Indians know no fear now

Every Indian should be and is proud that Abhinav Bindra has won an Individual Gold in shooting in the recently concluded Beijing 2008 Olympics. Two more Indians, Vijendra Kumar and Sushil Kumar, have done their country proud by winning Bronze medals in boxing and wrestling.The achievements in Cricket are already well known viz. Winning of T20 World Cup, Beating England in England and Australia in Australia etc. etc. etc. .These are no mean achievements by any standards. To my mind, these wins are indicative of the cataclysmic change that is waiting to happen (or is it already happening?). I find that Indians are shedding their inhibitions and are over-powering the fear psychosis they have suffered for centuries.

They know no fear now.

They know no fear now.

They know no fear now.

We do not have to go very far for verifying the assertion made above. Just one look at how the bikers and scooterists drive on any road, in any kind of traffic, in any city or town across the length and breadth ( and depth) in India, will be proof enough. Gone are the days when overtaking from the left was deemed an offence. Today no body could care less; any body drives any which way. No holds barred. The only motive is to upstage the other blokes on the road and to zoom past imaginary winning posts. Slogans like " Better to be Mr. late than to be Late Mr." and " Slow and Steady Wins the Race", " Speed Can Kill" are passé.

In the foregoing, the assertion about bikers is meant to set the bottom line. It is common knowledge that two wheelers would rank the lowest in terms of stability as per the inherent design characteristics. Cars fare no better; especially when they are driven by the haughty owners or hired drivers who exhibit a marked disdain for rules and regulations or official authority which is considered a tradable commodity. The irony is that every body seems to be in a tearing hurry to be rushing to reach somewhere; not knowing what to do or expect after reaching the destination. Every body irrespective of caste, creed and religion, suddenly seems to be following what Geeta preaches:-

कर्मण्येवाधिकार असते माँ फलेषु कदाचनम

कर्मण्येवाधिकार असते माँ फलेषु कदाचनम

कर्मण्येवाधिकार असते माँ फलेषु कदाचनम

No body is waiting at home. The awaiter himself / herself is likely to be on the road rushing somewhere ( where and why?).

There is a paradigm shift.
There is a paradigm shift.

There is a paradigm shift.
No fear. No obligation. No morals. No conscience.

No fear. No obligation. No morals. No conscience.
Only whims and fancies. I, me, myself and two hoots for every one else. Perfect prescription for self aggrandizement (and disaster). Bronze will turn into silver, gold, platinum and whatever can come next above.
It is true that since time immemorial, every society however civilized, has had its share of perverts, psychopaths, criminals and anti social elements. But the number of such elements was always small. Though some of these were able to circumvent or defeat the rule of law and some others were plainly defiant in spite of the knowledge that they would face punishment if caught, yet it is also a fact that they still feared the law. But in today's India things have changed. Even ordinary citizens are inclined not to follow any rules and regulations. Law is really an ass and is kicked with impunity; law keepers are ass-holes and law breakers are heroes in their own and others’ eyes.

The fear has gone. Indians know no fear now.
The fear has gone. Indians know no fear now.

The fear has gone. Indians know no fear now.
There is also another facet to this phenomenon. We have stopped living in the past. We are no longer afraid of the future. Present, today, now and this instant is only what matters. This mantra is getting translated into large numbers of Indians traveling, working and residing abroad. It is the vehicle for excellence of Indians in various fields internationally. The banishment of fear from the minds has resulted in a host of Indians being anointed CEOs in all kinds of multinationals including Pepsico, CitiGroup, Vodafone etc.

And there is a clutch of Indians ranked among the topmost businessmen in the world and amongst the richest in the world.

It is no wonder then that Indian businessmen are the most optimistic in world.

And they are out to conquer the world. Every other day, there is news of a take-over, acquisition or buy-out of a multinational by an Indian business group. The fact that Indians are now on the prowl is beautifully recorded in an advertisement. This ad shows an Indian businessman being driven past a building which has on its façade the name “East India Company”. The man points at the building and says to his mate “I want to buy this company” and upon being asked “why”, states with an air of studied arrogance “They ruled over us for 200 years, now it is our turn”

Yet again, savour this
Yet again, savour this
The late Aditya Vikram Birla was once asked whether he was afraid of multinationals. "No" he replied, "they should be afraid of me".

