Enviroment vs Development

The Nano discussion carried on to some concerns about the environmental cost of development. Very interesting and so am including some of my views on the subject.

India, China, USA rank among the highest polluters of the world. But as long as we want to wear beautiful clothes (rather than clad in environmental friendly leaves), build a house with concrete (rather than wood and mud), drive a car (rather than a bullock cart), use a fridge (rather than just cooking everyday and throwing away the leftover)…..all these and many more, basically, take the convenience of modern living, we can’t stop the age old economic formula of demand and supply. We demand the modern priviledges and hence, there is a supply for it. Are we willing to give it up ? To regress back in time and live like the Amazonian tribes ? Guess not. Very few among us try to be environmentally friendly and even if we take steps to be so, they are too little, too late. I religiously recycle everything possible, but still feel that I sometimes don’t think twice before printing an email. How many of us will take the bus to work rather than drive in the comfort of the car ? Use of public transport is better for the environment, but we balk at the thought of it. Cycle to work is a good option, but how many of us do it ? I take the old fashioned cloth shopping bag for my weekly grocery shopping, but easily give in to the convenience of using the plastic bags on the days that I forget the shopping bag at home. Like me, so many of us are probably thinking about the environment, but doing just about little or nothing for it.

Are we, as a nation, willing to forgo being an economic superpower for the sake of a better environment ?
Are we, as individuals, willing to go back to nature, live a life off the field in a small village and forgo the luxuries of modern living for the sake of a better environment ?

If the answer to the second question is a no, then the answer to the first question is also a no.

Nano would not have come about if people did not want it. When we drive cars costing 2 lakhs or more, then will the person sweating it out on a hot summer sticky polluted road on a bike costing Rs 60,000, not want the comfort of a car at Rs 1 lakh or so ? Is it fair that he be denied the comfort that is now the privilege of the middle classes alone ? The man walking on the road, dreams of owing a cycle. The man on the cycle, dreams of a scooter. The man on the scooter, dreams of a car and the man on the car, dreams of a better car. The aspirations go on and that is normal in all humans. Its part of evolution.

What perhaps is needed is pragmatic, sustainable and environmentally responsible solutions to fulfilling such aspirations. Maybe a Nano that runs on renewable energy sources rather than crude oil is a solution ?

Nana Nano to Haha Nano

Bits and pieces of a discussion around Nano - Singur crisis that I had with a friend. Will elaborate in a separate post, but just to share it as a prelude....

The Nano debate is an interesting one for me. I was a part of Tata once (Telco, Jsr) and have seen first hand how much the people surrounding Jsr and Ranchi (Tata Steel) mines have benefited from having such plants in their vicinity. Labour welfare in Tata companies are very,very good – trust me. I am a bit biased towards Tatas, since I have seen all the privileges that the workers enjoyed . Had it been any other industrial group, I would have probably been able to be more objective. But having experienced first hand the benefits of being part of the Tata group and the ethos of that Industrial house, I am a bit reluctant to dismiss it off as plain corporate greed.
On one hand, we have farmers who are committing suicide owing to utter poverty, but on the other hand, if they are provided with an opportunity to work for an industrial house, they are assured of a better livelihood, good medical benefits, etc. Compare the life of a Telco Jsr worker with the poverty stricken farmer on the verge of committing suicide – which one is better ?
Secondly, I am by nature, extremely suspicious of politicians – in any shape, form, size, sex, hue, etc. Mamata supporting the Singur farmers is nothing more than rousing a rabble to gain some political ground away from CPM. Also, there is an issue of monetary compensation. How much ‘cut’ can the unavoidable Trinamool dalal manage from the Tata’s compensation to the farmers ? There is very little genuine concern for the farmers, let me assure you. Even if one among them sees some sense in his son training in industrial skills and getting a job in the Nano plant, the Trinamool workers will suppress his voice and mutate it so that only Didi’s voice is heard and Didi of course speaks for the farmers , whom the ground workers have silenced conveniently.
I will have to write a post, will do. Its just that I’m not finding the time to gather my thoughts and present an objective point of view, but hope to do it soon. I’m always suspicious of NGO workers and ‘activists’ like Ms Arundhati Roy and her fellow tribes, or politicians (as mentioned before) who scream for the rights of the downtrodden and then go back to the comforts of the ivory towers, far,far away from the languishing broken down cottages of the newly widowed wife of the farmer who’s struggling to feed the hungry mouths of her children.

