A Happy Reunion
Ravi is getting on, in age that is. Otherwise it is all downhill, poor man. At one time he had a reputation as a brilliant engineer and then as a successful businessman. But it was then and now is very different than then. He lost his savings in foolish investments well before the minicrash of 2008 and now he lives on what little the government provides in pension and the Old Age security – a misnomer if there ever was one. Not much security in the miniscule amount but when you are scraping the bottom every crumb helps.
Last few years have taught him some lessons he wishes he had learnt in his glory days. Some humility would have helped then, as would have the idea that all a person can do in this life is to try and make those he touched feel a little better than they felt before. It was easy for him to think that – he did not come in contact with many in his normal day. His ex-colleagues had found new associates with whom they could do business, his former social buddies still had the means to play bridge and golf in elite clubs and dine in superior restaurants. They did not quite avoid him if they saw him accidentally somewhere but their furtive glances made clear that they had important people to meet with and important goals to accomplish. Sometimes Ravi was a little offended by this slight but mostly he was glad that it left him plenty of time with his music and his books.
No wonder Ravi was surprised when it was his old friend Stephen – not Steve, Stephen please - who called him one morning. Stephen was now living on a remote Greek island in the Mediterranean and was in town for a week to be with his eight grandchildren. “It is time we got together for lunch,’ he said and suggested Commoner’s, a place in the “restaurant alley” where a common pensioner’s means could stretch to, albeit only once in a blue moon.
Ravi arrived at the restaurant a few minutes early and got a nice table. He had been contemplating writing a story on an incident that was the turning point in one of his many love affairs when he was young and perhaps desirable and certainly foolish in matters of heart. He didn’t quite know how to proceed. While waiting for Stephen to arrive he thought about how to frame the story while keeping track of the time. Ten minutes passed, he ordered a drink. Twenty minutes passed he ordered a plain salad. Just when he finished the salad he noticed it was already forty five minutes after the due time. “Hope Stephen is OK, he never was a safe driver,” he mumbled to himself. Then a thought struck him. He asked the waiter “Is there another Commoner’s in this neighbourhood?” The waiter looked at him for a full minute before answering, “You are at Roxanne, sir. Commoner’s is across the street.”
Ravi was dumbfounded. Just as well he concentrated on his story rather than worry himself to death over his friend being late. He handed the waiter a twenty dollar bill and dashed off to where he should have been. Stephen was sitting all relaxed near the entrance, sipping champagne. They shook hands like two long lost friends they were and sat down. Sheepishly Ravi told the story of what he called his “stupidity.” Stephen laughed, “It has happened to me too a few times” and poured him champagne from the bottle resting in the ice bucket. He called the waiter and told him to bring two steak sandwiches, instead of one he had ordered.
They exchanged notes about their families and life in general. They mused about the different turn fate took with their ventures and compared vicissitudes of life as old men. Time went fast and soon they had to leave. Shaking hands for the one final time Ravi expressed joy at all the great things happening in Stephen’s life and Stephen wished Ravi luck in finding a publisher for his story. Thus ended a happy reunion which almost did not come to pass in spite of the best of intentions.
Some Thoughts Gone Astray
I suppose the supporters of Oil sands who were crowing "less dirty than thou" after the Gulf disaster are a little shame-faced after the Michigan oil spill from the pipeline. The fact is that oil, whatever its source, is harmful to humans at all stages - exploration, production, transportation, refining and consumption. We can gloat with our heads buried in oil sands but the stream of disasters just keeps rolling along.
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There is nothing in the secret papers published by WikiLeaks that was not known before, only what had been brushed under the carpet. Complicity of Intelligence Agencies of Pakistan with Taliban with or without the knowledge of their government, massive corruption in Afghanistan government, military and other security departments, infiltration of Taliban, who after all are Afghan civilians when not fighting, in all aspects of Afghan life is no surprise to any knowledgeable observer including our government. The only reason governments are upset at the leaks is that these problems have been given big publicity and there is a danger of general outcry against further involvement in a war which is not going our way and is not likely to.
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The title of a recent column by Neil Reynolds about global warming in the Globe and Mail (Please remain calm. The Earth will heal itself, July 19) is misleading. The panic is not about the survival of planet Earth but of the humans on it which Mr. Reynolds mentions in passing at the end. Unfortunately, all we are offered to soothe us are band aid solutions, nothing to solve the key element: balancing human population with resources available on the planet. Till we begin to tackle this imbalance I for one will make no apologies for being in panic.
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It makes no sense for the Alberta government to deny the nature of the beast that is the oil sands. You can’t fight the glaring truth by asking people to look the other way. You have to persuade them that you have been working hard to improve the situation and your efforts are working. Therefore, the best strategy to counter the misguided environmentalists would be to acknowledge the pollution caused by the process, then emphasize the economic benefits of production to Canada and the U.S. and describe the political and economic risks of curtailing the production. The clincher in the argument would be a graph of historical improvements in emissions from oil extraction and new research under way to improve it further.
Friday, July 30, 2010
Friday, July 23, 2010
In Minute Detail
“How far did we walk?”
“I don’t have the GPS so I have no way to tell the distance.”
“Forget the distance. How long did it take?”
“I forgot my watch on the dressing table this morning so I did not time us. But let’s see if I can work it out. The other day when you were at the professional dinner, I timed myself from the bottom of the steps in the park to the door of our humble home. Now it may be a little more than the way there because one is a little bit tired. On the other hand it may be a little bit less because it is slightly, just tiny bit, so tiny that one may not even notice it, downhill. So it is hard to say the total time with complete confidence from just half of the measurement. It is certainly not scientific and I will not like to be held down to it. Any way, I looked at the watch, not my Omega, that is back at the watch-maker’s being repaired for the broken button but my Longines. Longines is working fine, accurate to a second, as you would expect a watch with that kind of reputation to be, but it does have a disadvantage. It does not have a second hand. Funny I did not notice it when I was buying it in Auckland after the near fatal injuries to Omega. Poor Omega; pin holding the strap came lose, watch came off my wrist, fell on the road and I lost my balance. To think of it, it is hard to say what came first, losing balance or the watch falling off. In the process I stepped on the poor watch and it was crushed. I was so sorry my only item of jewellery, the one I treasured so much, came to such a sad and ignoble end. On the other hand, I thought twenty years of service was long enough even if it was an expensive watch and it would be fun to shop for a new one in New Zealand. The country’s economy needed a boost and why should I not help when I can. Ten years after the incident, it can’t really be called an accident can it? I got the Omega repaired for twice what I had paid for it, more for the ego than any economic value. Not even four weeks had gone by when it stopped and I took it back to the watchmaker to be repaired; under warranty thanks be to Allah, all merciful. That is how I happened to have the Longines on, the watch I wouldn’t have bought if I had noticed the missing second hand. The absence of second hand doesn’t ever bother me except that in this instance it makes my observation more than a little uncertain. At worst it could be almost a minute off in both readings, at the start and also at the end. Thus my time estimate, if I was lucky, could be accurate for the return portion of the walk or, in the worst case scenario, may be up to two minutes short or long. You will agree that the possible error of almost ten percent is not acceptable by any means.”
“You have talked for half an hour and I still do not know how long we walked.”
“Oh yes. I am sorry I got carried away. You won’t believe from the way I go on and on that my thesis was the shortest ever submitted to the Faculty. But that was a long time ago. Times change and one has to change with them. Not only times, with us the place has changed too and with it the culture.”
“Are you going to answer me or not?”