Shabana Ji- You Are Not Alone

Shabana Aazmi, Actress the Great, stirred a hornet's nest the other day by simply and perhaps inadvertently (or thoughtlessly) asserting in the press that she was denied purchase of a flat in some parts of Mumbai because she was a Muslim. There were reactions from various people, some criticizing Shabana for her statement and some supporting her and confirming her assertion.
This is the age of indulgence by the electronic media who do not let go even the smallest opportunity and sensationalize the most innocuous event, utterance or a goof; and blow the same up out of proportion in the hope of catching more and more eye-balls. Accordingly, one of the channels immediately lapped up this opportunity and being driven by the desire to be first off the block had the audacity to institute a feature called " I am a Muslim" or one with some such name and started interviewing some Muslims in confirmation of Shabana's hypothesis. Most of the TV channels are interested only in upping their TRPs in the hope of sweeping the wind falls of enhanced revenues that accrue in the wake of enhanced TRPs. These channels are least concerned with the sociological effect of their shenanigans.
The print media does not lag behind its electronic counter part in creating the sensational nuisance but mercifully its effects are not as wide ranging nor as far reaching as electronic media's are.
I would like to assure Shabana and other aggrieved Muslim co-Indians that they are not alone in being subjected to discrimination. I too have experienced discrimination on a number of occasions. Here below, I cite some examples.
1. I came to Mumbai in 1964 as a trainee in a central government organization. The training program being residential, I was accommodated in a hostel for a year. At the end of the training period, I along with other trainees, had to vacate the hostel. We were to be on our own and had to find our own accommodation. I requested a Marathi trainee colleague of mine to help. After some days I was informed that a Marathi family had agreed to accommodate two persons as Paying Guests and we were required to meet them to decide the various terms and conditions. I promptly presented myself to the prospective landlords. I was received by a very kind looking, suave and well mannered middle aged lady. I was received fairly warmly and was shown the room. I was also given a verbal list of DO's and DONT's and also informed the compensation that we would be required to pay. I informed the lady that I liked the room and also that I accepted all the terms and conditions. I silently thanked my colleague who had referred me to this kind landlady. In my heart, I was genuinely overjoyed because it meant no running around looking for a shelter. But perhaps, I had been too hasty in indulging in thanks-giving and internal rejoicing. I was in the middle of my thoughts when I was fielded the question "Which part of the country do you come from?". It was obvious that I was not from Maharashtra as I was not speaking in Marathi. I promptly replied that I hailed from Punjab. To which came the very polite assertion ' Sorry, but we would like to give this accommodation to Hindus only.' When I equally politely asserted that I was a Hindu from Punjab, I was reminded that Punjabis were not accepted as Hindus. That signalled the end of the interview and I had a foreboding that wherever I went, I would meet the same fate. I accepted this as a fait accompli. "What cannot be cured must be endured."
I thanked the lady and walked out. I went back and thanked my Marathi colleague and begged pardon for having caused embarrassment. And before any body could utter 'Punjabi', I found myself holed up in Sion Koilwada, amongst Punjabis of every kind. It is (not) another matter that I found that Koliwada, euphemistically called Mumbai's own mini Punjab , comprised a multitude of Punjabs viz. Peshawari Punjab, Multani Punjab, Pindi Punjab, Hazara Punjab and many many more.

More about Punjab, Punjbiyat and Punjabis on another occasion.

My stay in Koliwada lasted one year at the end of which period, I was asked by my partner to look for another place. That was the start of my yearly hunt for a new place. Each time that I went seeking a new accommodation, I was made to feel that as a Punjabi, I was not very much welcome. It is noteworthy that some of the landlords were Punjabis who were in fact more vehement than Sindhis and others in their insistence that they did not welcome Punjabis as tenants. I never bothered to go deep into the hows and whys of their paranoia. More often than not, I would make myself believe that there was something amiss with me as an individual and the fact of being denied the accommodation was not a comment on the Punjabi community at large. I took these incidents in my stride. I found them hilarious. In fact, on numerous occasions, I have narrated these anecdotes to regale my near and dear ones and I have enjoyed my narrating them in equal measure. Here goes the most hilarious of them all.