Vijay

Britain is celebrating its best Olympic results in a century and for a nation of just 60 million people, its 3rd in the medal tally, just after the mighty China and USA. As the medals continue to pour in raising the sporting spirit of this nation, there is a sense of excitement rippling through the air. The papers scream out the medal success and the BBC is covering the events with impressive graphics and statistics. Somehow, numbers always seem more fun when put in the context of statistics. And while the triumph of Team GB is being celebrated with typical British restrain, there is the odd momentary lapse in the self control when they gleefully point out that the Aussies are lower down in the medal tally. London 2012.The arena for greater sporting glory for Team GB and ..India.
While the British Olympians cannot be denied their moment of glory, it must also be pointed out to outstanding facilities and infrastructure that’s available to not just promising athletes, but also each and every citizen in the UK. There is a system to nurture sporting talent at grassroots level and therefore , such sterling results are the logical conclusion. But the triumph of Sushil Kumar and Vijendra Singh, not forgetting Rajyavardhan Singh Rathore and Abhinav Bindra, are different. While the teams of USA, China, Britain (among others) had the infrastructure, training programmes, equipments,etc, our Indian sportsmen had nothing but hope ; hope that stems from true Deewar style and you can almost hear our guys growl out like Vijay(Amitabh Bachchan) , ‘ Humare pass Ma hain’. They trained, struggled and worked hard, learning to fight not just the opponents, but also the system. Theirs was a lonely campaign for glory and their success was scripted by the unflinching support from families, coach or random benefactors. The success of our Indian Olympians is the triumph of the human spirit, in the true tradition of the Olympics.
India is on the threshold of becoming an economic superpower, competing to face the might of USA and China. And the day has come when we are testing the sporting waters and starting to write success stories in the small towns and villages of the country. Is this the start of a new revolution? I certainly hope so. We have it in us to make it big – so, why not ?
For now, let us enjoy the fruits of success and shower our praise on those among us who made us proud. Abhinav Bindra must surely be happy with the free lifetime airconditioned train pass rewarded to him…..

At last, an Olympic triumph for India

At long last, something that we all have been waiting for so long – Abhinav Bindra brings home the first ever individual Olympic Gold medal for India. Its been a very long wait indeed, but finally, we have managed to grab the elusive gold medal in the Games which is unique in its rich history and ethos, where recognition of being the best in one’s individual discipline is the reward, rather than the size of the prize money. Well done, Abhinav Bindra !!

The Olympics have a special place among all sporting events of the world, overcoming time and history, to carry on a tradition that celebrates the triumph of the human spirit. What started off in one of the world’s greatest civilizations, Greece, eluded another equally great civilization,India, for so long. Yes, we did win the gold in Hockey for a few years, but never in history did we win an individual Gold. We came close, but never quite have the golden finish.

Ironically, this was the first ever Olympics when India did not qualify for Hockey, a game where we were gold medalist, but which is now fast losing its grip on the nation’s sporting interest. Needless to say, cricket is a national obsession and while it captures the attention of the entire spectrum of Indian society, there were these individuals who were determined to go off the beaten track and take a shot at some other sports. As the spaghetti top clad Mandira Bedi tutored the layman on events in/off and around the cricket field and ex-cricketers addressed the purist viewers at the other end of the spectrum, cricketers themselves became demi gods with temples sprouting up in nooks and corners of the country hosting a few demented minds with fertile imagination. Money rolled in and surely as the bees followed honey, cricket attracted the politicians and business men and we had people like Sharad Pawar or Jagmon Dalmiya at the helm of affairs, all wanting to have a bite of the money pie. And yet, there were a few individuals who defied the popular hype and carved their own path. Tennis – Leander Paes, Mahesh Bhupathi, Sania Mirza. Badminton – Prakash Padukone, Golf – Jeev Milka Sing. Athletics – Milka Singh. Just to name a few. And Rajyvardhan Singh Rathore proved in Athens’04 that we can make it to the podium in the Olympics as well. Abhinav Bindra followed this and went a step further to claim the Gold medal. The tiranga flew proudly and the strains of Jana Gana Mana rippled as the whole of India sat up to take notice of this young man who was never heard of before.