“Haven’t I answered you yet? Silly me, I don’t know what is wrong with me. It must be the senility setting in with old age. To answer you, well, I looked at the watch just when I was about to put my right foot on the first step. Hour hand was at nine, minute hand was at zero and as I just said there is no second hand – I bought the watch new ha ha. Fortunately I did not meet any one we know and the walk home was uninterrupted. After I unlocked the front door, got in and closed the door behind me I looked at the watch, the wrist watch that is, not the one on the wall in front of me ticking merrily and quite loudly if I may add. The hour hand was between nine and ten as you would expect and the minute hand was between five and six. It could be twenty seven or it could be twenty eight, bit hard to tell. As far as I can remember now a week or so later, twenty eight would be more correct than twenty seven. Thus, a crude estimate by a watch without a second hand is twenty eight minutes. You can make your own assumptions and deduce the time it took me to get to the steps, add the two and there is your total time. If I were to guess, fifty six minutes would be a reasonable ball park figure, a minute or two long or short.”
“Thank you. I don’t know what I would do with all my spare time if my simple queries were answered straight away and not in such minute detail.”
“Always there to help, that is me.”
“How far did we walk?”
“I don’t have the GPS so I have no way to tell the distance.”
“Forget the distance. How long did it take?”
“I forgot my watch on the dressing table this morning so I did not time us. But let’s see if I can work it out. The other day when you were at the professional dinner, I timed myself from the bottom of the steps in the park to the door of our humble home. Now it may be a little more than the way there because one is a little bit tired. On the other hand it may be a little bit less because it is slightly, just tiny bit, so tiny that one may not even notice it, downhill. So it is hard to say the total time with complete confidence from just half of the measurement. It is certainly not scientific and I will not like to be held down to it. Any way, I looked at the watch, not my Omega, that is back at the watch-maker’s being repaired for the broken button but my Longines. Longines is working fine, accurate to a second, as you would expect a watch with that kind of reputation to be, but it does have a disadvantage. It does not have a second hand. Funny I did not notice it when I was buying it in Auckland after the near fatal injuries to Omega. Poor Omega; pin holding the strap came lose, watch came off my wrist, fell on the road and I lost my balance. To think of it, it is hard to say what came first, losing balance or the watch falling off. In the process I stepped on the poor watch and it was crushed. I was so sorry my only item of jewellery, the one I treasured so much, came to such a sad and ignoble end. On the other hand, I thought twenty years of service was long enough even if it was an expensive watch and it would be fun to shop for a new one in New Zealand. The country’s economy needed a boost and why should I not help when I can. Ten years after the incident, it can’t really be called an accident can it? I got the Omega repaired for twice what I had paid for it, more for the ego than any economic value. Not even four weeks had gone by when it stopped and I took it back to the watchmaker to be repaired; under warranty thanks be to Allah, all merciful. That is how I happened to have the Longines on, the watch I wouldn’t have bought if I had noticed the missing second hand. The absence of second hand doesn’t ever bother me except that in this instance it makes my observation more than a little uncertain. At worst it could be almost a minute off in both readings, at the start and also at the end. Thus my time estimate, if I was lucky, could be accurate for the return portion of the walk or, in the worst case scenario, may be up to two minutes short or long. You will agree that the possible error of almost ten percent is not acceptable by any means.”
“You have talked for half an hour and I still do not know how long we walked.”
“Oh yes. I am sorry I got carried away. You won’t believe from the way I go on and on that my thesis was the shortest ever submitted to the Faculty. But that was a long time ago. Times change and one has to change with them. Not only times, with us the place has changed too and with it the culture.”
“Are you going to answer me or not?”
“Haven’t I answered you yet? Silly me, I don’t know what is wrong with me. It must be the senility setting in with old age. To answer you, well, I looked at the watch just when I was about to put my right foot on the first step. Hour hand was at nine, minute hand was at zero and as I just said there is no second hand – I bought the watch new ha ha. Fortunately I did not meet any one we know and the walk home was uninterrupted. After I unlocked the front door, got in and closed the door behind me I looked at the watch, the wrist watch that is, not the one on the wall in front of me ticking merrily and quite loudly if I may add. The hour hand was between nine and ten as you would expect and the minute hand was between five and six. It could be twenty seven or it could be twenty eight, bit hard to tell. As far as I can remember now a week or so later, twenty eight would be more correct than twenty seven. Thus, a crude estimate by a watch without a second hand is twenty eight minutes. You can make your own assumptions and deduce the time it took me to get to the steps, add the two and there is your total time. If I were to guess, fifty six minutes would be a reasonable ball park figure, a minute or two long or short.”
“Thank you. I don’t know what I would do with all my spare time if my simple queries were answered straight away and not in such minute detail.”
“Always there to help, that is me.”
Friday, July 16, 2010
Munshi Prem Chand is the greatest writer in Hindi literature of twentieth century. He is the household name in educated Hindi speaking world and to almost all of the inhabitants of this world he provided the introduction to literature. His epic novel Godan (Gift of a Cow) was my introduction to literature and his stories were what I read before Kipling, Tolstoy and Turgnev. Unfortunately for us in the West his world is that of an Indian village of twenties and thirties of the last century, so foreign to us it might as well be from another planet and his language is that of the villagers. It doesn't translate well and that is the main reason he is not well-known here. I do not claim any expertise as a translator but I did translate a few of his stories for my daughters. Here is one of them. If you see similarity in his humour and mine, this is the humour of the area I grew up in.
Big Brother
By Munshi Prem Chand
Translated by Sudhir Jain
My brother was five years older, but only three grades ahead. He started school at the same age as I did, but on a matter as important as education, he did not like to rush things. He wanted to lay a firm foundation so that a splendid palace may be erected on it. He did one year’s work in two, sometimes it took him three. If the foundation is not solid, how will the building be strong?
I was young, he was older. I was nine, he was fourteen. He had an absolute birthright to watch over me. And my good name was based on treating his orders as legal edicts.
By nature he was very studious. He sat with an open book all the time and perhaps to rest his brain, sometimes on notebooks, sometimes on the margin of the books, he would draw the pictures of birds, dogs and cats. Sometimes, he will write down one name or word or sentence ten or twenty times. Sometimes, he would copy a passage four times in beautiful writing. Sometimes he would create words that had no meaning and no context. For example, once I saw this creation – special Amina, brothers-brothers, in fact, brother-brother, Radheshyam, Mr. Radheshyam, for an hour – followed by a masculine face. I tried very hard to make some sense of this riddle, but failed. I did not dare to ask him. He was in ninth grade, I was in sixth. To understand his creations was like big words from a small mouth.
I never felt like studying. To sit with books for an hour was like climbing a mountain. I left the hostel at the earliest opportunity to go to the sports ground, sometimes tossed rocks, sometimes flew paper butterflies and if I found a playmate – don’t ask. Sometimes climbed the boundary walls to jump down, sometimes riding the gate back and forth as if enjoying a drive in a car; but when I returned to the room, furious face of Bhai sahib* frightened life out of me. His first question was – Where have you been? Always the question was put forth in the same voice and my only answer was respectful silence. I don’t know why I could never say that I was playing outside. My silence admitted my guilt and Bhai Sahib had no option but to treat me with words full of anger but laced with affection.
