PK & CTCCC

After witnessing the current outburst against PK, not the best of the films or best of the storyline in its genre, I have found a new respect for politicians, everyone's favorite whipping boys.

Many of the angry-young-man films have been consistently depicting our politicians as villains of the highest order.  And yet there has been little protest from this class.  Probably they feel that the release provided by such films to the pent up frustration among voters is all for good.  Given this track record of exemplary tolerance, it did come as somewhat of a surprise when the tirade by Anna, Kejariwal and others called visible discomfiture amongst this class.  Probably the thought of being criticized by people who aspired to join their class was more discomfiting than being criticized by hapless voters.  The political class has also shown considerable tolerance towards literature that shows them in poor light.

The pique and sharp intolerance shown by our Mullahdom, Babadom and Priestdom is in sharp contrast with this exemplary tolerance shown by politicians.  A word against the priests or against their principals (gods of various denominations) and there will be a fatwa against you.  If you are in the wrong place, you and your children will be beheaded and females kept for sex slavery.  In timid places your book will be burnt and banned and your films will face violent protests or you may be asked to stop worshiping the wrong idols.

The interesting development is that some fundamentalists are now defending the rights of rival fundamentalists from competing religions to be as intolerant as they themselves are.  How democratic indeed!

Thus, I dare say, politics definitely seems to be a lesser evil.  Though, in several countries it mixes with religions in all sorts of concoction in the name of secularism or nationalism.  Whatever can form human beings into a group will definitely be of interest to politicians in a democratic setup.  However it should be possible to weaken this basis for grouping through state action in the form of conversions to a Common Civil Code.

The situation can, in my opinion, be remedied by introducing a CTCCC (Convert to Common Civil Code) bill and banning all inter-religion conversions.  The state should introduce a law that specifically allows one to give up his religion and owe allegiance to the law of the land alone.  The state must also grant special rights to such converts.  Any conversion to any other religion must strictly be banned because it is the ultimate idiocy.

As far as it concerns those who refuse to convert to CCC, their children must be taught, under penalty of legal action, from an early age that all scriptures and religious books are products, exalted or otherwise, of human mind alone and hence open to questions as any other doctrine, philosophy or theory.  They must be told that anyone who disputes this is either weak in the head or black in the heart.

A Great Money Laundering Trick

Investigations in Yadav Singh's misdeeds and humongous wealth have revealed a couple of simple and ingenious money laundering tricks.  If you have illegally earned enough moolah, you may want to use these tricks.

The trick is to establish a business in the name of your spouse.  Then quietly hand over all your ill gotten money to this firm.  Next engage creative accountants who will then do all the bookkeeping showing that the business has been a roaring success and generated an ROI (Return on Investment) that should find a mention in all national and international fora.  Thus your ill-gotten wealth becomes the profit from your spouse's business.  Pay all taxes on this 'business income' and your black-as-crow money has become white-as-swan.

There still is a minor irritant.  Government is now asking you to declare all liabilities and assets not only in your name but also in the name of your spouse.  The humongous profits made by your spouse may cause eyebrows to be raised.

So just one more cute trick and you are through.  This is to seek a legal divorce from your spouse through mutual consent to expedite the process.  Needless to say that you can continue to live together in marital bliss.  The divorce is just to avoid any reporting of the 'hard earned' wealth of your spouse.

Simple!  Didn't I say so?

PS:  SITs should use this as a clue.  They may find abnormally high divorce rates in creamy deparments.

Jagjit Singh - an extraordinary person

I recently watched a repeat telecast of an old Aap ki Adaalat episode featuring Jagjit Singh as the under-trial.

I am an ardent admirer of Jagjit Singh, a singer par excellence.  But I knew very little about Jagjit Singh the person.  And so I watched the episode with keen interest.

We often think of great artists as people who live on a different plane and hence not worldly wise or street smart.

Jagjit Singh came through as a lively person with a keen intellect who could engage you in a lively conversation, convey his point of view very lucidly and also quickly figure out any fallacies in your argument.  He made clear the difference between a remix and a cover edition.  The two terms are often used loosely and incorrectly.

He displayed keen business acumen when he explained his career moves.  He told about what earned him money and what he did for his own satisfaction.

