December 5, 2007

Apologies to Vizzy, Vijay Merchant et al

I have been an inveterate cricket aficionado since the mid-fifties. The irony is that I have almost never played cricket. When I am quizzed about my 'records' in the game, I can only inform that : "While batting, my maximum score has been 6 and I never faced more than two balls. It can be easily deduced that either I have hit a six on the first ball or have been out. I have certainly been out on the second ball if not the first. "
Should I tell about my bowling, fielding, umpiring, score keeping etc. Even I am myself sick of listening to myself on these misadventures.

My love for cricket was kindled by two unconnected events. One was that I failed to win a scholarship in the 4th standard; I later learnt that my failure was not entirely due to academic deficiency. No regrets.
अब न दोहरा फसान्हा-ए-अलम ----------
My love for Cricket was perhaps a reaction to my new found disenchantment with academics.
The second reason was a comment that ' Cricket was not a game for the un-classy, un-wealthy, unsophisticated, uncultured proletariat". The comment has stuck with me. Who made the comment or whether the comment maker himself met the minimum criteria set by himself is not relevant . This should have goaded me into becoming a Vinoo Mankad or Lala Amarnath etc. but that was not to be. Instead I became an avid cricket fan whose love was restricted to listening to the live commentary. Those were days of Vizzy, the Maharajkumar of VijayNagram and Vijay Merchant et al. The commentary used to be only in English. The 'LIVE' commentary generally gave detailed account of the commentators' own flings / flirtations with cricket in obscure English County cricket or something else which I never understood and therefore I do not remember.

The net result was that I had to struggle hard to find out what the score was at any given time- sometimes it was difficult to know as to which team was batting and which one was fielding etc. etc. You needed tons and tons of patience to retrieve any information about the current status of the game. I was certainly not alone in cursing the likes of Vizzy and Vijay Merchant.


Now fast forward to modern times. The cricket matches are being telecast live on the Television. For some time, it was a joy watching the matches live and it was better to be sitting opposite the TV than being in the stadium. The commentators, generally knowledgeable past cricketers would apprise the viewers of the nuances of the game. But the live telecast these days is a pain. You get to watch less cricket and more of those silly ads. The program editor or who ever bloke is in-charge of poking in with the advertisement, is a sadist who makes sure that we do not get any joy in watching cricket. He declares 'Over' before the umpire does it. He 'begins' the next over after ball has travelled half way down the pitch. For him the 'over' generally consists of 4 1/2 to 5 balls. I have been contemplating referring this to 'Weights & Measures Department'. You are not allowed to savour the joy of historical moments like Tendulkar reaching 15000 runs or India defeating Pakistan in T20 World Cup. These moments are mercilessly jerked out of your view and you are left banging the table or sofa etc. etc.

While helplessly watching this 'Ads telecast interspersed with Cricket', I repeatedly get reminded of this joke:
" There was this pathological sadist, call him ' Mr. X', who derived untold pleasure out of the embarrassment he caused to the people. He would severe the limbs of animals like cats and dogs and throw the limbs into peoples' houses. He would do it cleverly without leaving a trace. Though, it was public knowledge that Mr. X was the culprit, he could not be punished for want of proof. The only thing the aggrieved helpless people could and would do was to curse him. This continued for a very long time and became part of the routine. Finally, a day came when Mr. X knew that his innings were about to end. He was suddenly filled with remorse and felt the desire to atone. He summoned his son 'Mr. Y' and implored him thus " Son, All my life I have incurred the wrath of the public who cursed me no end. After I am gone, please do some such thing as makes people say something good about me". The son reassured his father and urged him to 'Rest in Peace- with no burden on his soul'. Mr X breathed his last. And the people began preparing to breathe easy. After a gap of exactly one day, they were aghast to find limbs of dead humans being thrown in their houses. They immediately knew that it was the handiwork of Mr. Y the son of Mr. X. They were again helpless. And they found themselves saying
" इस से तो इसका बाप अच्छा था"
Thousand apologies to Vizzy and company.

