ziet gist of the times. Dancing to its lyrics in a sense liberated the generation from the shackles of the old dreams and old methods. The generation had announced its arrival in style.

Another khan in another path breaking movie united disparate groups of people to its war cry 'Chak De', a phrase which has no equivalent in the English language, but which would broadly mean 'Let’s rock'. Any group of people, community or gathering who wanted a point to be proven, a war cry to unite all towards one common task and who wanted a insurmountable problem to be solved, a herculean aspiration to be chased, had to just play 'Chak de' and the spirits would soar. In yet another time when a youth lost in his search for identity, so typical of the age across times, and yet to typical of particularly these, finally finds his calling, not surprisingly sung on high notes 'payega jo lakhya hai tera' from the movie Lakhsya. It is difficult to say with certainty that it right before or right after that we found the youth being so sure about what they wanted from life - in being floaters they were exercising the same choice that fired their souls in wanting to make it big in corporate or business or politics.

Saada Haq, not only in its lyrics but also in its video, depicting Kashmir to North East, farmers to communal rights, is a reminder of the impatience of the times, where no one is willing to wait anymore and any longer. They want their haq, what is their natural and national right, NOW. Intentions won’t suffice, delivery does. The message loud and clear - Don’t suffocate us into slots, don't slice and divide us on samaaj and riwaj, keep your sermonizing and patronizing to yourself if you cannot handle what you preach, just....well..'Saada Haq..Ithe rakh'. The song has all the ingredients to become the theme of the times, the ultimate expression of an impatient people on the edge, almost a warning to the powers to be. Don’t mess or it will be messy. The song has been getting into my bones slowly but surely, and going by its popularity, it is clear that other bones are equally pervious to its uplifting quality. The echoes of saada haq will only intensify in the days to come.

Movies then no doubt are such an addictive craft. They say, there is at least one story in each one us. I am growing to believe there is at least one song and one movie in each one of us. Go ahead - write it, record it, shoot it. You have at least one reader, one listening, one viewer ready. 

Guru 

133-The Journey

133-The Journey

This diwali vacation I travelled quite a bit to the faraway nooks and corners of my home state Jharkhand and once again enjoyed the highly nuanced face of India – sometimes a bit disturbing if my urban tastes and sensibilities forced me to judge, but mostly enjoyable for the sheer richness of diversity that was on offer.  India lives in many decades - Some in 2010's, some in the early 2000, some in the 1990s and certainly but unfortunately some even in the 70-80's. Each decade has its own sights and sounds, peculiar to the times they represented which became the liet motif of those times - and fossilized over the layers of time, lending them identity and signature. This trip gave me the unparalleled joy of living those sights, smells and sounds yet again - sometimes eerie, but joyous nevertheless.

Post Office Gomia, in District Giridih, somewhere in the north-East of Jharkhand, right next to the Bengal border, is in the heart of mining belt, the hotbed of naxalite activity, and the destination of my journey. The 200 kms drive was an ensemble of a variety of experiences, often unrelated, but in warm harmony with each other – giving it a collage like diversity and appeal.

Crater sized potholes break the pace of the journey to no more than a drag, while rich green hues of paddy fields mark the countryside till as far as eyes can see. On the horizon is a faint boundary of the hills that puts an end to the audacity of sight. The roadside dhaba in eastern India is quite different from its flamboyant north-Indian cousin. Its tiled or thatched, mud paved, surely dirty and opens to the fields in its backyard. The tea is milky, syrupy and very sweet, the food however is fresh. We crossed the monthly fair for all the nearby villages as we reached the infamous town of Purulia. What a sight waited for us - 3 kilometers of the fair on both sides, cattle being traded and loaded on cranky trucks, bullock carts blocking the traffic endlessly, items of living made out of bamboo or hay that I never imagined people used anymore lined on both sides.

Darkness descended while we were a good 20 kms away from the destination - a twenty nasty kilometers cutting right across the heart of naxalite territory and passing over the 30 year old Tenughat dam on the Damodar River. It was perhaps the longest 20 kms of my life; the pitch darkness, made scarier by the stillness - a state of no sound exploding within your head, aggravated by the dense forests on both sides. As one passed on the road on the dam, a near vacuum of nothingness engulfs you on both sides - invisible in the dark, starless night but hundreds of meters of precipice palpable and felt through your bones. Such a night has its own smell - fresh, elevating, cold, very grassy, but blunted with the smell of fear it gets marinated with, so much so that one has to strain to enjoy it. As we descended on the other side, much to our relief, we noticed the first glimmer of faint yellow lights.