A little background first.
Before I got married, I was staying as a paying guest with a very wonderful and affectionate Punjabi family. I refer to this family as 'Maalikan'. I would like to reiterate that I did not get this PG accommodation without the usual reservations being expressed against my being a Punjabi. The difference was that I had a very strong reference from a very close relative of the head of 'Maalikan' family. It is a matter of pride for me that later I was treated as a member of the 'Maalikan' family, which ties have continued till date and have also been sustained by the second generation.
To continue with the main story, around two months before I got married, me and the 'Maalikan' family mutually decided that for the benefit of all I should move to an independent accommodation which would become our nest ( mine and my wife's). Accordingly, the struggle began. Each day of a full month found me visiting an estate agent and one or more prospective landlords but nothing materialized. One of the reasons for being unsuccessful was my being a Punjabi. Each passing day made me more and more desolate and I was at my wits' end not knowing at all what I would do if I did an accommodation even after my marriage. But God is great. I found an old couplet materializing in my case
कश्तिआं सब की किनारे पे पहुँच जाती हैं
नाखुदा जिसका नहीं उसका खुदा होता है
The help came from one of the most unexpected quarters. And all my life it has happened that close on the heels of the solution of a problem, comes another problem. I was informed that a flat was being vacated by one of our senior colleagues who I refer as Guru and the flat would be mine if Guru recommended my name. I promptly approached Guru and told him about my predicament. He sympathised with me but informed me of the problem. The flat was not for Punjabis. Back to square one. But then Guru himself suggested that, for my sake, he would inform the landlord that I was a Hindi speaking person and rest would have to be managed by me. I agreed very gladly. I got a shock when he revealed the surname of the landlord. It was a very typical and famous Punjabi surname. I was afraid that I would be caught when I feigned being a non-punjabi before this family. I would refer to this family as Camphors. However, I decided to take a calculated risk because on more than one occasion earlier I had been mistaken to be a Muslim because of my heavy use of so called ' Urdu' vocabulary while speaking Hindi. Also, I had a very close friend of mine who hailed from Western UP. I fondly refer to this friend as 'Mittar'. He had some very peculiar mannerisms and at times he chose to speak in a very unfamiliar and funny dialect. On a number of occasions I had been able to raise many a laughter by mimicking his antics. I decided to make up and play Mittar when required to face Camphors or any other prospective landlord.

Guru got me an appointment with the Camphors who lived in a fairly posh locality in Central Mumbai. I went to see them after having rehearsed my playing Mittar to near perfection. On the appointed day, I went to see the Camphors. I chose to wear a very distinctively UnPunjabi shirt , which I had borrowed from Mittar hoping that Mittar's ghost will come along with the shirt and help me become him.
I was greeted by the daughter-in-law of the house. I said a very polite 'Namaste', took care to remove my shoes, washed my hands after removing the shoes and settled on the edge of a chair instead of sinking in the sofa. I was offered a glass of water, which I held in both hands and made a loud hissing sound while sipping the water. All the time, I was not me but Mittar.
I was interviewed in depth. Every bouncer that was hurled on to me was dispatched over the boundary by me with Mittar being my bat. But all the time I was walking on thin ice. Simultaneously with the process of interviewing me, the Camphors were exchanging notes about Mittar (me) taking care to speak only in Punjabi to avoid their comments being understood by me. I felt like the fabled The Blue Jackal who had fallen in the tub of 'Blue' while running to escape the city hounds. I was scared of myself because I was not sure when the urge to join in the conversation would overwhelm me . But I escaped unscathed and I got the flat. I took care not to invite Camphors for my marriage because that would have been easy give away. The fun was yet to start.

One evening, my Mother-in-Law along with my brother-in-Law and his wife (whom we affectionately called 'Big K, my wife being called 'Lil K') came visiting us. The dinner had been laid and we were just about to start when the door bell rang. To my consternation, I found Camphor himself at the door step. I let him in and introduced him to all present taking care that I spoke only in Hindi. My in-laws were perplexed to find me switching over to Hindi. They were wondering as to what had come to possess me suddenly. I avoided their glances. Another shock was in store and before any one could say 'Jiffy', I found Camphor addressing 'Big K' and exclaiming " You are so and so's daughter- Isn't it". 'Big K' being endowed with an elephantine memory reciprocated by averring " and you are Mr. so and so----". My heart came to my mouth. Incidentally, I realised that one of the dishes included in the dinner menu of the evening was 'French beans'. I excused myself and went out to avoid being there when the beans were spilled.

When I came back, Camphor was ready to leave, waiting only for me to comeback. He had been offered to join in for the dinner which he declined and instead preferred a cup of tea. He duly finished his tea and shook hands with me and left with a strange expression on his face. He would have hardly gone about 5 metres when I felt the ceiling of my flat had fallen. There was a roar of laughter. My wife would not stop switching between looking at me and bursting into peels of laughter. The others also were unstoppable. Even my mother-in-law seemed highly amused.