“If you study English like this, you will spend your lifetime and never learn a word. Study of English is no sport that whosoever wishes can master. If it were every Tom, Dick and Harry would be the master. One has to strain eyes and sweat blood day and night to get education. And even then it is only to be able to tell others. Not even the great scholars can write correct English, leave alone speak it. And I am telling you, you are such an idiot that you do not learn from my example. I work so hard, you see it with your eyes. And if you don’t see it, it is the fault of your eyes, your brain. There are so many fairs and shows, have you ever seen me go to those? There are cricket and hockey matches every day, I do not go anywhere near. I am studying all the time. Even then I spend two or three years in each grade. How can you expect to pass if you waste all your time in fooling around? I take two or three years, you will rot all your life in this grade. If you want to waste your life like this, you better go home, enjoy your games of Gulli Danda**. Why waste hard-earned money of our dear Dada***? “
After this scolding I shed buckets of tears. There was no reply; I had committed the crime, who else will be scolded? Bhai Sahib was an expert in the art of lecturing. He used such hard-hitting words, shot words like arrows that my heart would shatter into little fragments and I would lose all courage. I could never find the strength to work with such soul-destroying devotion. And in that hopelessness, I would momentarily think – Why shouldn’t I go home. Why should I take on the work beyond my powers and ruin my life. I accepted the idea of remaining an illiterate since the thought of that much work made me dizzy. But after an hour or two, the clouds of hopelessness would disintegrate and I would determine to study with full concentration. I would quickly make a timetable. How could I start work before mapping the path, preparing any plan? There was no room for recreation in this timetable. Be up with the crack of dawn at six, a quick shower and breakfast, than settle for study. Six to eight English, Arithmetic from eight to nine, History from nine to nine-thirty, then snack and school. After returning from school at three thirty, rest for half hour, Geography from four to five, Grammar from five to six, walk in front of the hostel for half an hour, English composition from six thirty to seven. After dinner, Translation from eight to nine, Hindi from nine to ten, miscellaneous subjects from ten to eleven, then rest.
Making timetable is one thing, following it is another. I started neglecting it the first day. The pleasant green of the field, gentle gusts of wind, chase of the soccer ball, tactical rushes of Kabbaddi****, smart quick moves of volleyball pulled me in unknown but certain ways and I forgot all about books. This gave Bhai Sahib more opportunities to scold and curse. I kept away from his shadow, tried to stay away from his reach and came into room so quietly as not to attract his notice. If he raised his eyes towards me, I would lose all my nerve. It felt as if a sword was always dangling above my head. Even then just as a man is trapped in the bonds of greed and temptation in spite of misery and death, I could not give up sports in spite of warnings and scolding.
Annual examinations came. Bhai Sahib failed and I passed and came top of the class. Now there were only two years between us. I felt like taking Bhai Sahib to task – What happened to your hard work? Look at me, I had all the fun and topped the class. But he was so sad and disheartened that I felt deep sympathy for him and felt ashamed at the thought of sprinkling salt on his wounds. However, I now felt proud of my achievements and my confidence increased. Bhai Sahib’s personality had no power over me now. I started participating in games freely. My resolve was firm. If he caused me trouble, I will clearly speak out – What heroics did you accomplish by working yourself to the bone? I topped my class and had all the fun and games. In spite of lacking nerve to express all this in words, it was clear from my mannerism that I did not have much fear of Bhai Sahib. Bhai Sahib guessed that much – His power of observation was very keen. One day when I returned just in time for snack after spending the whole morning playing Gulli Danda, it was as if Bhai Sahib was ready with unsheathed sword and he fell upon me – I see that passing this year and being first in the class has gone to your head; but dear brother, pride fells much bigger personalities, what standing do you have? You must have read of Ravan in History class. What did you learn from his character? Or you merely read it? Just to pass an exam is nothing, real thing is to develop intellect. Learn the meaning of what you read. Ravan was the master of the whole world. Such kings are called Masters of the Universe. These days English empire covers huge territory, but you can’t call them Masters of the Universe. Many countries in this world do not accept British Rule, are completely independent. Ravan was the Master of the Universe. All kings of the world paid dues to him. Some very important gods were his slaves. The gods of water and fire were his servants, but what happened to him in the end? Pride completely destroyed him and no one was left to give him a drop of water. A man can commit any evil, but he should not be vain, should not boast. You become proud and you are lost from this world and the next. You must have read of Satan. He took pride in the thought that there is no greater true devotee of God than him. He met his end when he was pushed from heaven to hell. Emperor Room also became proud once. He died as a beggar. All you have done is passed a grade, and your head has turned. Now how will you make progress? You must understand that you did not succeed with your effort; a blind person sometimes catches a pigeon. Once in a while, you accidentally hit a home run in Gulli Danda, this does not make you a great player. Successful player is one whose every strike is a hit. Don’t go by my failure. When you are in my class, your teeth will sweat, when you will have to chew the steel balls of Algebra and geometry, will have to study the history of British Empire. It is not easy to remember the names of the kings, there were eight Henrys. Do you think it is easy to remember what event occurred in which Henry’s time? You write Henry the Eighth instead of Henry the Seventh, all marks vanish, each one of them. You won’t get a zero, not a zero. What world are you in? There were dozens of James’, dozens of Williams and scores of Charles’. The mind boggles. You become feverish. These unfortunates could not find names, kept adding Second, Fourth, Fifth etc. If they asked me I would have suggested a million names. And geometry! You need the mercy of God. You write A, G, B in stead of A, B, G and lose all the marks. No body dares ask these cruel examiners what is the difference after all in A, B, G and A, G, and B and why do you murder poor students for such useless things? You ate vegetable, rice, bread or you ate rice, vegetable, bread, what is the difference. But what do these examiners care? Whatever is written in the book, they want the students to cram word for word. And this cramming they call education. And what, in the end, is the use of cramming these headless and legless things? Drop this normal on this line, the base must be twice the normal. Someone ask what is the use? It may be quadruple, not just double, may only be half; what do I care? But I have to pass the examination, so I will have to memorize all this nonsense. They ask – “Write an essay on good use of time of at least four pages. “ Now, with the notebook open, pen in hand, cry over that title. Who doesn’t know that good use of time is a very good thing, this brings discipline in a person’s life, others become fond of him and he prospers in his trade, but how do we write four pages on this little matter? What is the need to write in four pages what can be expressed in one sentence? I call this impertinence. This is not good use of time but its waste to unnecessarily push some nonsense on paper. We wish that a person says whatever he has to say quickly and go on his way. But no, you have to ink four pages, whatever you write; and pages of legal size too. If this is not a crime against students, what is it? Senseless thing is that they say write in brief. Write a brief essay on the good use of time not less than four pages long. Right! In brief it is four pages. Otherwise they may have asked for one or two hundred pages. Run fast and slow as well. It is contradictory, or is it not? Even a baby can understand this but these teachers don’t have this much sense. They claim to be teachers. When you are in my class, mister, you will have to suffer all these things and then you will find out what life is like. You topped this class, now you walk on air. For this reason, follow my advice. I may have failed, but I am older than you, have more experience of this world than you. Take note of what I am telling you, otherwise you will be sorry.
It was getting close to time for school, otherwise who knows when the lecture would have ended. I could not taste the food – “If I get this scolding for passing, I will probably be sentenced to death if I fail.” The fearful picture drawn by Bhai Sahib of the study for his class scared the life out of me. I am surprised that I didn’t run away from school. In spite of so much scolding, my indifference to books stayed the same and I did not miss any opportunity of amusement. I did study but little, just enough to do the daily homework so I did not lose face in the class. The self-confidence I had gained disappeared again and I started living like a thief.
It was time for another annual examination. It so happened that I passed again and Bhai Sahib failed once more. I had not worked hard, but somehow I came first. I was wonderstruck. Bhai Sahib had worked body and soul, crammed each word of the course, till ten at night, from four in the afternoon, and from six to nine thirty before school. His appearance had lost all glow. But poor man failed. I felt pity for him. When the result was announced, he started crying and I did too. My joy on my success was reduced to half. Had I failed Bhai Sahib wouldn’t have been so unhappy, but who can change the fate.