November 1, 2007

The Language has become 'Pointless'

The last decade has seen a proliferation of commercial TV channels in India. In its wake, a lot many things have happened. A large variety of programs are being aired. Till some time ago, a number of soap operas involving family feuds, social intrigues, love triangles, quadrangles etc. were a craze.There were a number of quiz shows, a large number of Antakshri shows etc. etc. The trouble has been that a mild success of any one type of program results in the spawning of similar programs in all other channels. Consequently, we have innumerable talk shows, reality shows, singing talent search contests, dancing talent contests etc. etc. Most of these programmes are 'thoughless' clones of some 'unrecognizable' foreign programmes. We have a number of 'News' channels and 'Sports' channels. A sizable number of channels dedicated to religion and spirituality are in the business ( of making fast bucks). Every channel has one or more yoga instruction session(s). Of course, the most ridiculous of all, is the abundance of programs on daily fortune telling.

The list is very l o n g.

While a number of people of all shades and hues have been able to find ( undeserving) employment, a host of side effects have shown up. Of these, the most blatant is the deterioration in the language that is employed. Though a number of channels are supposed to be Hindi-based, the language used on these channels is certainly not Hindi. It is not even good old Hindustani. It is not the in-fashion Bombaiya too.

To me, the language being employed is, at best, a strange cocktail of Hindi, Urdu, English and Bombaiya and some extra-terrestial tongue. The grammar has been done away with. Genders are being changed mindlessly. For instance, if a program host / anchor refers to India as "she" in one sentence, the same person in the very next sentence calls it "He". Every moment a new method / technique is invented to murder the language ( Hindi, English etc.) . I am totally pissed off by some things. The following is only an illustration

1. Head lines are plain crazy or idiotic. Take this as an example

"Nahin Zamanat Milegi Sunjay Dutt ko". I fail to understand the syntax. A lot of racking of my small brain has resulted in a conjecture that the headlines are first composed in English( "No bail for Sanjay Dutt") and then translated verbatim to the cocktailish language hypothesized earlier.

Take another one "Mobile ab ban gaya Rupaiya". You can not ( I could not) make out as to which has become what. Subject and object are entirely interchangeable. Transevite???

I shudder to think what further deterioration is in store.

२. The adjectives are used as nouns and vice-versa. Every channel considers it fashionable to use 'Chashmdeed' चश्मदीद (Eye-witnessing) and 'masoom' मासूम ( Innocent) as nouns.
Then, other words are invented, albeit thoughtlessly. The most irritating being 'Sattoria' ( bookie). The etymology of this single word could be the subject for a Ph.D thesis!!!!!!!!!!( No joke)

3. Another thing, which causes heartburn is the way the simple Hindustani / Urdu-origin words are pronounced.
Fee sadi ( percent) invariably pronounced as Fees di ( paid the fees) tops the charts.
Some other words are used wrongly by even the elite ( boasting knowledge of Urdu)

Khilafat (opposition / resistance / dissension) in place of Mukhalfat
Andaz ( style) in place of Andaaza ( Estimate)- Anumaan would be better
Khulasa ( Summary, precis) for expose' and ironically sometimes to mean details

The list is endless as usual

But wait my agony finds no end: Look at the following
जिंदगी ( Zindagi ) becomes जिंदगी ( Jindagi)
ज़मीन ( Zameen ) becomes जमीन ( Jameen)
तेज़ ( tez) becomes तेज (Tej) and vice versa
ग़ज़ल (ghazal) becomes गजल (gajal )
फ़ना becomes फना
खाना becomes खाना
( The first one means house / dwelling / abode and the other stands for FOOD)
The singular "Hai" है is used in place of plural "Hain" हैं. This misuse / abuse is not restricted to speech alone, it is endemic and has found its way into writing too. Even in film titles this grave error is regularly committed with impunity. 'Kitne Cool Hai Hum' is one example.

I have illustrated the 'POINT' enough. Observe carefully. It is the dot ( POINT) which goes missing from under ( subscript) or from over ( Superscript) a letter. The point is the 'Beauty spot'; the present day language has lost its beauty because "It has become POINTLESS".

Q.E.D

October 5, 2007

My Autobiography : The Big Deal?