It took them quite sometime to return to normalcy. When I asked them why they were laughing, the madness returned. No body bothered to answer, they just kept laughing as if they had consumed tons of 'Bhaang'. Finally, the revelation came. When I had walked out, Camphor admonished 'Big K' and inquired if she was inimical to 'Lil K'. All present were aghast at the comment / query. But Camphor continued

' अपनी ननद के लिए तुम्हे यह भैय्या ही मिला था? '
I was not sure whether it was a sad commentary on my personality and general demeanour or a complement to my histrionic abilities that I was able to carry my act to the climax. I have always taken it to be the latter.

Sometime later, Camphor met Tandy, a common acquaintance of Big K and himself. He inquired in a very conspiratorial tone almost accusing Big K of the injustice to which she had subjected her innocent and unsuspecting sister-in-law. When Tandy showed his ignorance of the devious plot hatched by Big K, Camphor let out the big secret thus

'Big K ने क्या ज़ुल्म किया , अपनी ननद एक UP वाले भैय्या के साथ ब्याह दी.'

Tandy protested and affirmed that that was not a fact. He informed that ' Lil K' was married to 'oldKid' who was a hardcore Punjabi, who was proud of the Punjab, Punjabiyat and Punjabi language. Camphor did not believe it till he confronted me. By that time, I had resolved to vacate his flat. I begged his pardon for having cheated him and he reluctantly forgave me.

The irony is that after I vacated his flat, Camphor gave it on lease to a real UP bhaiyya. The last I heard was that they were in litigation because this UP bhaiyya had claimed tenancy rights.
Shabana Ji! There is no denying the fact that there is rampant discrimination in our Indian Society. It comes in multitudes of shapes and forms. Language, caste and religion are the most commonly visible macro level reasons. In addition, there are a number of hidden or overt excuses; financial status and lineage being often touted as parameters of class distinction.

In an accompanying blog, I have elaborated on the kinds of discrimantion that I have suffered and because of that I can easily empathise with Shabana and others. But where I differ with them, is in their insistence on 'Religion'. My hypothesis is
"Something must be amiss with me which leads to discrimination against me and makes me unacceptable. I must do introspection, find the root causes and work to eliminate them."
Shabana Ji, I wonder whether you have ever done any introspection and have paused to ponder why this discrimination or dispathy bordering on mutual distrust and hatred has continued for centuries.
I give you a simple quiz. How is that in spite of a ban on loudspeakers, they keep blaring in the mosques showing no compassion for infants, students, sick and old people who are subjected to this noise pollution which even Iqbal has denounced.
I have also been wondering, ever since I read Shabana's ( and earlier Emraan Hashmi's) assertion as to where hordes of Muslim actors, artistes, writers, singers are residing in Mumbai. I find that world of glamour and glitz is ruled by Muslims at various levels and the number is ever increasing. Where are all these people residing, certainly not on foot paths or shanty colonies?
Shabana Ji, you are not alone but I also find that there are not many people with you either.

सारे जहाँ से अच्छा हिंदोस्तां हमारा

I was born in West Punjab in undivided India. Because West Punjab became a part of Pakistan after the partition, my parents, like millions of others, got uprooted and traversed to East Punjab ( now simply Punjab) in free ( divided) India. I was a toddler then. The early days in our new abode were tumultuous. We were branded as refugees and were seen as intruders. The acceptance by the locals was generally low. It varied with the locality in which one settled. In general, the poorer and relatively uneducated people occupied the erstwhile Muslim mohallas in (East) Punjab and other places, while the more resourceful, knowledgeable and smarter people managed to settle in better neighbourhoods and enjoyed greater acceptance and trust. However, in spite of all the problems, we grew up, got educated and managed to make good careers. The more I look back, the more I feel thankful to my parents and God for bringing us up. I have always felt lucky and satisfied that my country and the people took care of us in our earlier days and I have always felt obliged to do something in return. I have always been proud of being born an Indian and am very passionate about India. My Indian-ness is nothing short of jingoism. Whenever, I see or hear any thing good about India, like an Indian getting an international award, I am overcome by emotion. I become speechless; my throat gets choked; I start crying with happiness and my eyes get flooded with tears.

