Jamboree

Well elections are round the corner and somehow I just cant get enthused,notwithstanding Jago Re ads.Every time I read about the machinations of the political leaders or see their venal faces on the TV,I get a what I call the Titanic feeling...sinking.I feel a sense of hopelessness when I see corrupt regional leaders using every method to get that extra seat and vie for the PMs position.Every action is designed to prepetuate their own rule or of their progeny.Every decision is taken more often than not for personal enrichment.What was done furtively under cover of night before is now proudly displayed at mass rallies with gold crowns and garlands of currency.The fact that 125 of our MPs from a total of 543 have criminal cases filed against them is indicative of the muscle power of the goons and lumpen in the elections.Its shameful that the huge amounts being spent to woo voters includes not only underhand inducements but the use of public money to hand out freebies like TV sets,cellphones,clothes etc.In short the mantra is get into the chair by hook or by crook,all will be taken care of.The fact that the politicos refuse to take strict action against criminals and corruption belies their pious pronouncements that these are really abberations and the class as such is sincere and honest.I wonder where else in the world a criminal can stand for elections while behind bars,or represent the people with the background of a Mafia Don.
Of course its said the elections are free and open for all and everyone is welcome to try.There is the small matter of money..one would need 5-10 crores (1-2 million$) to even be noticed in the election process.And without protection ,try and get elected in UP or Bihar.So its pretty much an old boys club literally, with 70 and 80 year olds ruling the roost with their extended family filling in the supporting positions.
Finally with as many parties as there are permutations and combinations with the alphabets,how can democracy be healthy and in good shape? theres the BJD and JDS and BSP and SP.What about the DMK and the AIDMK.Dont forget the TMC and maybe the TDP.The TC is tying up with the C but not with the BJP.That leaves the NCP out but includes the JMM.And this is just the tip One needs a computer program to track the different permutations and combinations.Witness the CPI,followed by the CPIM,and that followed by the CPIML.For crying out loud!!!!
Will Ivote???? I dont know yet.

Gomkay

I once wrote a short story(never published) about my friend Sukhnath Munda,a dark,wiry,cunning tribal from Ranchi who also happened to be the village headman and Im guessing,around 50 years old.I was all of 6 when I met him and over the next 7 years he was probably my best friend.He created magical memories for me which I cherish to this day.Show me a little boy who has someone to show him the best fishing spots in the lakes and pond around where we stayed.The fact that I accidentally caught a duck is another story.Who can boast of a conjuror who within minutes creates a sturdy bow and arrows lethal enough to kill ?What mysteries he would talk about when we went tramping round the rice fields and hills.Im sure he made up many things,especially when we came upon heaps of animal bones left behind by predators or snake skins shed in moulting.But to my childish mind,nothing could be truer.I loved the old guy and I know that he had a very soft corner for me in his flinty heart.He wore thick,rough sandals made from old truck tyres and a white turban on his head with a jaunty tail which gave him the seal of authority.Oh yes he had a snow white moustache on his dark, leathery and noble face.That was briefly,Sukhnath.
Come friday and he could barely contain his excitement.For it was Market Day in town and he could therefore indulge in both his favorite pastimes,cock fighting and drinking Haria,the potent local rice liquor.I was never allowed to go with him by my stern grandmother.Drinking for her was akin to hobnobbing with the devil.Late in the evening I could hear him weaving his way to our house,high as a kite shouting out the name he used to call me..."Heyyyy Gomkay,I won today...Gomkayyyyyyyy" .It meant Little Chief.I would run down the road to meet him and would see the dead cockerel slung across his shoulder, which was his prize from the cockfight.He would have that sweet smell of Haria I remember so well like a happy cloud round him.In the background would be my grandmother shooting bolts of lightening at this dissipated heathen who was out to corrupt her grandson.I didnt care and would often hug him then just to get a good whiff of the Haria.
We left Ranchi after some years and I left a sobbing Sukhnath at the railway station..his face hidden in the tail of his turban.He died a few months before I visited Ranchi again,and walking down the village road in the dusk on that visit I could swear I saw him and heard him calling out .."Gomkay...I won Gomkay.Im so happy Gomkay."On my wall in a place of honour hangs a black and white picture of Sukhnath and me sitting and playing Ludo on an ancient stone table.The deep bond betwen us is obvious and will remain with me for the rest of my life.