China proved to the western world that the silk route will definitely be a major highway for economic activities in the years to come. It announced its arrival as a major super-power, especially to the western world who hold a patronizing view of the east as remnants of a colonial past. Tibet was on everybody’s mind, except perhaps Larky Sarky ( the French President, who wanted to be away from the hassles of Presidential duties at the opening ceremony and be with his wife in a Med beach), yet the political stances bowed down to commerce and everybody was in attendance as the Games opened in Beijing. India too is on her way to claim the rightful place in history and what better way to knock on destiny’s door than winning a gold at this historical event ? For long have we suffered the humiliation of being one of the most populous country of the world, but not winning a single individual medal.

But will this win actually encourage youngsters to develop interest in non-cricketing sports ? Will other sports even survive the onslaught of cricket in the domain of public interest ? Will we, as a nation of cricket lovers, merely look at this win as an interruption from normal cricket frenzy ? An interesting piece of news in Mid-day indicates how deep the cricket malaise is.Read more. The fact the BCCI has applauded Abhinav Bindra is as relevant as Mimoh mentioning that he wanted to be a NASA scientist before deciding to follow in his father’s dancing footsteps Read here..

Abhinav Bindra proved the triumph of an individual and we, as individuals, should also encourage, motivate and develop interests in other sports. Only then, can we hope for better medal tally at events like the Olympics and celebrate the success of our nation at such events.
Maybe then, the world too will also recognize us as a nation bound together by a sense of national pride and our President and Prime Minister are invited to attend the opening ceremony and not Mrs. Sonia Gandhi as this time in Beijing. She does not represent our nation. The President or the Prime Minister does. Surprised - read here, http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/Opinion/Editorial/LEADER_ARTICLE_Sending_A_Wrong_Signal/articleshow/3349289.cms