I keep remembering Iqbal, the poet and often quote him and his anthem

सारे जहाँ से अच्छा हिंदोस्तां हमारा

हम बुलबुलें हैं इसकी यह गुलसितां हमारा

But lately, I have found myself becoming a little skeptic. I still keep remembering Iqbal and his above encomium to India but in the same breath I keep getting reminded of another of his couplets

अपने वतन में हूँ के गरिबुद्द्यार हूँ

डरता हूँ देख देख के इस दश्तो दर को मैं

“Am I in my own country or am I in an alien land. The more I look at this jungle, the more I get scared “

I fail to identify the present day country as my India. I feel alienated. My sense of belonging is being undermined.

More than once, I have caught myself questioning me whether it would have been better if my parents had continued to stay in Pakistan. This question pops up in spite of the awareness that because we would not have renounced Hinduism at any cost, we would have been treated as second class citizens. As a matter of fact, the above question comes up as a corollary to a host of questions

“In free and supposedly secular India, are we any better?"

" Have I got any advantage due to my being a Hindu? "

"Are we not being treated as second class citizens only?”

I do acknowledge that immediately after the partition, we were given some help like temporary shelters and food in transit camps for a few day. After that we had to and did fend for ourselves. I do not hold any grudge on this count. In fact, as mentioned earlier, I have been thankful to all those who rendered help. My problem is the hurt to which my psyche got subjected because of the undercurrents at various stages and occasions. I am also aware of the fact that this problem is not endemic. For millions of other people who were also refugees, this is no issue at all. They are the blessed ones who have not only outgrown this issue but also are living happily ever after. Prime Minister Dr. Manmohan Singh is one of the numerous examples. Our progeny is also mercifully oblivious of this trauma.

What is my problem then?

Am I a plain and simple cry baby?

Do I suffer from ‘I want more ‘ syndrome a la Oliver Twist?

Am I an incorrigible dysphoric?

In any case, why have I chosen to air my grievances now, eons after the partition and after having ‘enjoyed’ my life?

These questions also keep popping in my own mind because I have always been Devil’s advocate against my own self. It is true that I have not expressed my anguish earlier and that I could have as well opted to keep eyes, ears and mouth shut. It seems easy and simple to maintain status quo as advised by Jaan Nisar Akhtar

और तहजीबे गमें इश्क निबाह दें कुछ दिन

आखिरी वक्त में क्यूं अपने चलन को भूलें

Coupled with this has been a fatalistic feeling that any expression of dissidence will be an exercise in futility because nothing is going to change. But however much have I tried, I have not been able to stop the stream of thoughts which keep coming back to me. Somewhere in the subconscious mind lingers a feeling that I must speak up. The process of exhuming the buried past has been triggered by the milieu of today and the concern for the future.

The answer to the question “ why now” is “It is better late than never”

and that “if it is not now, it never will be”.

Further, it is the like the process of auditing which is generally carried out post-event. The audit of my life has begun now, albeit very late.

I begin at the beginning.

It was fortuitous that after the partition we came to settle in a small mohalla which, before the partition, had been inhabited by Muslim washermen and other menials who made their living by rendering service to neighbouring Hindu populace. Because of this feudalistic relationship and the allegiance to different religions, there had been absolutely no social and cultural interaction between the denizens of this mohalla and the neighbouring Hindu populace. After the partition, though the Muslims were replaced by us Hindus, the chasm in the social and cultural interaction between the mohallas was continued. It could be initially justified as attributable to xenophobia and the ensuing mistrust. While most of our mohalla mates took it in their strides and accepted it as fait accompli, my family never felt at ease but also did nothing about it.

At school, there was always a not-so-covert discrimination. For an extended period of time, the refugees, as we were referred to with scorn, were herded into sections different from the ones in which the locals were grouped. The locals were the elite and the refugees the underprivileged. The best facilities including the best teaching staff were assigned to the locals. However, it was ironic that in studies as well as in extra-curricular activities like drama and poetry most of the toppers came from the refugee groups.

It was the same story at college. Things did change later but it caused a lot of heart burn and the malice existed for a very long time.

When I joined service in a Government of India department at Mumbai (then called Bombay), it was my first excursion outside Punjab and the first encounter with India at large. I was very happy and proud to be a part of this great country because I found that the selection process for the job was totally merit based and no discrimination was made based on religion, region, caste and creed. My batch comprised people from all parts of India and included Hindus, Muslims, Christians, Sikhs and even Parsees.