The day in these parts begins with sunrise and ends with sunset - something that is quite unfathomable to those who are used to extending the day beyond the sunset, aided and abetted by the glare of CFL and neon. Mornings are misty, grass rich with the overnight dew and the dozens of roosters at the forefront of the hamlets community alarm system. October evenings descends early - as if the preparation for the evening begins even before the afternoon is over, as one is acutely aware that darkness will bring the day to an unceremonious end. Early mornings and evenings there is a layer of smoke in the air, of burning raw coal from the nearby mines and of dried leaves, obnoxious and poisnous, but for those who might have lived on it, its comforting and familiar. It adds to the feeling of being at home. 

The railway station is breathtaking in its antiquity -Two platforms, one each for the Up and Down trains. One small tea shop doubles up as a two-item-menu-snack counter serving samosas and boiled eggs ONLY. The lonely pan shop has beedis and non filter cigarettes stacked for display. At 8 o clock in the night when the last passenger train passes through the station, the station momentarily flickers back into activity for 5-6 passengers that will alight and the same number that will board, before things close for the night. The dark engulfs till the roosters to get to work the next day.

 And the only thought that comes to my mind as I return, is Ah! So many roads, so many journeys - and such a short life.

Guru

132- Rediscovering Premchand.

132- Rediscovering Premchand.

As i opened my old school trunk, just as i always do during the annual pilgrimage to my village during diwali vacations, which houses infinitely more treasure than its humble capacity, i chanced upon the 8 novels by Munshi Premchand - the giant of Hindi literature. In hindsight, why did i read them as a school kid, when i possesed niether the linguistic proficiency to understand him, nor the maturity to comprehend it, still baffles me. Knowing myself, i am sure it would have been some early strains of narcisissm or a crass display of showing off. That not withstanding, i decided to re-read 'Godaan' (Cow - donation) - his last novel and perhaps the most brilliant one.

Godaan has three broad set of characters, each depicting the then socio-cultural mileu of 1900-1930's. Each of these set of characters depict the complex web of social relations that existed within thier classes and also with each other - carrying with them hundreds of years of social history, its peculiarities, the colossal sanction for exploitation availabale to higher castes and classes and the early signs of redemption that an individual initiative could provide.

Hori is a poor small farmer who is caught in a web of usurious debt to pay off the cost of everyday existence like buying seeds, marrying children, bringing up an extended family and who personifies the helpless life of an Indian farmer - emboldened by hope of good times but razed down by oppressive social and economic circumstances. Dhania is his loudmouth, bitter, complaining but well meaning wife, who is burdened by Hori's sense of duty, innocence and naivete, but who does not hesitate to back him up in the most trying of circumstances, particularly those which were morally right but socially blasphemous, like giving shelter to his unmarried pregnant daughter in law and literally selling off thier young daughter to a much older but rich groom.  The plot is thickened and brought to life by a broad set of characters. The money lenders of all castes, the patwari, the village priest, sahukar, so on and so forth, who had money but no moral compunctions, who broke all social laws and sought comfort in the shudhikaran(purification) ceremonies avaliable to them but not to the poor. The sense of outrage and tragedy is difficult to miss in the turn of events. Hori has but one ambition - to see a cow in his house.

The second set of characters revolve around the Raisaab - the feudal lord who owns the villages, has the right to tax them, ask for gifts and donations - only to maintain the standard of life and pretence that is traditionally the forte of the class of Raisaabs. While the politics of pre indepence india gets depicted as a sub plot, it wholesomely bares the hypocrisy of this class - who are torn between thier traditional penchant to exploit and yet participate in the lofty ideals of liberation of the downtrodden. The helplessness of Raisaab to let go of the comforts of his stature with the accompanying rights to  exploit his aasaamis (constituency)and to still be seen as THE RAISAAB is comical but piognant.

The third set of characters include Mr Mehta - the fiery idealist, professor of Philosophy, who is driven by a higher purpose in his life, bound by social duty, uncorrupted by money and charms and who has clear views about the role of women in the society. The second character is the charming, beautiful and educated Miss Malati, who has no compunctions in using her education and charms to get her way in a manner unthinkable for women then, but who goes through her own discovery of ideals, morals and sense of social and national duty in the pursuit of the hesitant Mr Mehta, who is the only one who refuses to be bewitched by her charms in the beginning.  This is an engrossing depiction of the tussle between the traditional role of women, thier angst in the fight for liberation and thier discovery of meaning somewhere in between.

Godaan is a must read for many reasons - again and again. Vernacular literature gives more insight into the complex history of our society, more authentic, more lively and more nuanced. It opens us to a world that English literature may not be able to do ever. As Hori dies on the last page and the everyone cries for a Godaan - the ultimate daan for a chaste Hindu, Dhania cries, gives off a thread of cotton as daan - that being the only material possession they are left with - alongside Hori, a part of you dies, 2011 not withstanding.