HCI, London - my tryst with Babudom

A necessary interruption to daily existence is the requirement of certain bureaucratic intervention in essential matters like birth, death, tax, travel, among others and I too found myself compelled to visit the great Indian Babudom; despite being far away from India. I had to visit the High Commission of India, London.
India House is a beautiful building in the fashionable West End of London and I reached there, innocently unaware of the experience that awaited me. Since there was no visible entrance , and making the right presumption that the awe inspiring front entrance was not for the likes of me, I looked around and my suspicions of a general preference for Backdoor Entry being the normal route to all entries, from temple to the medical school, were proved right when I spotted a little side door. As I tried to ascertain that I was not rushing into anybody’s basement flat, a voice beckoned me from behind ‘Hello-madam-hello’ transporting me immediately to the familiarity of the great Indian Chowkidaars who are the gatekeepers to not just the Indian Officialdom, but our fate and fortune at the hands the members of this esteemed tribe. I was transported to the world where the rules of existence were different. A world , where you were treated with respect or disdain in equal measure, directly proportional to the proximity that you can demonstrate to the tribal chiefs, otherwise the biggies of babudom.
Having re-acquainted myself with this world once again, right in the heart of London, I was initially a bit numb by a sense of deja-vu, till the authorative voice of the doorman asked me to cross a wooden frame, supposedly a security check. I was reminiscing the several wooden frames that I have crossed back home, proving that I was no security threat and often wondered the effectiveness of passing by uninterested pan chewing female guards, cruelly clad in khaki trousers displaying the abundance of flat in all the wrong areas, in case any bombs crossed the barrier. Just as I was unconsciously falling prey to such misgivings, I tripped in the threads of a carpet and launched myself into a great big hall.
The centerstage of all activities.
There were big wooden paneled boxes that were last seen in Hollywood movies of the 30s but instead of some cigar chewing sheriffs behind the counters, there was nobody in those cubicles of power – the individual little fiefdoms of those lower down the babu hierarchy. It was an extended lunch time. One of the many waiting in the halls decided to inform having guessed from my looks that I was still getting accustomed to the whole experience of being in India, but still not yet there. The walls of the halls had a series of posters with glimpses of India, if you can separate the dust from the Technicolor images which I recognized immediately from the re-prints I have seen everywhere where the Babu decorator was allowed to leave his trademark – from the walls of the Airports, to the Rajdhanis to the Tourism board offices. Anticipating a long wait, I gingerly made way to some multicolored plastic chairs that were lined thoughtfully for the sake of all visitors, but just as someone got up from her seat, the person on the other end nearly fell off in a see-saw effect. Balance. Like everything in life, we in India, have a strong sense of balance, be it reality shows vs the K serials or the mere plastic chairs which were welded together in sets of 3 and would remain steady only through balanced distribution of weight it supported.
We were given numbers, as in Macdonald’s, but there were no electronic displays of token numbers and so there was a crowd in front of the paneled window where we had to await our turn, which finally arrived for me. As I made my way and was awaiting the completion of necessary procedures, I noticed something not commonly in London, if you discount the graffitis. Scribbles. Those that proclaimed ‘Jitu was here, 08/08/07’, ‘Sitha I love you’, ‘Raj + Lina’,etc. Something that I have seen everywhere and often wondered if it was an intrinsic act programmed in all Indians, the urge to leave our mark on time, albeit in reverse-literally sense. The urge to demonstrate our love for someone or just state simply that so-and-so was there. Is it the same urge that drives Mayawati to order statues of her in all nooks and corner of Uttar Pradesh (for now and rest of India, if ever such a day came) ? Is it the same urge that makes any politician worth his name lay down the foundation stone of buildings that never come up, but the stones remain as mute bearers of the names of those who had the power to lay them in marble ? Maybe.
As I was wondering all these, I was presented with yet another integral object of the Babudom – the files. Yes. Proper environment friendly, recyclable paper files with little bits of strings that hold the papers together. Something that is not easily seen in this part of the world,but which is an object that holds the key to all things in Babudom. How often had I heard tales of the rates of bribe that is needed to make the file move from one desk to another ? How often I have marveled at the power behind these seemingly innocent pieces of paper wherein lies great powers that determine the case history of every incident that was reported in Babudom ? I was glad that such files were still in existence and that they made their way across the seven seas to the banks of the Thames.
But as soon as my work was done, the lady serving me gave me a broad smile and I thanked her. Not just being overwhelmed by the experience of being in India, but not yet there, but also for the genuine way in which we greet each other back home. Unlike the crisp, uniformed and unfeeling way in which you are asked ‘Hi, how are you’ by the person serving you in any bank or any other place in the West, we Indians smile genuinely and greet each other from the bottom of our heart. Swept away with such warmth, I walked away from the HCI, London bidding a bye to the surprised safari-suit clad doorman, back to the hustle bustle of an ordinary London life.

Terrorising India – 25 blast in 2 days.

“After a weekend of serial blasts in Ahmedabad and Bangalore, cities across the country are edgy – schools are shut in Surat, cinema halls barred from screening late night films in Bhopal and Indore and Kerala are reviewing the security situation.” Read more

Every terror attack is followed by some public outrage, which slowly fade away as other more interesting news stories fill our mindspace. There is a general tendency among us to develop amnesia for such events soon after the initial reaction, we all do a bit of spot checking
1. Which city has been bombed?
2. Have any loved ones been affected ?