He rendered 'Chitthi na koi sandesh' on public demand.  He asked public to join in.  When people tried using claps in sync with the beat, he asked them to stop it and sing along instead.  This was a wonderful thing to do.  I have often wondered why singers insist on the audience clapping to join in the performance.

One of the charges against him was that he had tinkered with the format of ghazal singing.  As one who finds Jagjit's rendering of Ghalib's ghazals unparalleled, I found this charge ridiculous.  Jagjit's explanations showed his mastery of the art as well as the clarity of his thinking.

I liked the show.

For NRIs and their Indian Attorneys

My son gave me a General Power of Attorney (GPOA) before he left for a job in USA.  That was a little over a decade ago.  Later on my daughter-in-law too gave me a GPOA.  I could register a property in my son's name in Pune on the basis of GPOA without any hassles.  However I had yet to have an encounter with the redoubtable LDA (Lucknow Development Authority.)

My son and daughter-in-law booked a flat with LDA in 2010, the year of my retirement.  The idea was that it may be a better option for my wife and me to live in a flat rather than an independent house.  We waited four long years and paid for serious cost escalations before the letter of allotment finally came through.

Undeterred by the scary stories I had heard, I marched into LDA's office armed with the letter of allotment and the two GPOAs .  I approached the concerned clerk and asked for the formats of the affidavit and declaration etc. that were to be furnished by the allottee.  I was told that these can be had from the notary who sits outside the building.  I got the affidavit etcetera made and appeared before the clerk.  He expressed doubts about how could the registration be done on the basis of GPOAs.  Several observation were made about the age of the documents, the two GPOAs being registered at different places, lack of the phrase "registration of property" in the the documents and so on.

I called on the concerned officer who sought the opinion of a retired supervisor on whom he relies.  This person came through as a very practical man and opined straight away that it would be perfectly in order for me to sign the deed conveying the property to my son and daughter-in-law.

I made inquiries with the clerk a week later.  I was told that notwithstanding the retired person's advice, the matter had been referred to CLA (Chief Legal Adviser) who in his wisdom had opined that the GPOAs were too old and hence it may not be proper to register the property on the basis of these!  A remarkable observation indeed considering the fact that GPOAs never get time barred.  As regards any revocation, the POA holder has to sign an affidavit affirming that the POA is still valid and I had done that.

I called upon the CLA who showed me an order by the Supreme Court questioning sale of a property through a POA.  When it was pointed out that this was a case of purchase through POA, he retorted, "Oh, so you would like to have an argument!"  He suggested that I call the applicants to Lucknow for executing the documents!  He also wondered if delays might affect the validity of the stamps that had already been purchased.  When told that the parties could not appear in person and that was the reason for giving GPOAs, with much reluctance he suggested that I get a special power of attorney from them and added that getting it from overseas may be a rather difficult task and he could not assure me beforehand that it would serve the purpose.

You must have noted that while he quoted a certain SC order orally, he did not quote it in his written remarks.  In the remarks he merely mentioned that the instruments were old.

I wondered if I should fight back on the ground that a POA doesn't get time barred.  But later thought that probably it would be faster and less expensive to get a special POA from my son and daughter-in-law.

What happened afterwards will appear in a subsequent post.

A visit to Gandhinagar, Gujarat

I have already written about my visit to Ahmedabad for participating in a felicitation of ex staff of Baroda Academy at Ahmedabad.  I was to leave the day after the ceremony.  However as my flight was in the afternoon, I decided to visit the office (Bank of Baroda Institute of Information Technology - BOBIIT) in Gandhinagar from where I had retired in 2010.  Mr. Lakhmani who is currently heading the Institute was also present at the ceremony at Ahmedabad and was kind enough to extend an invitation to me to visit the place.

The visit was quite nostalgic.  As you take the highway to Gandhinagar, you can already feel the city within you and around you.  It is a serene place with lots of greenery, wide roads, and a population density that is remarkably lower than most other state capitals.  There is none of the hustle-bustle, traffic congestion or the rush that you would expect and experience in most other capitals.  I savored the familiar sights as we approached BOBIIT.  The roads were being resurfaced at quite a few places.

This was the place which helped me slowly decelerate and come to a smooth halt in my working life.  Had I continued at the Corporate Office of the Bank at Mumbai, it would have probably been a screeching and grinding halt given the pace of life there.

My old friends Hari Singh and Manishaben Tripathi were waiting right at the entrance of the building and we greeted each other heartily.  They escorted me to the second floor housing the TC.