Holi

Holi is over thank God.All our festivals have one thing in common,they are all loud,destructive and polluting.I really wonder why.For example,this Holi the children of the society decided (no doubt with their parents assent) to pelt each other with disgusting little plastic bags,rather than use the more traditional pichkaris.The bags are not only dangerous(people have lost their eyes) but create enormous litter.Also the fact that the thin plastic is totally illegal since it blocks drains and kills animals, makes for a really happy Holi for all.Im not sure I understand the psyche of the parents who allow their children to do this..and mind you these are the so called upper crust,intelligentsia of society.As far as sound is concerned,the new mantra is the louder the better.So in the next society they set up humongous speakers of a million watts and dance their hearts away,quite oblivious of the fact that the decibel level is killing,especially for the neighbourhood. Lest i forget,elsewhere trees,including protected mangroves are hacked down to light Holi fires the night before adding to pollution and reduction in our green cover.I wonder what it is in our genes that we tend to be loud,dirty,rude and generally obstreperous.Holi in the north is a nightmare,especially for women.And instead of improving civic sense its getting worse.If asked, people smile indulgently and say we are like that only!!! Oh well,on to the next festival.......

Indian summer

What is it about the summer that makes us break out in a sweat? every one has an opinion ranging from "Thank God its not winter" to "I hate this f-----g heat".For me though summer is a mixed bag.I hate the humidity and the stickiness and would much rather freeze my butt off in New York.But not being able to do that frequently,I look for solace and succor in memories and the small mercies that summer sometimes brings.I remember well the lung busting football games in school during the hot months and drenched in sweat, the feel of a leathery tongue on palate at the end of a game,I would go to Pintos tuck shop and gasp out an entreaty for a bottle of lemonade.This was made by a local company called Frams( Framjees),in thick unattractive bottles.But it was chilled,nay frozen, under thick chunks of ice and had a taste which after a game could be likened to Ambrosia.The harsh,gassy ice cold liquid would be gulped down and every drop would be absorbed immediatly by the bodys thirsting molecules.Inevitably a second bottle would be savoured ...a bit slower though.Oh yes,lest I forget, each bottle cost 25paise!!! For the same price if I was so inclined,I could have a glorious mango ice fruit from Manjis flask.So good in the heat.And in case I was short of funds,I could have a flavoured strawberry ice fruit,which was nothing but finely crushed ice and flavor on a stick at half the price.Those tastes will remain as memories of summer.
For those who have not experienced water shortages,I cannot explain the joy of a copious cold shower in the heat.Victory Hotel was notoriously short of water and all of us tried to squeeze in baths and showers when there was running water which was for only a very short period everyday.Sometimes when I felt grungy and like the Incredible Heap didnt dare raise my arms over my head for too long,there would be a war cry..."Waters come!!!!".it was akin to the cry of the Israelites finding a spring in the desert.Inevitably there would be rush for the bathroom.At such times Sebastian in a magnanimous gesture would invite us to use his bathroom in the ground floor.Oh bliss,oh blessed water of life.The shower would be enjoyed and the grime and heat of yesterday sloughed off.Oh yes I must mention in an aside that Sebastians bathroom had one problem...Annie, his 5 year old daughter who was an inveterate voyeur.The bathroom door had small cracks about 2 feet off the floor,and if one looked closely during the shower,one could spot a beady eye watching in rapt facination.Not the best thing to happen during ones ablutions.A shout would drive her away,but inevitably after a few minutes the watcher would be back.She was an ugly little girl with a round face and in Sams words"cunning eyes".I never figured out her facination for looking at soapy,wet naked men.Maybe the fetish stayed with her into adulthood.But I never let that spoil the pleasure of the shower.Afterwards,feeling so human and fresh it was time to light up a well deserved cigarette.Amazing,the simple pleasures one can enjoy Annie or no Annie.