Our reactions are defined based on the answer to the above. This is perhaps expected among people who are exposed to such events, sadly, on a fairly regular basis. Psychologists can probably explain this better and I will not make any claims to understand this, but all I wonder is whether we have become immune to such events resulting in greater public apathy towards such acts of crime.
Having grown up in Assam at the peak of ‘agitation’ in the late 70’s and early 80’s there are some experiences that clearly stay in my mind. One morning, the newspaper headline screamed ‘1 dead in firing attacks’ and we all reacted with a sense of shock and disgust. Protest march filled the streets. The dead, Khargeshwar Talukdar , was declared a ‘shahid’(martyr) and his photo nudged into the space next to Mahatma Gandhi’s in the walls of those who are inclined to such public displays. Slowly the count increased and there was a general sense foreboding every time the newspapers were delivered in the morning. Slowly as such killings took place on a fairly regular basis, we got into the mode of doing the same spotchecks described above (1&2).
In the days of yore; before sms-es, mobile phones or internet - newspaper reports, radio or telephone became the means to keep up-to-date with what was happening when the whole of Assam was reeling with unrest. Schools closed ( I remember that we were promoted to the higher class without having to take exams one year, yippee), curfews, bandhs, satyagraha, protest march, teargas, lathi charge- all these slowly became part of the daily parlance and unless something happened in the near vicinity, we carried on with maintaining some semblance of daily routine.
Then one fine day, Nellie happened. That woke us from the state of immunity that the familiarity of events had condemned public conscious to, and a collective sense of horror took place. The horrifying picture of the dead children was plastered in world media. Suddenly the attention was focussed on Assam, a land hitherto more famous for an innocent cuppa tea. Before Nellie, nobody noticed the little storm that was brewing in the teacup and precipitated to such horrifying events. Post Nellie, the toll of dead creeped from units to tens, and tens to hundreds. What was unimaginable at one time, became acceptable as the passage of time and repetitiveness of events numbed our senses and the figures were reduced to mere statistics. Spotchecks 1 and 2 were the only thing that we did when faced with yet another bombing, yet another firing.
And that is what we are doing even today. Spotchecks. If the blasts have not affected any of our near or dear ones, then we move on with life as usual. Maybe the fact that this time 2 cities were targeted in a space of 2 days, the public amnesia has not taken place, but how long is it before we discuss ‘if India should play only Twenty20 and no more test cricket’ or ‘How Unforgetable has Amitabh Bachchan’s latest tour been’ or ‘has Rakhi Sawant provided any fun to Nana Patekar in the snake-ily titled Horn Ok Pleassss ‘(the numerologist who titled this is either poor at maths or was bitten by a snake ).
Why do we, the Indian public, not have any sustained public pressure on the politicians or powers-that-be to act against such acts of terror as urgently as possible ? We have seen the power of public uprising in the Jessica Lal Murder or the Nitin Katara Murder cases. We have seen the sense of public outcry in the Rizwan and the Arushi case. Why do we not express a similar outcry against terror attacks?
The political reaction will also adopt the standard lines – Government blame opposition and vice versa. Very soon they will all get back to gleefully sharing the loot over the N Deal trust vote, worried more about the bank deposits in the horse trading and negotiating over the issue of cabinet portfolios. Issues like reservations garner greater mileage for the elections and therefore they are more likely to be kept burning in the political cauldron for longer. But the fight against terror, collectively as a nation, sadly does not find any takers. Is it the lack of a political will or a simple act of omission and commission, a political hogwash?
Time will tell, but we probably have a good idea of which way the political will swings and why. And maybe that also leads us, the Indian public, to do the spotchecks and stop at that….Sad.

We were there first !

Long, long after the magical or mysterious conception of many of our Indian mythological kings and Gods, the science of artificial insemination finally reached the Western world and a mere 30 years ago from today, the first recorded test tube baby was born. Louise Brown , born on 25th of July 1978. But we were there first.