The building at Gandhinagar belongs to the Bank itself and houses a branch and a zonal Training Center apart from BOBIIT.  The building is under renovation and being remodeled.  Luckily the Training Center did not have any training running on that particular day and this afforded me a chance to chit chat with my friends.  My young friend Rambhai who now works in a different department also called upon me there and it was a great pleasure to meet him in person after a long long time.

Haribhai and Manishaben showed my around the building and the changes that were being implemented.  Later Mr. Lakhmani at BOBIIT invited me to meet a group of young officers who were undergoing training there.  It was a real pleasure meeting the young and bright officers.  I felt that my pension was in safe hands and shared the thought with them.

Soon it was time to leave for the airport.   The flight back to Lucknow was eventless.

Brief Reconnect - Part II

This is in continuation of my last post.

All the invited ex faculty members from outside, retired as well as working, converged at the designated hotel in Ahmedabad on the evening preceding the reunion day.  Great bonhomie was in the air as friends and colleagues met after a long time, hugged and complimented each other on their still-so-youthful looks.  Most of us must have been wondering whether this was more out of love or the result of age induced hypermetropia.  Kamleshbhai who is heading the college, now called Baroda Academy, was there with a few faculty members and greeted the invitees.

A little later the group settled down to a long chatty dinner in the dining hall.  After dinner people broke up in smaller groups for some more chat before retiring to their rooms.  Next morning we all assembled at the college at the appointed time, 9:30 in the morning.  There we had the pleasure of meeting some more colleagues who have settled in Ahmedabad itself or Baroda which is nearby.  One of these was Mr Trivedi who is now 84 years of age and going great.  He maintains that the secret of his longevity lies in 100 blood donations he made over years and the social work that he is doing now.

The day started with a prayer followed by a welcome to and an address by the chief guest of the day.  It was very refreshing to find that the chief guest was Swami Brahm Bihari Das, chief priest at the Akshardham temple at Gandhinagar.  It was very thoughtful of our hosts to have spared us drab shop talk by an executive of the bank.  Swamiji looked rather young.  We were told that he was educated abroad and is a renowned speaker in many international fora.  Swamiji spoke impeccable English though you could detect a very faint touch of Gujarati accent occasionally.  After intros and welcome there was the lamp lighting ceremony and Swamiji started his speech with a prayer and an invocation to Akshar Brahm and Bhagwan Swaminarayan.

Swamiji turned out to be a speaker par excellence, a speaker who can capture and hold your attention with ease and grace.  He emphasized the importance of starting out with being happy rather than slogging your way to it as a distant goal.  And the best way of being happy according to him was to make others happy.  He urged upon the General Manager sharing the dais to ensure that all his employees always stayed happy thereby making the bank not only a great bank but a happy bank.  I wonder if I smiled too widely as this invoked the memory of a Dilbert cartoon.  In the cartoon a manager's boss is scolding him.  The manager has been practicing theory Y.  The boss is pointing a finger towards blissful staff, and is shown scowling and saying, "Look at them!  They are too happy to work!!"  I also recalled a standing joke in the organization which maintained that the HR had a simple task - maximizing staff unhappiness!  May be this too is a way of enhancing happiness.  After all a hard won goal always gives more pleasure than one that comes your way too easily.

Swamiji also underscored the cathartic effects of forgiving and asked those who had any grudges for not getting that promotion or this posting to put it behind them.  I wonder if this touched a raw nerve in some.  Later he presented expensive mementos to each one on behalf of the college.  Also the college has taken a wonderful step of replacing bouquets with books which ware presented alongside the memento.

This was followed by a tea break and then a session where people were invited to share their memories.  There was no list to be followed.  People came forward on their own and it was closing time before everyone could do so.  The first speaker happened to be a trainer who had conducted induction programs for quite a few of the others present there.  He started out with a joke about a patient preferring a banker's heart for a transplant.  The reason was simple - it is never used and hence must be good as new!  And then he marveled at the generous gesture that this ceremony was, far removed from what you would expect from a heartless community relying on cold reason alone.

This speaker talked of near-death experiences in which people claim to experience a panorama of all the events of their life.  Emotions welled up when he said that he was certain that when his time comes this event will surely be there in the forefront with all its magnanimity and its emotive impact. This thought was shared by a couple of other speakers who spoke after him.  It was wonderful listening to people talking of their memories and their current passions.