There was a difference of only one grade between Bhai Sahib and me now. I had an evil thought that if Bhai Sahib failed one more time; I will be in the same class. Then he won’t have any basis to make my life hell, but I forcefully removed this thought from my heart. After all, he scolds me thinking of my own good. It certainly feels unpleasant now, but it may be due to his lectures that I regularly succeed with such good marks.
This time Bhai Sahib became much more kind. He had many opportunities to scold me but he was patient. Perhaps he began to think that he no longer had any right to take me to task, and if he had any, it was small. My independence also increased. I started taking improper advantage of his kindness. I had the feeling that I will pass whether I study or not, luck is on my side. Therefore, whatever little I studied because of fear of his scolding now came to an end. I developed taste for flying the kites and spent all my time flying and chasing them. Still I feared Bhai Sahib and did this without his knowledge. Problems in preparing the string, tying it to kite and in preparing for kite tournaments were solved secretly. I did not want Bhai Sahib to think that my respect and consideration for him were any less now.
One evening, far from the hostel, I was chasing a loose kite at full speed. Eyes were towards the sky, mind was concentrated on the airborne traveler, who was leisurely moving forward, as if a soul had come out of heaven on its way to selflessly acquire a new body. A whole army of boys, armed with brooms and sticks, was running to welcome it. No one had any idea of what else was going around him, as if all of them were flying with the kite where everything is safe, no cars, no trams and no carriages.
Suddenly, I ran into Bhai Sahib, who may have been returning from the bazaar. He caught me by the arm and spoke angrily – You should be ashamed of running for this half-penny kite with these street urchins. You have no consideration that you are no longer in a low grade but in eighth grade, just one grade behind me. A person must keep in mind his position. There was a time when people who passed eighth grade became Assistant Municipal Officers. I know many such middle graders who are now first-rate Deputy Magistrates and Superintendents. Many eighth graders are our leaders and newspaper editors. Many world-renowned scholars work under them and you are in eighth grade and still chasing kites with street urchins. I feel sorry for your lack of intelligence. You are clever; there is no doubt in that. But what good is the cleverness without any self-respect. You feel in your heart that I am merely one year behind Bhai Sahib and now he has no right to tell me anything. But you are mistaken. I am five years older than you and even if you happen to be in my grade – and if examiners do not change their ways, undoubtedly you will be my classmate next year and may even go ahead of me the year after that – but the five year difference between us can not be erased by God, leave alone you. I am five years older than you and will always be. The experience I have of life and this world, you will not be able to match even if you become M.A. and D.Phil. and D.Litt. Wisdom comes not from books but from observing the world. Amma did not pass any examination and the Dada did not go beyond fifth or sixth grade; yet even if both of us acquire all the learning in the world they will always have a right to advise and correct us. Not just because they gave us birth, but because they have more experience of living and will always have. What kind of government they have in America and how many times Henry the eighth got married and how many planets are in the sky, they may not know all that, but there are thousands of things in which their knowledge is greater than yours or mine. Let’s pray not, but if I fell ill today, you will be at your wit’s end. You would not be able to think of anything except telegraphing Dada; but if Dada were in your place he will not telegraph any body, will not be worried or confused. First he will diagnose the illness and try to cure it. If he does not succeed he will call a doctor. Illness is a big thing. You and I don’t even know how to manage monthly allowance to make it last the month. What Dada sends, we spend by twentieth or twenty second and then are desperate for pennies. Breakfast stops, we hide from barber and washer man. But what you and I are spending these days, Dada managed most of his life respectably in half of that and brought up a family of nine persons in total. Look at your Headmaster, he is an M.A. or is he not, and not a local M.A., one from Oxford. He is paid one thousand rupees; but who manages the household? His elderly mother. Headmaster’s degree is useless here. To begin with he managed the household himself. He never had enough to meet all expenses. He was always in debt. When his mother took over the management, it was as if the goddess of plenty arrived. Therefore, dear brother, drive out of your heart this vanity that you have come close to me and you are now free. I can still use this (shows his flat hand). My words are like poison to you.
I bowed my head against his new tactic. I really felt my low station and new respect grew in my heart for Bhai Sahib. I said with tears in my eyes – Definitely not. Whatever you are saying is absolutely true and you have every right to say it.
Bhai Sahib hugged me and said – I am not forbidding kite-flying. My heart is also tempted, but what can I do, if I take the wrong path how will I protect you? I have this responsibility on my shoulders.
By a strange coincidence, a lose kite was passing by above us. Its string was hanging loose. A crowd of boys was chasing it. Bhai Sahib is tall. He jumped and caught the string and ran helter skelter towards the hostel. I followed closely behind him.
* Bhai Sahib – Respectful address for older brother.
** Gulli Danda – An Indian game played with a stick used as a bat and very short stick used as a ball.
*** Dada – Indian version of Dad, Amma for mother.
**** Kabaddi – An Indian team game of chase and escape.
Big Brother
By Munshi Prem Chand
Translated by Sudhir Jain
My brother was five years older, but only three grades ahead. He started school at the same age as I did, but on a matter as important as education, he did not like to rush things. He wanted to lay a firm foundation so that a splendid palace may be erected on it. He did one year’s work in two, sometimes it took him three. If the foundation is not solid, how will the building be strong?
I was young, he was older. I was nine, he was fourteen. He had an absolute birthright to watch over me. And my good name was based on treating his orders as legal edicts.
By nature he was very studious. He sat with an open book all the time and perhaps to rest his brain, sometimes on notebooks, sometimes on the margin of the books, he would draw the pictures of birds, dogs and cats. Sometimes, he will write down one name or word or sentence ten or twenty times. Sometimes, he would copy a passage four times in beautiful writing. Sometimes he would create words that had no meaning and no context. For example, once I saw this creation – special Amina, brothers-brothers, in fact, brother-brother, Radheshyam, Mr. Radheshyam, for an hour – followed by a masculine face. I tried very hard to make some sense of this riddle, but failed. I did not dare to ask him. He was in ninth grade, I was in sixth. To understand his creations was like big words from a small mouth.
I never felt like studying. To sit with books for an hour was like climbing a mountain. I left the hostel at the earliest opportunity to go to the sports ground, sometimes tossed rocks, sometimes flew paper butterflies and if I found a playmate – don’t ask. Sometimes climbed the boundary walls to jump down, sometimes riding the gate back and forth as if enjoying a drive in a car; but when I returned to the room, furious face of Bhai sahib* frightened life out of me. His first question was – Where have you been? Always the question was put forth in the same voice and my only answer was respectful silence. I don’t know why I could never say that I was playing outside. My silence admitted my guilt and Bhai Sahib had no option but to treat me with words full of anger but laced with affection.