When our grandmothers narrated the stories of Ramayana and Mahabharata to us, I was too young to wonder how one woman can bear a 100 sons or how a human can mother a monkey. Such details were left unexplained by the elders and unexplored by our young minds since the fact that Hanuman can grow himself to any size he wants was more fascinating than how he was born.

But just as we were growing up and the birds and bees started pecking into areas of the brain cells having direct anatomical connections, arrived Ramanand Sagar with Ramayana and Mahabharata on TV. Just as we were starting to discover certain mysteries regarding pro-creation of life, Rama and Sita arrived directly on the television screens of our home. Suddenly, Hanuman’s expanding form or Kumbhakaran’s ability to sleep was not as exciting as the love between Ram and Sita or the Raas Leelas of Krishna. The details censored by our grandmothers were now being exposed to us in a way any viewer of Indian cinema could understand. By then , we knew that a girl puking would mean that she is pregnant which was a good thing or bad, depending on her marital status. Yes, I’m still to figure out how a doctor can confirm pregnancy by just feeling the nerves of the wrist, but who knows maybe its some bit of knowledge hidden in the shastras and passed on only to Medical students in India ? Back to the point, when the screen focussed on two flowers moving shakily towards each other, we knew that the next scene would show Ayodha erupting with joy at the birth of a new baby (somehow the image of Sita puking is ungodly and unsavoury, so that bit was not shown - after all, morning sickness is for us lesser mortals).
But what we failed to fathom, and thereby marvel at, were the other kinds of bizarre conception. Some examples :
1. Lord Rama, Lakshmana, Bharata and Shatrughna were born to the three wives of King Dasharath after they consumed ‘pudding’.
2.Anjana, Hanuman’s mother was offered some of the ‘pudding’ by Pawan, the Hindu deity of wind, and gave birth to Pawan Putra Hanuman.
3.Pandu, the father of the Pandavas , was cursed not to have children and both his wives, Kunti and Madri, gave birth to the 5 pandavas after ‘boons’ from different Gods.
Amar Chitra Katha comics usually depicted these intriguing scenes with a lady bowing her head deferentially to receive the blessing from the Gods who were giving them the ‘prasad’ (holy food). But the television screens glared and intrigued us with the hidden meaning behind the look in the eyes of the heroine. Reading a comic was often done in isolation, but watching the TV was a collective experience and the silence and uncomfortable coughs of the elders during such scenes were enough to convince us that there was more to it then meets the eyes.
Time makes us all wiser and as new vistas of knowledge were opened to me, I realised that these were probably cases of artificial insemination. They were all test tube babies, much, much before Louise Brown and was a testimony to the powerful science hidden in the shastras written eons ago.
Harman Baweja could not show it in Love Story 2050, but a day may come when scientists find a way for people to expand to any size they want (and conversely shrink to any size they want – such a welcome thought for the likes of me), but we already had Hanumanji doing it ages ago. Cloning may have just taken off in the west, but cross species transplant ? Hah, it’s a long way off, I am sure, but we already have Ganeshji. If and when cross species transplant happens, I may not be around, but definitely some other Indian like me will say, We were there first…!

Ten things I can do in India but not in London

Everyday, as I trudge along life in London, I am often assailed by stranded memories of life in India, life as I knew while growing up and for much of a greater part of my adult life - so far. Catching me unawares, these memories transcend space and time and whizz me suddenly to the familiar sounds, smell and experiences of India. Little things, but powerful in terms of the memories it evokes. Things which bring out the experience of living in different regions, things that remind me of all that I could do in India, but not in London, ten of which I will share below.