Those were the halcyon days. But they did not last for long.

In fact, the country and the people were just recovering from the after effects of the earlier events which included Linguistic reorganization of states, Chinese aggression and death of Pandit Nehru. India had just started limping back to normalcy when Pakistan attacked India. Then Lal Bahadur Shastri died, which led to head on collision between Indira Gandhi and the congress old guard. Devaluation of Rupee took place. Bihar was devastated by famine. In between, anti-Hindi agitations wreaked havoc at various places. Regional parties came to the fore and India stood divided again, this time on the basis of language. Things started deteriorating rapidly thereafter. The initial euphoria of independence gave way to scepticism.

Hitherto, though I had been often facing incongruities and had to endure covert and overt prejudice and discrimination, I had been tolerant and forbearing. My tolerance was perhaps the result of a cocktail of number of behavioural traits viz. magnanimity, apathy, helplessness, cowardliness, inferiority complex and martyrdom.

Yet again, perhaps it was the result of the anxiety to survive come what may

हमने हर हाल में जीने की क़सम खाई है

Hamne har haal mein jeene ki kasam khai hai

(I have vowed to exist under any circumstance)

During the early years in Punjab, there were various tiers of bias and discrimination. First, the discrimination existed between Hindus and Sikhs. Among the Hindus, there was distinction and discrimination between refugees and locals. Then even among the refugees, there was a lot of micro-level inequity between people from Lahore, Sialkot, Peshawar and Jhang & Multan etc. etc. I have not cared to elaborate on the general malice that afflicts Hindus at large due to disharmony between Brahmins, Kshatriyas, Vaishyas and Shudras. Nor have I touched upon the gulf between Jats and non-Jats among Sikhs.

I vividly remember the kinds of reactions, from various sections of the Punjab polity in particular and public in general, which were evoked by the appointment of ‘Comrade’ Ram Kishan Mehta as the Chief Minister of Punjab. He was particularly unacceptable to the land-owning feudals who sought to dismiss him as a non-entity bereft of the wherewithal to rule Punjab and lord over them.

His disqualification was purported to be “that he was a refugee from Jhang and was therefore an inherently weak, incapable and a backward person.”

I have also not been able to forget that when my younger brother appeared for an interview for joining Indian Army, he was told in unequivocal terms that he was unacceptable because he came from a family who had no military connections. At that time, the military in Punjab was the sole preserve of Sikhs particularly the Jats with some share being taken by Brahmins and other upper caste locals and khatris from Lahore / Gujranwala etc. among the refugees.

When I joined service at Bombay (now Mumbai) as mentioned earlier, I was happy to be away from Punjab because of three main reasons.

1. It was the beginning of a new chapter in the life, which was founded on recognition of the inherent intelligence and merit.

2. It was an opportunity for widening the horizons and for joining the mainstream of India at large.

3. It was an agent for dilution of the stigma of being a ‘refugee from a particular area of West Punjab’. I found that Mumbai was a great equalizer and gave two hoots for one’s origins.

But soon I came face to face with other truths. I found that our department was infested with people from the south. While most of the clerical and the administrative staff were from Kerala, the higher echelons were dominated by Tamil Brahmins. There were insinuations of nepotism and favouritism against them. Of course, these two communities were not alone in these shenanigans. Some other provincial and linguistic groups had their own parochial agendas. This resulted in all-round acrimony among people and proved to be an impediment to the concerted efforts that were necessary to bring growth and prosperity to the country. This malady was not unique or limited only to our department. In fact, it has been prevalent in all spheres of Indian life for ever. That was the reason why we have been ruled by foreigners for a thousand years. But it had become dormant and latent in the run upto freedom. Now it again emerged like the ‘Genie from the bottle’. Coronation of Hindi as the official language in place of English and the subsequent anti-Hindi agitation in South and other places was one of the triggers. Formation of Shiv Sena and its professed agenda for getting some privileges and preferential treatment for the ‘Son of the Soil’ in Mumbai was perhaps the harbinger of a chain reaction for similar demands in other states. The chronology of events is not an important issue, their occurrence is.