Some time back I found myself often going down the memory lane. I diagnosed it to be the result of the realization dawning on me that in the near future, I would be retiriring from active service. I observed that I had started auditing my life from the beginning. This audit process was not systematic; various people and incidents started coming in random streams of images and getting projected on my mind’s screen. I would often involuntarily go into a trance where I would witness this flashback.

I tried very hard shutting my mind to these reveries. In fact, for quite some time back, I have made one of my guiding principles, the following couplet of Faiz Ahmed Faiz, the noted Urdu poet

अब न दोहरा फसान्हा ए अलम
अपनी क़िस्मत पे सोगवार न हो
फ़िक्र-ए-फ़र्दा उतार दे दिल से
उम्र-ए-रफ़्ता पे अश्क बार न हो.

Ab na dohraa fasaanaha-e-alam
apni qismat pe sogwar na ho
Fiqr-e-farda utaar de dil se
Umar-e-raftaa pe ashq bar na ho

To me this couplet is a translation of the following shloka of Bhagvad Gita

गतासून अगतासून्श्च न अनुशोचन्ति पंडिता:
(Gatasoon agatasoonshch na anushochanti panditaah )

The lord advises Arjuna that wise people do not worry about either the past ( that has gone) or future ( that will go)

I also philosophized on why any body should or should not remember about his past. My musings culminated in the hypothesis that “Any body who finds the future dark or foggy, starts looking at the past because having come to and being in the present is itself an achievement’

This hypothesis is echoed in the following lines of my unfinished poem

अपने माज़ी के तस्सवुर से मुझे फ़राग नहीं
मुझको गुज़रे हुए अय्याम की याद आती है
राह-ए-फ़र्दा में बस धुंधलका है
पस नज़र माज़ी की सिमत जाती है
गो कि माज़ी मेरा बाईस-ए-पिन्दार नहीं
इस हस्त-ओ-बूद का मेरे कहीं शुमार नहीं
किसी भी चीज़ पर कुछ मेरा इख्तियार नहीं
मैं फिर भी अपने मुक़द्दर पे सोगवार नहीं

न जाने कितने हवादिस से बच के आया हूँ
न जाने कितने तजुर्बे समेट लाया हूँ
हज़ारों चेहरे दिखाई देते हैं
हज़ारों जुमले सुनाई देते हैं

Apne maazi ke tassavur se mujhe faraag Nahin
Mujhko guzare huye ayyam ki yaad aati hai
Rah-e-farda mein bas dhundhalka hai
Pas nazar maazi ki simat jaati hai

Go ke maazi mera baayis-e-pindaar nahin
Is hast-o-bood ka mere kahin shumar nahiN
Kisi bhi cheez par kuchh mera ikhtiyar nahiN’
Main phir bhi apne muqaddar pe sogwaar nahiN

Na jaane kitne havaadis se bach ke aaya hooN
Na jaane kitne tajurbe samet laaya hooN

Na jaane kitne chehre dikhaayi dete haiN
Hazaaron jumle sunaayi dete haiN

It was notable that during these reveries, I was never filled with a feeling of remorse or rancour. The experience did not give me great joy either. But my mind was always filled with a feeling of satisfaction, which had a soothing effect very much like a cool springtime morning breeze.

This has motivated me to streamline my peek into the past–making the random succession of images into a more orderly sequential process and in an easily perceivable medium.

All my life, I have acted as devil’s advocate against my own self. The moment the idea of writing my autobiography came to my mind, the next moment, I found myself arguing and debating, my autobiography-what is the big deal? What was there in my life that made it annals-worthy?!?!?

The answer came in two forms. On one occasion, I happened to be in the audience where Shri M.V.Kamath, the doyen of Indian journalism delivered a lecture. I vividly remember him saying that every person should at least write a diary if not a formal autobiography because human life has something unique, which is worthy of being recorded.

Extending Shri Kamath’s assertion on a larger metaphysical plane, I have come to believe that God does not waste His energies and resources on any purposeless creation. Therefore, it is inherent that every human life is vested with a definite purpose and the wherewithal to achieve that purpose. These attributes obviously remain latent unless expressed explicitly.