1. In India, I can make use of my road sense in driving along the lanes, byelanes, highways and expressways, in a way that allows the varied pace of traffic to keep flowing - smooth or staggered, but somehow we manage to reach our destined destination (the interim or the final). In London, where every movement is guided by the ‘Highway Code’, I have to switch off my instincts and recall the rigorous training underwent in numerous driving lessons, to make even a simple turn. At the roundabouts, I can’t help being amazed at how people queue up along one lane while the next lane is nearly empty just because the Highway Code dictated what lane should be taken if we have to go in a certain direction further along. An honest confession – sometimes I don’t recall the Highway Code too well; my instincts take over in an bid to make maximum use of resources !
2. In India I can expect the unexpected, hope for the hopeless while in London, structure and routine govern my daily existence. Loadshedding or power outage in the middle of the night – no problem, jugar ho jayega ( it will be managed). In the west, should there ever be a power outage, counseling centers will be set up to enable people to handle such a crisis !
3. In India, I can turn up at my friends/relatives/distant acquaintances/complete stranger’s house unannounced . Eons ago as a kid, guests turning up unannounced provided welcome relief from tedious time at the study table. Here, I have to book appointments weeks ahead; even for a ‘blink-and-you-miss’ visit.
4. In India, I can expect the high and mighty to be esconsed and transported in the safety of their rarefied zones, far from the teeming masses of lesser humanity – in motorcades and flashy cars that will stop for no red light or traffic police, zooming them to their destination at speeds of travel only surpassed by light. In London, David Cameron ( counterpart of L K Advani, our PM-in-waiting pre Nuclear deal) just had his bike stolen.
5. In India, I can haggle. I can counter any price with absurd offers and negotiate with all the skills of a City banker with any vendor – from the vegetable-wala to the builder. Buying something was not just a case of exchanging plastic money, but it was an exercise in eloquence, coaxing, hard negotiating skills and financial acumen. At the end of every transaction, the buyer felt like a winner. It’s a different matter that this feeling of well being lasted till the promised value of the goods purchased dissipated rapidly, but nothing deters us and we bargain again and again. In the west, I wait for the ‘Sales’.
6. In India, I can follow my heart and make claims without any need for material or scientific evidence. I think, therefore I know. If I think that the Taj Mahal was a Shiv Mandir, then so be it. Freedom of not just thought, but of expression. In London, if I claim to have come back from the dead, then I have to prove it – case in point – the Canoe Man.
7. In India, if I ever get the promised share of millions from the offices of a Nigerian banker wanting to transfer some of the moolah, I can flaunt my prestige saloons and travel in chauffeured luxury. In the west, people stash away the Bentleys and the Rolls Royces in their garage and ride around in bikes, ostensibly to reduce the carbon footprint (does not matter that hordes fly out on long haul holiday flights and burn more fuel than can be justifiably explained in Green terms !).
8. In India, I can write my name as KKKKKiran and still be considered sane enough to sign my Will or any other legal documents. In London, people will think I am mad. Simple.
9. In India, if I call customer services, chances are that Vivek Sharma will visit me to fix the problem personally. In London, I will be speaking on the phone to Jack-with-an- American accent and who is actually Vivek Sharma and who goes through a script for carrying out a conversation and asks me about the weather when all I want to do is make a quick payment.
10. In India, I can feel a sense of belonging, a sense of history seeping into my blood the moment my feet first touches the ground after landing from distant shores. Yes, there are moments when the context of belonging shifted from India, to the state, to the city, to a particular part of the city and finally within the four walls of the house (and I can toss over the garbage across the vacant plot next door), but inspite of this, when we hear the strains of Jana Gana Mana, we are binded to our nation ; a nation born at the midnight hour because of a tryst that we made with destiny. In London, I will always be asked where do I belong. Rightly so, for it is to India that I belong....

Thus they spoke !

Finally the deal is through. The ayes have won over the naes, money exchanged hands, deals were stuck and the brokers and middle-man had a field day stage managing the whole drama around the Trust vote. For a few days, the TV screens screamed about all the activities in Delhi with the same single minded devotion they displayed during the Abhi-Ash wedding. While bade bhaiyya Amitabh Bachchan is celebrating the success of the ongoing Unforgettable tour, chote bhaiyya Amar Singh is also celebrating the success of all the wheeling-dealing around the unforgettable Trust vote.