Another important, debilitating and divisive factor has been the upsurge of the so called ‘Backward’ and Other Backward Classes and the recommendations of Mandal Commission thereof. The constitution had already provided for special treatment of Scheduled Castes & Scheduled Tribes ( SC/ST), the Dalits (underprivileged members) of the India Society, in the form of financial support and reservation in educational institutions and government service. Now the specter of OBC has been raised more out of political compulsions than actual welfare of the deserving masses. This is one issue which has sought to divide the Indian society very widely, deeply and permanently. This has resulted in the phenomenon of coalition governments and the resultant degeneration in ethics of governance and the governing class. To me, it is a double whammy. On the one hand, I have had to endure the stress caused by the discrimination due to being a Punjabi vis-à-vis the South Indians and Bengalis; among the Punjabis themselves because of being a refugee and among the refugees because of my parents having hailed from an area of West Punjab which was considered backward by Lahorians and others who considered themselves more advanced. On the other hand, I find that a sizeable population is trying to garner privileges and concessions by branding themselves as members of ‘Other Backward Classes’. The most disconcerting fact in this whole business is that the benefits do not reach genuinely backward people, instead these are cornered by some people who take pride in calling themselves as advanced for all other social purposes but are unashamed to produce a piece of paper declaring them to be belonging to backward class. In today’s political atmosphere, the SC/ST and OBC are a force to reckon with and are bent upon utilizing their position to the hilt and are able to dictate terms with all political parties. It is almost becoming fashionable to brand oneself as OBC in order to defy the law and wield authority. The large number of criminal cases involving OBCs is a testimony to this fact.

And yet there is another phenomenon which has provoked me to ask all the questions above; it is the position enjoyed by the so called minority communities particularly the Muslims. I find it very curious that an axis is being formed comprising Muslims, Dalits and OBCs. The Muslims are the biggest beneficiaries of the recent political imbroglios. They are in fact ruling India by proxy. It is noteworthy that 15% Muslim population is able to dictate the rest of 85% population on the formation of Governments at Centre and of States. The irony is that one hand there are cries of minorities (read as Muslims) being denied certain rights, while on the other hand, they defy the ordinary and common civil laws of the land with impunity. The use of loudspeakers in the mosques and madrassas at all times of day and night is just one example. On top of all that there are some selfish politicians who are championing the cause of Muslims and are crying hoarse for reservation of jobs for Muslims. They do not take a second look at the statistics of how Muslims have swamped the Entertainment industry, the media, the sports and a number of niche industries.

The conclusion of all the foregoing is that I feel being treated as Second Class citizen in my own country India.

To the question “whether it would have been better if my parents had stayed back in Pakistan”, the answer is a definite ‘No’.

The reason for the answer is that Herculean efforts would have been necessary to even exist; the magnitude of the efforts to bring about a change in the society or in the governing class would have been unimaginable.

In spite of all the shortcomings that I have listed about India and its people, it is a lively society, where reason can still prevail and persistence does pay.

Since life is a constant struggle, I shall carry on the same, now with renewed vigour and sense of purpose.

I have nothing to lose.

Black & Yellow Fever

Whole of India in general and Mumbai in particular is afflicted with this Black & Yellow fever. This malady comes in two forms. One is a three wheeler aka Auto-rickshaw and the other is a four wheeled apparition called Taxi.

The taxi has been around from time immemorial. Though the auto-rickshaw descended upon the Indian roads much later, it has taken over the roads and has almost pushed the taxi to the edge of the road.

Till a few years ago, the taxi driver was an humble, honest, trustworthy and helpful being who made his living through transporting the needy. Here the allusion is towards Mumbai taxi drivers in particular. The exceptions like Billa and Ranga were small enough to be discounted. In general, the taxi was a safe means of transport even for ladies when required to commute alone. This impression was strengthened by films like Dev Anand's "Taxi Driver" which eulogized the taxi driver as a virtuous, sensitive and kind human being.

But things have changed of late. I am not very sure of the reasons of change.

Before I go into the hypothesizing the reasons of the change in the behaviour of the taxi drivers, I shall cite three instances which I was directly involved in and because of which I am writing this piece.