“If you study English like this, you will spend your lifetime and never learn a word. Study of English is no sport that whosoever wishes can master. If it were every Tom, Dick and Harry would be the master. One has to strain eyes and sweat blood day and night to get education. And even then it is only to be able to tell others. Not even the great scholars can write correct English, leave alone speak it. And I am telling you, you are such an idiot that you do not learn from my example. I work so hard, you see it with your eyes. And if you don’t see it, it is the fault of your eyes, your brain. There are so many fairs and shows, have you ever seen me go to those? There are cricket and hockey matches every day, I do not go anywhere near. I am studying all the time. Even then I spend two or three years in each grade. How can you expect to pass if you waste all your time in fooling around? I take two or three years, you will rot all your life in this grade. If you want to waste your life like this, you better go home, enjoy your games of Gulli Danda**. Why waste hard-earned money of our dear Dada***? “
After this scolding I shed buckets of tears. There was no reply; I had committed the crime, who else will be scolded? Bhai Sahib was an expert in the art of lecturing. He used such hard-hitting words, shot words like arrows that my heart would shatter into little fragments and I would lose all courage. I could never find the strength to work with such soul-destroying devotion. And in that hopelessness, I would momentarily think – Why shouldn’t I go home. Why should I take on the work beyond my powers and ruin my life. I accepted the idea of remaining an illiterate since the thought of that much work made me dizzy. But after an hour or two, the clouds of hopelessness would disintegrate and I would determine to study with full concentration. I would quickly make a timetable. How could I start work before mapping the path, preparing any plan? There was no room for recreation in this timetable. Be up with the crack of dawn at six, a quick shower and breakfast, than settle for study. Six to eight English, Arithmetic from eight to nine, History from nine to nine-thirty, then snack and school. After returning from school at three thirty, rest for half hour, Geography from four to five, Grammar from five to six, walk in front of the hostel for half an hour, English composition from six thirty to seven. After dinner, Translation from eight to nine, Hindi from nine to ten, miscellaneous subjects from ten to eleven, then rest.
Making timetable is one thing, following it is another. I started neglecting it the first day. The pleasant green of the field, gentle gusts of wind, chase of the soccer ball, tactical rushes of Kabbaddi****, smart quick moves of volleyball pulled me in unknown but certain ways and I forgot all about books. This gave Bhai Sahib more opportunities to scold and curse. I kept away from his shadow, tried to stay away from his reach and came into room so quietly as not to attract his notice. If he raised his eyes towards me, I would lose all my nerve. It felt as if a sword was always dangling above my head. Even then just as a man is trapped in the bonds of greed and temptation in spite of misery and death, I could not give up sports in spite of warnings and scolding.
Annual examinations came. Bhai Sahib failed and I passed and came top of the class. Now there were only two years between us. I felt like taking Bhai Sahib to task – What happened to your hard work? Look at me, I had all the fun and topped the class. But he was so sad and disheartened that I felt deep sympathy for him and felt ashamed at the thought of sprinkling salt on his wounds. However, I now felt proud of my achievements and my confidence increased. Bhai Sahib’s personality had no power over me now. I started participating in games freely. My resolve was firm. If he caused me trouble, I will clearly speak out – What heroics did you accomplish by working yourself to the bone? I topped my class and had all the fun and games. In spite of lacking nerve to express all this in words, it was clear from my mannerism that I did not have much fear of Bhai Sahib. Bhai Sahib guessed that much – His power of observation was very keen. One day when I returned just in time for snack after spending the whole morning playing Gulli Danda, it was as if Bhai Sahib was ready with unsheathed sword and he fell upon me – I see that passing this year and being first in the class has gone to your head; but dear brother, pride fells much bigger personalities, what standing do you have? You must have read of Ravan in History class. What did you learn from his character? Or you merely read it? Just to pass an exam is nothing, real thing is to develop intellect. Learn the meaning of what you read. Ravan was the master of the whole world. Such kings are called Masters of the Universe. These days English empire covers huge territory, but you can’t call them Masters of the Universe. Many countries in this world do not accept British Rule, are completely independent. Ravan was the Master of the Universe. All kings of the world paid dues to him. Some very important gods were his slaves. The gods of water and fire were his servants, but what happened to him in the end? Pride completely destroyed him and no one was left to give him a drop of water. A man can commit any evil, but he should not be vain, should not boast. You become proud and you are lost from this world and the next. You must have read of Satan. He took pride in the thought that there is no greater true devotee of God than him. He met his end when he was pushed from heaven to hell. Emperor Room also became proud once. He died as a beggar. All you have done is passed a grade, and your head has turned. Now how will you make progress? You must understand that you did not succeed with your effort; a blind person sometimes catches a pigeon. Once in a while, you accidentally hit a home run in Gulli Danda, this does not make you a great player. Successful player is one whose every strike is a hit. Don’t go by my failure. When you are in my class, your teeth will sweat, when you will have to chew the steel balls of Algebra and geometry, will have to study the history of British Empire. It is not easy to remember the names of the kings, there were eight Henrys. Do you think it is easy to remember what event occurred in which Henry’s time? You write Henry the Eighth instead of Henry the Seventh, all marks vanish, each one of them. You won’t get a zero, not a zero. What world are you in? There were dozens of James’, dozens of Williams and scores of Charles’. The mind boggles. You become feverish. These unfortunates could not find names, kept adding Second, Fourth, Fifth etc. If they asked me I would have suggested a million names. And geometry! You need the mercy of God. You write A, G, B in stead of A, B, G and lose all the marks. No body dares ask these cruel examiners what is the difference after all in A, B, G and A, G, and B and why do you murder poor students for such useless things? You ate vegetable, rice, bread or you ate rice, vegetable, bread, what is the difference. But what do these examiners care? Whatever is written in the book, they want the students to cram word for word. And this cramming they call education. And what, in the end, is the use of cramming these headless and legless things? Drop this normal on this line, the base must be twice the normal. Someone ask what is the use? It may be quadruple, not just double, may only be half; what do I care? But I have to pass the examination, so I will have to memorize all this nonsense. They ask – “Write an essay on good use of time of at least four pages. “ Now, with the notebook open, pen in hand, cry over that title. Who doesn’t know that good use of time is a very good thing, this brings discipline in a person’s life, others become fond of him and he prospers in his trade, but how do we write four pages on this little matter? What is the need to write in four pages what can be expressed in one sentence? I call this impertinence. This is not good use of time but its waste to unnecessarily push some nonsense on paper. We wish that a person says whatever he has to say quickly and go on his way. But no, you have to ink four pages, whatever you write; and pages of legal size too. If this is not a crime against students, what is it? Senseless thing is that they say write in brief. Write a brief essay on the good use of time not less than four pages long. Right! In brief it is four pages. Otherwise they may have asked for one or two hundred pages. Run fast and slow as well. It is contradictory, or is it not? Even a baby can understand this but these teachers don’t have this much sense. They claim to be teachers. When you are in my class, mister, you will have to suffer all these things and then you will find out what life is like. You topped this class, now you walk on air. For this reason, follow my advice. I may have failed, but I am older than you, have more experience of this world than you. Take note of what I am telling you, otherwise you will be sorry.
It was getting close to time for school, otherwise who knows when the lecture would have ended. I could not taste the food – “If I get this scolding for passing, I will probably be sentenced to death if I fail.” The fearful picture drawn by Bhai Sahib of the study for his class scared the life out of me. I am surprised that I didn’t run away from school. In spite of so much scolding, my indifference to books stayed the same and I did not miss any opportunity of amusement. I did study but little, just enough to do the daily homework so I did not lose face in the class. The self-confidence I had gained disappeared again and I started living like a thief.
It was time for another annual examination. It so happened that I passed again and Bhai Sahib failed once more. I had not worked hard, but somehow I came first. I was wonderstruck. Bhai Sahib had worked body and soul, crammed each word of the course, till ten at night, from four in the afternoon, and from six to nine thirty before school. His appearance had lost all glow. But poor man failed. I felt pity for him. When the result was announced, he started crying and I did too. My joy on my success was reduced to half. Had I failed Bhai Sahib wouldn’t have been so unhappy, but who can change the fate.
There was a difference of only one grade between Bhai Sahib and me now. I had an evil thought that if Bhai Sahib failed one more time; I will be in the same class. Then he won’t have any basis to make my life hell, but I forcefully removed this thought from my heart. After all, he scolds me thinking of my own good. It certainly feels unpleasant now, but it may be due to his lectures that I regularly succeed with such good marks.