Guru

131- Monday Musings - Run

131- Monday Musings - Run

Around three weeks ago, i ran my second marathon, called the Kaveri trail marathon in the Rangapetta bird sanctuary, sandwiched between the cities of Mysore and Srirangapatnam. I am a late bloomer as a long distance runner, as anyone who has known me for some time will testify and so writing about my experiences of long distance running is particularly significant and cathartic.

Kaveri trail marathon was different from the Mumbai marathon in many ways. It was a natural trail on the banks of an irrigation canal and through the bird sanctuary. As a little over a thousand runners ran through the lush suganrcane fields, thick foliage, with massive trees as bystanders, under the canopy of clear pristine sapphire blue sky, it was difficult not to be carried away with the surreal settings. Every mile or so farmers looked quizzically at the runners and bullock carts got stuck on a trail which had only that much space. If one would not have been overwhelmed by the challenge of staying on course for 21kms, one would have liked to pitch a tent and just tried saying 'statue'!

I came back and watched a brilliant video on the net by Christopher Mcdoughal, who opines that mankind as a species was born to run. He uses anecdotes, historical and sociological evidences to claim that man was quite literally 'born to run'; that running is a natural human state - being stationary or sedentary is abnormal to our sense of being. He uses pre civilisational conditions, and present day African and Mexican tribes (who are the closest to the pre civilisational conditions that we can find today) to suggest that running comes naturally for human beings like breathing and the ability and habit of running has played a huge role in our journey of existence. I dont know if i all that he says can stand scientific scrutiny - and i hope it does, but i can surely identify with the the joys of running that he describes. When you run, that is the only thing that you do. The world and its worries recedes. The mind clears. The soul sings. Every muscle in the limbs make its presence felt. For those like me for whom running does not come naturally and have to summon every ounce of energy and courage to stay the course, running is also an experience of deep personal victory over limitations of the mind and body. 

So to everyone who does not run, i recommend what Christopher Mcdoughal says - Running is the natural state of being. It may look impossible to begin with but the end of it all, its a deeply moving and uplifting experience.

Run - as if your life depends on it.

Guru

130 Monday Musing - Man and God

130 Monday Musing - Man and God

Someone asked me the other day what my view about God was. I was temporarily taken aback by the colossal nature of the question, the import of which far exceeded the age and agenda of the person asking and the person asked. But a question it was and so begged for an answer.

The notion of God and His place in the overall scheme of things varies with culture. There is a significant difference in the notion of God in the eastern and the western world. Within our eastern worldview too there is an amazing diversity in the notion of God and more importantly how to reach Him. Some belive we should be 'God fearing', others believe in 'surrendering to Him', while yet others belive in 'Loving' him - either which way there is an unique and personal relationship that gets established between the worshipper and the worshipped.

I recognise my own inability to believe that God created man and his universe as a distinct event, almost like a divine project - and despite having been born in a culture which did propagate man's essential subservient position vis-a-vis the divine, i recognise my inability to relate to this notion of God. I am also growing to believe that in all likelyhood, man needed God, in its various avtaars, more as an explanation and support to tide over the vicissitudes of existence. God many not have created man, but man had definitely reasons to create Him.

Nothing scares man more than uncertianity and ambiguity. In fact i believe all of human civilisation is a story of mans relation to uncertianity and ambiguity. What we cannot control or predict, or what we are unsure of, scares us. What we cannot explain or put a rational cause and effect relation to, worries us. The mere thought of future as a place we cannot have cut out to follow a particular script worries us. Just as the cave man could not explain thunder, shower and lightening, the modern man cannot explain career and family uncertianities - and both need an anchor to hold themselves to. So we have nature Gods for the caveman and we have numerous godmen for the modern day man.

Some may not believe in any notion of God, but are surely scared of the unknown and believe its advisable to keep him in good humor. It is better to have God on your side when the tide turns adversarial. So if following a set of rituals either prescribed thorugh generations or through new found faiths, provide a sense of security, why not!. It is not uncommon to find many, if not most, to go through these rituals of fast, pilgrimages, darshans and worship, as a routine, as soul-less steps of an algorithm, without really relating to it, or connecting with it as a spiritual experience. They still do it, so that the unknown does not get offended and withold his benediction and blessings. It is almost like an all encompassing, all powerful insurance cover one buys for life itself.

I am also growing to believe that while most do not understand and experience God as a truly soulful experience, it is still better to be a believer in the notion of God, because it lends two things so essential to survive - stability and hope. In the worst of circumstances, in the bleakest of things, God provides an inexplicable hope of correction, redemption and improvement. That hope lends man courage to go on, to keep moving, to keep living. And in an otherwise hopeless, cruel, and infinitely disturbing web called life, that hope is worth calling God.