Having won the argument with myself, I have embarked on the exercise of compiling my autobiography. I am going to relate my life as I remember it, with a small change, in line with another principle being followed by me, which says
“Never tell a lie; but do not always speak the truth”.

Therefore I have resolved to remain silent about certain truths which if spoken could cause unpleasantness to some people or may fall in the domain of vulgarity.

My autobiography!? Yes, it is going to be the big deal.

September 27, 2007

Statutory Warning: Walking On Road Will Be Injurious

'Walking is good for health' is an age old health tip, which like many other ancient pieces of wisdom, if followed in the new world, will have disastrous results. Walking on a road in any Indian city, big or small, is fast becoming a sure prescription for trouble. Every new day tells a new gory tale of a morning walker being crushed by a speeding truck or a wayward car etc. etc.

The proverbial footpaths / pavements have completely vanished. During the day, they are turned into food stall plazas or linear flea markets or godowns or casinos and are given many other forms. During the night, they are turned into illegal parking lots, where all kinds of vehicles are parked in all kinds of zig-zag fashions. Anyone venturing to use the footpaths / pavements for stealing some winks of sleep may find himself parked in his heavenly abode having been transported there by inebriated ( with spirits, wealth and power) elite drivers of fancy vehicles.

The good old zebra crossing has lost its glory and respect. The pedestrians are prevented from using it by all the vehicles crowding over it ahead of the others who have stopped there somehow.

The traffic lights are viewed by the vehicle drivers as unwanted hindrance to the flow of traffic. The red light is more often jumped than respected. It is not only the motor bikes and the auto rickshaws that violate the traffic lights but even the government controlled public transport vehicles show no mercy.

The condition of the roads is even more pathetic and the movement of traffic thereon more horrific. The vehicles move, stop, overtake and turn at will. There are no lanes and no lane boundaries. The concept of one way traffic has evaporated. All roads are now any-which-way zigzag roads.

Crossing a road is a venture fraught with risks of grievous injury. I used to detest the ubiquitous auto rickshaw but no longer. Now I find it cheaper and safer to hire an auto rickshaw for crossing the road.

I am very much inclined to propose to the government to put along all traffic ways big hoardings saying

"Statutory Warning: Walking on Road Will Sure be Injurious- Use a Vehicle or Still Better Stay Put at Home "

September 10, 2007

Remembering Iqbal

After having lived in official quarters for a very long time, I finally moved into my own accommodation recently. I was elated with the joy of owning this 'aashiyana' (abode) in a neighbourhood , which is reputed to be one of the fastest developing suburbs. I was all the time thanking God for being kind to me and was also expressing joy and satisfaction through a couplet from a poem of Iqbal which I found myself reciting all the time silently (to myself)


पा गयी आसूदगी कू-ए-मुहब्बत में वह ख़ाक
मुददतों आवारा जो हिकमत के सहराओं में थी

( Pa Gayi Aasoodagi kooy-e-mohabbat mein woh khaq
muddaton aawara jo hikmat ke sehraaoN mein thi )

( the dust which had been flitting aimlessly in wilderness of knowledge and wisdom finally achieved tranquility and peace when it reached the street of love)

Shortly afterwards, I found myself remembering Iqbal again but this time for another of his couplets

नवा-ए-सुबह गाही ने जिगर खूं कर दिया मेरा
खुदाया जिस ख़ता की यह सज़ा है वह ख़ता क्या है
( Navaa-e-subah gaahi ne jigar khooN kar diya mera
khudaaya jis khataa ki yeh sazaa hai woh khataa kya hai )

(The early morning call is inflicting wounds on my heart
O' God please let me know what wrong have I done for which I am getting this punishment.)

A numebr of loudspeakers keep on blaring not just in the morning but all through the day and night and the ears and the mind keep getting pierced not by the call for prayers but all kinds of 'besur' singing and fiery lectrures replete with rhetoric good enough to exhort an army to launch a ferocious attack on the neighbouring country.

I am (un)happy that I share something with Iqbal : The feeling of helplessness