This time Bhai Sahib became much more kind. He had many opportunities to scold me but he was patient. Perhaps he began to think that he no longer had any right to take me to task, and if he had any, it was small. My independence also increased. I started taking improper advantage of his kindness. I had the feeling that I will pass whether I study or not, luck is on my side. Therefore, whatever little I studied because of fear of his scolding now came to an end. I developed taste for flying the kites and spent all my time flying and chasing them. Still I feared Bhai Sahib and did this without his knowledge. Problems in preparing the string, tying it to kite and in preparing for kite tournaments were solved secretly. I did not want Bhai Sahib to think that my respect and consideration for him were any less now.
One evening, far from the hostel, I was chasing a loose kite at full speed. Eyes were towards the sky, mind was concentrated on the airborne traveler, who was leisurely moving forward, as if a soul had come out of heaven on its way to selflessly acquire a new body. A whole army of boys, armed with brooms and sticks, was running to welcome it. No one had any idea of what else was going around him, as if all of them were flying with the kite where everything is safe, no cars, no trams and no carriages.
Suddenly, I ran into Bhai Sahib, who may have been returning from the bazaar. He caught me by the arm and spoke angrily – You should be ashamed of running for this half-penny kite with these street urchins. You have no consideration that you are no longer in a low grade but in eighth grade, just one grade behind me. A person must keep in mind his position. There was a time when people who passed eighth grade became Assistant Municipal Officers. I know many such middle graders who are now first-rate Deputy Magistrates and Superintendents. Many eighth graders are our leaders and newspaper editors. Many world-renowned scholars work under them and you are in eighth grade and still chasing kites with street urchins. I feel sorry for your lack of intelligence. You are clever; there is no doubt in that. But what good is the cleverness without any self-respect. You feel in your heart that I am merely one year behind Bhai Sahib and now he has no right to tell me anything. But you are mistaken. I am five years older than you and even if you happen to be in my grade – and if examiners do not change their ways, undoubtedly you will be my classmate next year and may even go ahead of me the year after that – but the five year difference between us can not be erased by God, leave alone you. I am five years older than you and will always be. The experience I have of life and this world, you will not be able to match even if you become M.A. and D.Phil. and D.Litt. Wisdom comes not from books but from observing the world. Amma did not pass any examination and the Dada did not go beyond fifth or sixth grade; yet even if both of us acquire all the learning in the world they will always have a right to advise and correct us. Not just because they gave us birth, but because they have more experience of living and will always have. What kind of government they have in America and how many times Henry the eighth got married and how many planets are in the sky, they may not know all that, but there are thousands of things in which their knowledge is greater than yours or mine. Let’s pray not, but if I fell ill today, you will be at your wit’s end. You would not be able to think of anything except telegraphing Dada; but if Dada were in your place he will not telegraph any body, will not be worried or confused. First he will diagnose the illness and try to cure it. If he does not succeed he will call a doctor. Illness is a big thing. You and I don’t even know how to manage monthly allowance to make it last the month. What Dada sends, we spend by twentieth or twenty second and then are desperate for pennies. Breakfast stops, we hide from barber and washer man. But what you and I are spending these days, Dada managed most of his life respectably in half of that and brought up a family of nine persons in total. Look at your Headmaster, he is an M.A. or is he not, and not a local M.A., one from Oxford. He is paid one thousand rupees; but who manages the household? His elderly mother. Headmaster’s degree is useless here. To begin with he managed the household himself. He never had enough to meet all expenses. He was always in debt. When his mother took over the management, it was as if the goddess of plenty arrived. Therefore, dear brother, drive out of your heart this vanity that you have come close to me and you are now free. I can still use this (shows his flat hand). My words are like poison to you.
I bowed my head against his new tactic. I really felt my low station and new respect grew in my heart for Bhai Sahib. I said with tears in my eyes – Definitely not. Whatever you are saying is absolutely true and you have every right to say it.
Bhai Sahib hugged me and said – I am not forbidding kite-flying. My heart is also tempted, but what can I do, if I take the wrong path how will I protect you? I have this responsibility on my shoulders.
By a strange coincidence, a lose kite was passing by above us. Its string was hanging loose. A crowd of boys was chasing it. Bhai Sahib is tall. He jumped and caught the string and ran helter skelter towards the hostel. I followed closely behind him.
* Bhai Sahib – Respectful address for older brother.
** Gulli Danda – An Indian game played with a stick used as a bat and very short stick used as a ball.
*** Dada – Indian version of Dad, Amma for mother.
**** Kabaddi – An Indian team game of chase and escape.
Friday, July 9, 2010
More Stray Thoughts
Alberta Politics
Ed Stelmach has not been as aggressive as many of his opponents, and indeed some supporters too, would have liked, it should be noted that it was his low profile calm, cool and collected image that won him a whopping majority in the last election. Defection of a few MLAS disgruntled at having been passed over for the ministerial posts does not even make a dent in his majority. Come election time the goodies will flow, promises will be made, extreme right will be seen as too extreme to govern and the centre-left will be divided as it always has been. Stelmach's conservatives will win a big majority of seats with 40% of the vote and Alberta will carry on basking in oil and gas royalties as it has for two generations.
Balancing the Budget
It is easy to forget that much of Mr. Martin's budget cutting was done by downloading expenses to the provinces who in turn did the same to the municipalities. While it balanced the budgets it also caused the cancellation of needed investment in education and healthcare projects. All these cuts came home to roost a decade later and Canadians have still not recovered. Let us hope that the measures of Mr. Osborne will not be as short sighted and the British citizens and his party will not suffer the consequences the Canadians and the Liberal Party have.
Price and Quality
If an item is cheap there are reasons for it; it is poorly designed as with most cheap toys, it is made of cheap and sometimes illegal materials as the jewellery with high content of lead or it is made in sweat shops with poor quality control as with the cheap clothing. The buyers ought to know this and the risks involved in their purchase. If the media did a better job of bringing this to their readers' attention it would help. However, it would be foolish to expect that because it would also hurt the advertising revenue.
Pandora’s Box
By being swayed by petty considerations of minority votes and unnecessarily offering current survivors cash for actions in a different era, the government has opened a Pandora’s Box with no end in sight. Before doling out large sums of money the government should have taken into account that these actions were following the law of the times and were in accordance with the general beliefs and practices of those times. I would have thought that the current government is responsible to remedy the current iniquities and that is being done as well as it can be done. To consider asking or paying the compensation for what was done generations ago boggles my mind. May be it is time I put a claim to the British government for colonizing India and the consequent suffering of my ancestors under their tyranny
From bullets to rocks in Kashmir
Among many reasons for reduction in violence, the most important one is that the terrorist groups in Pakistan are now focusing on rival local groups and have no time for Kashmir. If these groups would leave Kashmiris alone, remaining protests would calm down as Sikh protests did. The fact of life is that most residents are only interested in somehow making a living and it is only a few who have time to indulge in violent and non-violent protests. It is true in Kashmir as it was in SriLanka and Toronto and would be in the next hot spot.
Canada 47 years from now
Margaret Wente (Immigration, old age and technology to rule Wente's Canada 47 years from now, July 1) is right in that Canada is and will be the best country to live in for a long time. However, to imagine Canada in 47 years without the impact of global warming on the geography and the politics is a tiny part of the whole picture. With the Great North becoming one huge farmland when current farmlands have become deserts, Arctic open for seafaring with massive ports, scarce oil and gas of the ocean exploitable and Americans and Russians gazing lustily at the new sources of wealth, to imagine Canada of 2057 with the world politics of today is dreaming in technicolour. And all this assumes that the planet will still be habited by humans in large numbers, not all that likely all things considered.