Guru   

129- Driving Growth through Changing Palates

129- Driving Growth through Changing Palates

I have been liking the Cadburys, 'Kuch meetha ho jaye' campaign for a while now. The TV commercials are warm, tell a story, softly tugs at your heart - whether its the eloping daughter TVC or the young teen wanting to walk the girl to her house or the young couple sneaking a conversation at the dinner table amidst family members. Over the last year or so i have also witnessed increasing instances of people giving or recieving the chocolate packs during festivals and other occassions instead of the traditional mithai-boxes. The marketing wallas would probably call this product growth through expanding usage. Within expanding usage it would be a case of expanding the number of occassions that the product can be used or consumed. I think this is a brilliant marketing campaign, which has already made a dent on the established social practices - and if the cash registers at Cadbury's are ringing, i am not surprised.

Every product we are told reaches maturity where its growth plateaus after the initial surge forward. India by all accounts traditionally has not been a chocolate consuming society. The chocolate revolution so to say, either as a sin food, or a food (if at all it can be called as food) indulgence has been a recent phenomena. Not many years ago, it was an item for the elite, particularly those who returned from the foriegn shores. Our sweet tooth was satiated by traditional mithais or sweet dishes - whether its the rice kheer and sewainyas of the north, or the pooran polis of the west or the paisam and mysore pak of the south and the innumerable milk based sweets of the east. Every region and community has its signature sweet dishes, which apart from being sweet also had some or the other food value. But chocolate is a different creature. It has limited food value, but much to the chagarin of the many with bursting waist lines, a very high calorie value. The last two decades has made chocolates the most common indulgence for children - and when they grow up, the chocolate mania in them refuses to grow up - mostly.

How does the marketing guy expands usage? Well, he gets an Eureka idea - how about chocolates usurping the space which traditionally has been occupied with the sweet dishes/foods. Imagine if after food people start having chocolates instead of jaggery or kheer or sandesh. Imagine if people start giving chocolates instead of sweets on every auspicious occassion as shagun. Imagine the consumption possible and imagine the market available? Absolutely brilliant piece of marketing.

I remember a marketing anecdote from my marketing classes. In a room full of marketing professionals the Coke head asks - 'Who are we competing against?' No prizes for guessing the answer - 'Pepsi'. The Head says ' No. Water is our chief competitor, so is tea, coffee and nimbu paani. We must mover from the share-of-wallet to the pursuit of share-of-stomach. Every time a consumer wants to drink something he must want to have Coke'. I don't know if the story is true or not but its another example of trying to expand product consumption through playing with the traditional stuff served. The DNA of occasions has been played with, altering the map of what is to be eaten and served. No wonder, the nimbu-paani has practically gone out of the welcome drink for the guest.

Any lessons for what we sell for a living folks? Think about it.

Guru   

128 Monday Musings - A tale of two citizens

128 Monday Musings -A tale of two citizens

They are separated by a good score years or so and so it can be safely concluded that they belong to two separate generations. The years that yawn between them encompass two stories, keeping together two lives disjointed yet connected, in the sense that where one ends that other ought to have begun.

She is lightly over 60, has very little formal education to boast of, but is well versed in the language of her ancestors. She is literate in a very limited sense, that her Hindi is passable but has no familiarity to English whatsoever. Her life revolves around her family, cooking, washing and buying vegetables. She has spent her entire life fufilling familial responsibilities like millions like her in the social mileu she inhabits. Every Republic day and Independence day she demands a tricolor be brought to her.She would then struggle to climb to the terrace of her house, which is a small hamlet in some inconsequential hinterland of this vast country and tie the tricolor to a unceremonious bamboo stick and unfurl the national flag with the TV antennae acting as the spinal cord that keeps it erect and flying. The family and the nieghbours treated this with indulgence for a while, some even made fun of her fascination, but now have come to accept the ritual twice a year. No one is sure if she understands the concept of a nation, or that there is any background of service to nation that runs in her family or she has had any experience that has drawn her to the strongest symbol of a nation - but come the republic day and the independence day she is resolute that she WILL unfurl the flag.

He is a young progeny of the liberalised India. He has flourished with whatever the country had provided - and amongst his friends is a common refrain, that they had succeed inspite of the country and not because of it. He mocks the government sector for all its shoddiness, ineptitude, callousness, lack of initiative, poor security, overburdening taxes and under delivery of governance. Luckily he is not alone in it. He is educated, articulate and aware. He has read all the history, has all his facts right, knows the major events of the Indian struggle of independence, can argue in favor or against the (controversial) role of all major stalwarts of the struggle with passion and eloquence. One might not be wrong to include him in the resurgent middle class, that is the pride of last twenty years and many argue, upon whom the future of this country depends.

This was a long weekend including the Independence day holiday. She unfurled the flag. He went on a holiday.