1. I happened to engage a taxi from the Mumbai Central station. In this case, the taxi driver was one of those typical ones, who hang on the platform and /or crowd on the exit and solicit customers directly as they descend from the trains or cajole the coolies to take the customer's luggage to their taxi where after the engaging of their taxis is a fait accompli. In general, I shun such people because they violate the discipline of the queue which used to be the distinctive feature of Mumbai life. By some quirk of fate, I found myself in the taxi. The driver was dressed in the white and was wearing flashy goggles and feigned being a gentleman. After he came on the main road, he stopped the taxi and got out and went somewhere. He returned after some time and resumed driving. I was aghast to find that he had a lighted cigarette pressed between his lips a la Dev Anand and was puffing in style. This is not done; certainly not in Mumbai. I immediately chastised him for the same. He showed his annoyance but extinguished his cigarette. When we reached our destination, I again got a rude shock, when he told me the fare that I was supposed to pay. I realized that I had been duped. The Taxi meter was tampered. And on top of that, he demanded an unfairly large sum as luggage charges. I had a little argument with him and threatened to report him to the traffic authorities. He retorted that he gave a damn to the authorities and was bent upon creating a scene. I paid him off. And did nothing after that.

2. I engaged a taxi from the air port. The driver was a skinny, clumsily clad, famished looking man. He brought us to our destination after patiently wriggling through the traffic jams. I admired the fellow's patience and behaviour. But perhaps I had erred in speaking out of turn. He asked for an amount as fare, which was totally unimaginable. We are regulars on the route and know to the last rupee the amount of fare. When I protested and asked him to show the tariff card, he promptly produced one. I immediately knew that the tariff card was a forged one. Though I must admit that an unwary passenger would be taken in. Again there was argument. At the end of it all, he accepted slightly lesser amount but left cursing me not so silently. I wrote a complaint to traffic police, got the acknowledgement for the same. But ----.

3. Yet another time, I had to engage a taxi from the airport. This time round, I was careful to ask for the tariff card and examined the same before boarding and found it to be in order. In this case, the driver was a young, skinny but rude looking person who had dyed his hair a vulgar red and golden. He looked very much the part of a minor underworld functionary. The moment he started the taxi, he took out his cellphone and started talking to somebody. He continued yapping on the phone while driving in the thick of traffic at an immoderate pace. He seemed to revel in winding through the traffic at undiminished pace while the cellphone was still glued to his ear. The tone and tenor of his conversation smacked of his obstinacy and criminal inclinations. I had a premonition of the trouble ahead. My foreboding came true. First of all, he refused to take the shorter route in spite of my bidding. Then on the way, he narrowly escaped hitting a number of other vehicles. And finally when we reached the destination, he dropped a bombshell by asking for an exorbitant fare. The taxi meter showed a reading which was around 2 1/2 times the usual reading.

I realized that in spite of the precautions I had taken at the time of boarding, this man had pulled a faster one. I recollected that when we were boarding, his taxi meter flag was half turned and he must have put the flag down without making the reading zero. When I pointed out this to him he started showing his true colour. I asked him to take me to the traffic police and promised to pay if the police confirmed that the meter and the reading were correct. He refused to budge. Luckily for me, some other people turned up and a settlement was arrived at. I paid slightly less but even then it was more than the actual valid fare. The stare that the taxi driver gave me was nothing short of a warning that any kind of bodily harm may come my way.
The experience with auto-rickshaws is quite similar. It is an acknowledged fact that auto-rickshaw meters in most places are spiked. It is a small mercy that not all the drivers are rude. But the number of rickshaws, their manoeuvrability and the urge to upstage others is a constant threat on the road.

I am sure that I am not the first one to have this experience nor am I going to be the last one. I am also sure that I have not seen the last of these experiences. They will continue for ever. The process seems to be not only irreversible but unstoppable.

I have paused to mull over the situation to diagnose root causes of the malady.

I suspect that the changes have occurred because of the change in the demographic and cultural maps of the cities particularly the metropolitan cities like Mumbai.
Bhagvad Gita says
adharmabhibhavat krsna
pradusyanti kula-striyah
strisu dustasu varsneya
jayate varna-sankarah.

When irreligion is prominent in the family, O Krishna, the women of the family become corrupt, and from the degradation of womanhood, O descendant of Vrsni, comes unwanted progeny.

Interpreted in sociological context of today, ulterior motives of the anti-social elements and political mafia and their defiance of the social norms and the rule of law symbolises the irreligion alluded to above. Again ‘the women of the family’ stands for the society at large. Therefore the above shloka can be re-interpreted to mean :
‘unchecked and uncontrolled influx of people of widely varying cultural backgrounds and moorings gives rise to corruption, which is both the cause and effect of the lack of accountability and responsibility. It is a vicious circle which leads to general degeneration and degradation of the society. '

Social scientists need to study this phenomenon and attempt to rid the society of this 'Black and Yellow' fever.