Need for a new Economic Model
First the citizens borrow to buy things they do not really need. When a large number of them are not able to pay and banks threaten to collapse, governments borrow even more to save the system. Now the governments stutter under the debt load and the economy slows, as would be expected and the whole system is in danger. I would have thought that the failure of the model of the economy would be obvious by now and search for a new model would be on. Someone please explain why we would rather flog a dead horse than find a new one that can move the cart forward.
Relax Toronto
Torontonians can relax. Not many were watching the empty dead zones and riots in Toronto. All eyes in the world were fixed on the sites where hard work was (and is) being done and lasting results being achieved – soccer fields in South Africa.
G20 Meetings
Considering the minimal achievements of hyped up G20, I suggest any future meetings to be held in Canada are scheduled in the winter when all that hot air might do some good.
Making of the next Hitler
If the Prime Minister were to be solely responsible for the security apparatus, and with a system that has no effective checks and balances to his power, what is to prevent an insecure power hungry leader with a parliamentary majority going the way of Hitler and Stalin? I would rather have an ineffective security system than be marched to a slave camp on the orders of a mad leader with all government controls under his thumb.
Most followers are not Fundamentalists
While fundamentalist Islamist who go to silly extremes get all the press and the books condemning them become best sellers, noble face of Islam keeps plugging away behind an invisible curtain. May be not so invisible, only last week Aga Khan was honoured with a Canadian citizenship for the good work Ismailis under his leadership are doing for the communities they live in. Their women are integrated, have professional jobs and executive positions and men and women volunteer in all sorts of community activities. Let us remember that 99 percent of Muslim women, particularly those outside Saudi Arabia do not wear niqab, most work on farms or any where there is work and most Muslim men treat their women with respect. It is mainly the uneducated Arabic immigrants with chips on their shoulders who are the culprit. Blaming Islam or their backwardness is not going to help them or us. What will help is literacy and reduction in poverty. Ismailies are largely educated and prosperous; the community helps the poor among them materially and spiritually. Their women dress like other countrywomen and are as equal to men as other women. They are followers of Islam and read Quran as the holy book.
Incidentally, you do not see niqab in India, Indonesia and Malaysia. Muslim girls go to schools and work with men everywhere, including in the parliament and legislative assemblies. The only woman tennis player in India to rank internationally was a Muslim girl. Some of the journalists working in the media have Muslim names. Believe it or not, Pakistan has a women’s cricket team that does well internationally. All is not doom and gloom with Islam.
Alberta Politics
Ed Stelmach has not been as aggressive as many of his opponents, and indeed some supporters too, would have liked, it should be noted that it was his low profile calm, cool and collected image that won him a whopping majority in the last election. Defection of a few MLAS disgruntled at having been passed over for the ministerial posts does not even make a dent in his majority. Come election time the goodies will flow, promises will be made, extreme right will be seen as too extreme to govern and the centre-left will be divided as it always has been. Stelmach's conservatives will win a big majority of seats with 40% of the vote and Alberta will carry on basking in oil and gas royalties as it has for two generations.
Balancing the Budget
It is easy to forget that much of Mr. Martin's budget cutting was done by downloading expenses to the provinces who in turn did the same to the municipalities. While it balanced the budgets it also caused the cancellation of needed investment in education and healthcare projects. All these cuts came home to roost a decade later and Canadians have still not recovered. Let us hope that the measures of Mr. Osborne will not be as short sighted and the British citizens and his party will not suffer the consequences the Canadians and the Liberal Party have.
Price and Quality
If an item is cheap there are reasons for it; it is poorly designed as with most cheap toys, it is made of cheap and sometimes illegal materials as the jewellery with high content of lead or it is made in sweat shops with poor quality control as with the cheap clothing. The buyers ought to know this and the risks involved in their purchase. If the media did a better job of bringing this to their readers' attention it would help. However, it would be foolish to expect that because it would also hurt the advertising revenue.
Pandora’s Box
By being swayed by petty considerations of minority votes and unnecessarily offering current survivors cash for actions in a different era, the government has opened a Pandora’s Box with no end in sight. Before doling out large sums of money the government should have taken into account that these actions were following the law of the times and were in accordance with the general beliefs and practices of those times. I would have thought that the current government is responsible to remedy the current iniquities and that is being done as well as it can be done. To consider asking or paying the compensation for what was done generations ago boggles my mind. May be it is time I put a claim to the British government for colonizing India and the consequent suffering of my ancestors under their tyranny
From bullets to rocks in Kashmir
Among many reasons for reduction in violence, the most important one is that the terrorist groups in Pakistan are now focusing on rival local groups and have no time for Kashmir. If these groups would leave Kashmiris alone, remaining protests would calm down as Sikh protests did. The fact of life is that most residents are only interested in somehow making a living and it is only a few who have time to indulge in violent and non-violent protests. It is true in Kashmir as it was in SriLanka and Toronto and would be in the next hot spot.
Canada 47 years from now
Margaret Wente (Immigration, old age and technology to rule Wente's Canada 47 years from now, July 1) is right in that Canada is and will be the best country to live in for a long time. However, to imagine Canada in 47 years without the impact of global warming on the geography and the politics is a tiny part of the whole picture. With the Great North becoming one huge farmland when current farmlands have become deserts, Arctic open for seafaring with massive ports, scarce oil and gas of the ocean exploitable and Americans and Russians gazing lustily at the new sources of wealth, to imagine Canada of 2057 with the world politics of today is dreaming in technicolour. And all this assumes that the planet will still be habited by humans in large numbers, not all that likely all things considered.
Need for a new Economic Model
First the citizens borrow to buy things they do not really need. When a large number of them are not able to pay and banks threaten to collapse, governments borrow even more to save the system. Now the governments stutter under the debt load and the economy slows, as would be expected and the whole system is in danger. I would have thought that the failure of the model of the economy would be obvious by now and search for a new model would be on. Someone please explain why we would rather flog a dead horse than find a new one that can move the cart forward.
Relax Toronto
Torontonians can relax. Not many were watching the empty dead zones and riots in Toronto. All eyes in the world were fixed on the sites where hard work was (and is) being done and lasting results being achieved – soccer fields in South Africa.
G20 Meetings
Considering the minimal achievements of hyped up G20, I suggest any future meetings to be held in Canada are scheduled in the winter when all that hot air might do some good.
Making of the next Hitler
If the Prime Minister were to be solely responsible for the security apparatus, and with a system that has no effective checks and balances to his power, what is to prevent an insecure power hungry leader with a parliamentary majority going the way of Hitler and Stalin? I would rather have an ineffective security system than be marched to a slave camp on the orders of a mad leader with all government controls under his thumb.
Most followers are not Fundamentalists
While fundamentalist Islamist who go to silly extremes get all the press and the books condemning them become best sellers, noble face of Islam keeps plugging away behind an invisible curtain. May be not so invisible, only last week Aga Khan was honoured with a Canadian citizenship for the good work Ismailis under his leadership are doing for the communities they live in. Their women are integrated, have professional jobs and executive positions and men and women volunteer in all sorts of community activities. Let us remember that 99 percent of Muslim women, particularly those outside Saudi Arabia do not wear niqab, most work on farms or any where there is work and most Muslim men treat their women with respect. It is mainly the uneducated Arabic immigrants with chips on their shoulders who are the culprit. Blaming Islam or their backwardness is not going to help them or us. What will help is literacy and reduction in poverty. Ismailies are largely educated and prosperous; the community helps the poor among them materially and spiritually. Their women dress like other countrywomen and are as equal to men as other women. They are followers of Islam and read Quran as the holy book.