Not too many MPs understood what the deal was about in the first place. It was just an opportunity to rake some moolah, strike some deals and making hay while the sun shines. But one of the customary acts surrounding the ‘debate’ was that the MPs had to make speeches and justify their adopted stand.

And what speeches they made ! Summarising some of the highlights below…

PM MM Singh, the king - Manmohan Singh has finally come out of the shadow of Mrs Sonia Gandhi. Departing from his usual image of a demure and soft – spoken high brow intellectual, he lashed out at Mr L K Advani for his many unsavoury remarks of the past. I cannot help but conjure up the image of PM MM Singh the king, drinking copius
amount of the magic potion that is the secret of strength for Asterix in the Gaul village before he went onto make that speech defending the Nuclear Treaty and counter assaulting L K Advani for mocking him as a ‘Nikkamma PM’. Like Akshaye Kumar in Khiladi no 3 ( a sneak peek shown in OSO), Singh fired the bullets at the Opposition, who took cover from the onslaught with wads of notes that were allegedly offered to them as horse-trading.
Post speech image – Singh is King smses going around Punjab. PM MM is the new Congress Election mascot ( I can already hear the melodious strains of Mann Mohana from Jodha Akbar, coming out of 10, Janpath).

Rahul Baba - Maybe Rahul baba also had some remaining drops of the magic potion before he made the emotive speech about bringing power to Sasikala’s house and thereby, hopefully to most of rural India. No more loadshedding, rural India will finally see the light of the day. Wipee. Point to note – he clarified that he spoke as an Indian, thus rubbishing the claim that some people make about Italian origins.
Post speech image - Rahul baba emerged the charmer, as evidenced how he herded some of the black sheep back into the party fold before the crucial vote.

Omar Abdullah – This man did not need any magic potion. He delivered a speech that managed to rise above the din of the House and snatched attention from even those rebels who were busy calculating the number of zeros in a crore. He thundered at the Opposition benches and ridiculed the notion that the deal is anti muslim “Why must I as an Indian and as a Muslim be afraid of this deal? The enemies of Muslims, like the enemies of all Indians, are poverty, hunger and lack of voice. That is the fight to wage.”
Well said, my friend. Hope that these sentiments expressed in Delhi hold true in Srinagar as well. Post speech image – same as before. Among the new breed of young leaders who inherited the role and is now fitting into it.

Laloo Prasad Yadav – By far, the best speech of the day. He brought in some much needed comic relief and borrowed gem of lines from Hindi movies to declare his love for the Congress and admonishment for the Left.
He declared his love for the Congress with the words from a Hindi movie song,
"Char saal pehle humey tumsey pyaar tha, aaj bhi hai aur kal bhi rahega (we were in love four years ago, and so we will be today and tomorrow),"
He warned the Left who went in search of new allies ,
"Tum humko na chahogey toh koi baat nahin. Lekin tum kisi aur ko chahogey toh mushkil hogi."
He questioned the BJP who interjected and ridiculed Rahul baba’s speech which had references to Kalavati and Sashikala,


Post speech image – The persona of a buffoon, representing Lakshman’s common man in the Indian public life, he commands and gets attention anytime he speaks. Don’t be mistaken; he has a very sharp political brain.

A special mention for Somnath Chatterjee, the Speaker, who refused to bow down to the partisan demands of the Gen Secretary and emerged as a true Parliamentarian, reminding us all of what being a people’s representative is all about. Kudos Dada, you are my hero.

Whether, as Lalooji mentioned, ‘Rakshas’ (demons) where defeated at the ‘gou-bela’(dusk, when the cows are herded back from the grazing fields) , only time will tell, but 22nd July 2008 will be remembered as the day when our Dr. Manmohan Singh emerged as India’s Prime Minister in the true sense of the term and a day when all the elements of a Hindi masala movie was being enacted in the Parliament House.

Electrifying the dribblers

An appeal to Lalooji – please sir, after voting in the Nuclear deal, generate more power and electrify all the train tracks in the country. Then all those who use the lines as public urinals will meet the same fate as this man here -
Read this !