Incidentally, you do not see niqab in India, Indonesia and Malaysia. Muslim girls go to schools and work with men everywhere, including in the parliament and legislative assemblies. The only woman tennis player in India to rank internationally was a Muslim girl. Some of the journalists working in the media have Muslim names. Believe it or not, Pakistan has a women’s cricket team that does well internationally. All is not doom and gloom with Islam.
Friday, July 2, 2010
An Expensive Dinner
Ravi is a fortunate man. His needs are few and he wishes for nothing he does not have. He is a solitary person. He has good health for a seventy year old and a healthy pension. Yet, to keep his brain active he operates a one person business working alone for nine hours a day. Rest of the time he reads – literature, philosophy, politics, you name it. When Monica was away for three weeks, Ravi did not talk to any living, or dead for that matter, soul for three weeks. He was glad to see Monica at the airport but not because he was bored. Perhaps it was because it is a comfort to have the only person you care for in the world be near you to make sure she is appropriately cared for.
It is no wonder that his family members have a hard time finding gifts for him. Monica buys the replacement clothing to keep him reasonably well dressed. Others send him books which he stacks them in neat piles on the floor next to his bed, oldest on top. Being a courteous person that he is, he reads them in chronological order from cover to cover whether he likes them or not. A month before his last birthday Monica requested that he arranged the piles neatly on a bookshelf. While doing this he counted the unread books and determined that if he lived for another thirty years he could not read them all even if he had neurons and eyes left to read. After discussing this problem with Monica he informed all prospective gift-givers that he would be delighted if they would send a donation to their favourite worthy cause in lieu of a gift to him.
Ravi did not hear back from his siblings, son, nephews, nieces and grandchildren and this did not surprise him. Actually, he was a devotee of Marcus Aurelius and nothing surprised him. But the birthday of a spouse has to be celebrated in some style whether he wants to or not. Accordingly, Monica booked a table for four for dinner at an elegant restaurant which Ravi frequented in his good old days. She invited Marcello and Diana, a couple they were friendly with, to join them.
The plan was for Monica to pick up the guests around six on her way home from a meeting of some committee she chairs and have a sherry or two before going for dinner. It must have been around five thirty. Ravi had just come out of the shower and was drying himself when the phone rang. It was Jamie, his daughter-in-law from New Orleans. When Ravi asked how life was in New Orleans, Jamie told him that she could see from the window the black mush approach her private beach and let out a long barrage about the callousness and incompetence of oil companies. Ravi did not add fuel to the fire by telling her that his broker had invested most of their inheritance in B.P. expecting the gusher to double the stock price. Instead, he displayed his maturity by being duly sorry for her. She was perhaps running out of steam when Ravi heard his wife and guests coming in the housel. He had to cut the call short by telling her the evening plans. She asked what restaurant they were going to. Ravi had no reason to not tell her.
The sherry at home was good but the meal at the restaurant was better. They had another drink, scotch for men and rum and diet coke for the ladies, followed by soups or salads as starters and steaks or lamb for main course eased down with a few glasses of imported wines of the right hue. The dessert of cheese cake or pecan pie a la mode was followed by Irish coffee and vintage port. The conversation during the meal even outdid the cuisine. Ravi and Monica learnt all about the achievements of two sons and three daughters of their guests and they told them all about those of their son, his wife and their toddler twins. With so much information exchanged, a point of decision had arrived: who would foot the bill? Marcello, whose speech was slurred by now, said it was his deal. Ravi disputed stating with some authority that he had checked his diary before leaving home and it was his turn. The dispute was becoming somewhat heated and it was soon attracting the notice of other diners, much to the embarrassment of the wives. Suddenly the hush settled over their part of the dining room. Maitre’d was marching over to the table of two quarrelling men who both insisted on paying without caring how much it would be. He bowed to the men, as was his custom, and said, “Gentlemen, the bill and the service charge are looked after. A lady called from New Orleans with her credit card number which has been duly verified. I hope you had a pleasant evening in our establishment.” He smiled as he turned around and walked away. Ravi and Marcello looked at each other sheepishly for a moment, then joined Monica and Diane whose laughter was now going around the dining room.
Ravi is a fortunate man. His needs are few and he wishes for nothing he does not have. He is a solitary person. He has good health for a seventy year old and a healthy pension. Yet, to keep his brain active he operates a one person business working alone for nine hours a day. Rest of the time he reads – literature, philosophy, politics, you name it. When Monica was away for three weeks, Ravi did not talk to any living, or dead for that matter, soul for three weeks. He was glad to see Monica at the airport but not because he was bored. Perhaps it was because it is a comfort to have the only person you care for in the world be near you to make sure she is appropriately cared for.
It is no wonder that his family members have a hard time finding gifts for him. Monica buys the replacement clothing to keep him reasonably well dressed. Others send him books which he stacks them in neat piles on the floor next to his bed, oldest on top. Being a courteous person that he is, he reads them in chronological order from cover to cover whether he likes them or not. A month before his last birthday Monica requested that he arranged the piles neatly on a bookshelf. While doing this he counted the unread books and determined that if he lived for another thirty years he could not read them all even if he had neurons and eyes left to read. After discussing this problem with Monica he informed all prospective gift-givers that he would be delighted if they would send a donation to their favourite worthy cause in lieu of a gift to him.
Ravi did not hear back from his siblings, son, nephews, nieces and grandchildren and this did not surprise him. Actually, he was a devotee of Marcus Aurelius and nothing surprised him. But the birthday of a spouse has to be celebrated in some style whether he wants to or not. Accordingly, Monica booked a table for four for dinner at an elegant restaurant which Ravi frequented in his good old days. She invited Marcello and Diana, a couple they were friendly with, to join them.
The plan was for Monica to pick up the guests around six on her way home from a meeting of some committee she chairs and have a sherry or two before going for dinner. It must have been around five thirty. Ravi had just come out of the shower and was drying himself when the phone rang. It was Jamie, his daughter-in-law from New Orleans. When Ravi asked how life was in New Orleans, Jamie told him that she could see from the window the black mush approach her private beach and let out a long barrage about the callousness and incompetence of oil companies. Ravi did not add fuel to the fire by telling her that his broker had invested most of their inheritance in B.P. expecting the gusher to double the stock price. Instead, he displayed his maturity by being duly sorry for her. She was perhaps running out of steam when Ravi heard his wife and guests coming in the housel. He had to cut the call short by telling her the evening plans. She asked what restaurant they were going to. Ravi had no reason to not tell her.
The sherry at home was good but the meal at the restaurant was better. They had another drink, scotch for men and rum and diet coke for the ladies, followed by soups or salads as starters and steaks or lamb for main course eased down with a few glasses of imported wines of the right hue. The dessert of cheese cake or pecan pie a la mode was followed by Irish coffee and vintage port. The conversation during the meal even outdid the cuisine. Ravi and Monica learnt all about the achievements of two sons and three daughters of their guests and they told them all about those of their son, his wife and their toddler twins. With so much information exchanged, a point of decision had arrived: who would foot the bill? Marcello, whose speech was slurred by now, said it was his deal. Ravi disputed stating with some authority that he had checked his diary before leaving home and it was his turn. The dispute was becoming somewhat heated and it was soon attracting the notice of other diners, much to the embarrassment of the wives. Suddenly the hush settled over their part of the dining room. Maitre’d was marching over to the table of two quarrelling men who both insisted on paying without caring how much it would be. He bowed to the men, as was his custom, and said, “Gentlemen, the bill and the service charge are looked after. A lady called from New Orleans with her credit card number which has been duly verified. I hope you had a pleasant evening in our establishment.” He smiled as he turned around and walked away. Ravi and Marcello looked at each other sheepishly for a moment, then joined Monica and Diane whose laughter was now going around the dining room.
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