Ex administrative staff was also present at this meet.  Anandbhai, ex electrician and a very talented and sincere person shared his memories and experiences in a wonderful manner.  So did the ex librarian, Mr. Dave, who was instrumental in implementation of extended library hours.

Last two speakers were SureshKumar and Rakesh Sharma.  Wonderful speakers indeed!  The ease with which they communicated their emotions was superb.  College faculty and principal remained present throughout, listening intently.

This part of the event was concluded at around 4:30 in the evening and thereafter the group broke up to return later for a cultural evening and dinner.

It was a gala musical evening and the performing group had a target of presenting a bouquet of 50 old and new songs: the number matching the age of the academy.  The compere Ranjeet Gautam, who did a terrific job, said that the list had been chosen by Kamleshbhai himself who is a connoisseur of music.  A guru-vandana was also recited and at that time all the existing faculty members came forward and bowed to the ex faculty members:  Another gesture that touched the hearts of the invitees.

The celebrations concluded late in the evening with a sumptuous dinner.  During dinner an old timer proposed a very simple and hilarious career long performance evaluation test.  He said that the best measure of how hard you have worked in your career is the number of tablets that have been prescribed for you post retirement.

There was complete agreement on the crucial role that the unassuming Kamleshbhai must have played to bring about this event.

People said their goodbyes and returned to the hotel.  I was to visit Bank's IT Institute at Gandhinagar next day.  I propose to write about this visit later.

A hilarious contrast to this meeting where there was not a single person who felt a stranger, was provided by hotel El-Dorado where invitees were staying.  It is a nice hotel with very friendly and hospitable staff.  However it chooses to describe itself as a place for strangers.  All its cars bear the inscription - "Receiving Strangers" and so does the reception.  A few photographs below will help you appreciate the "strangeness" of the place.

A Brief Reconnect

I retired from a bank a little more than 4 years ago.  Most groups can be subdivided into two on many counts.  One count on which retirees can be formed into two groups is whether or not they have achieved a disconnect from the corporate network. 

The corporation, of course, pulls the plug on your e-mail and intranet accounts.  But human connections extend beyond corporate electronic networks.

So there are those who transcend the corporate electronic networks and stay connected and there are those who let go and disconnect.

I happen to belong to the second category and believe that it is okay to be out of sight and out of mind.  I also suspect that most of my groupmates are like me, not really cut out for the aspirational corporate world.

Organizations do occasionally remember their ex-employees but mostly in a tag along manner on ceremonial occasions.

Thus it came as a pleasant surprise when the apex college of the bank where I was a faculty for a few years, decided to felicitate all ex- trainers, working and retired, as part of its golden jubilee celebrations.  Proper invitations were extended and also personally followed up.  The college also informed that travel and stay expenses were on the bank.  A rare gesture indeed!

What happened on the day of celebrations was extraordinary, emotive and touched the invitees' hearts.  It will form the subject matter of my next post.

ProModis and AntiModis (प्रोमोदी और अंतिमोदी)

Today's world is divided into two camps.  One belongs to ProModis and the other to AntiModis.  You are either for NaMo or against him.  There is a minuscule third group which is probably shunned by both.  Today I am camping in this Neither For Nor Against Modi (NeFnAMo) group and writing this post from there.

Modi deserves credit for ridding this country of Congress which had turned moribund, arrogant and corrupt to the core.  He deserves credit for conclusively demonstrating that a person from the so called OBCs can indeed make a better leader than many from the so called upper castes.  This would not be the case had one of the other OBC leaders somehow made it to the top post.  He deserves credit for lifting the country from collective gloom and desperation.  He deserves credit for demonstrating that you need not be an English speaking elite to rise to the top.  He deserves credit for demonstrating to Indians that we can be assertive and decisive.  And I am sure that ProModis can make many additions to this list.

And yet let us not forget what agitated the collective Indian conscience most before the last parliamentary elections.  People felt thoroughly disgusted with the stubborn corruption, a rotten bureaucracy that is not only corrupt and devoid of all sensitivity but also heavily protected against any action.  People were fed up with rampant criminalization of politics.  They wanted changes in the electoral process so that high entry barriers were removed and the stranglehold of existing coterie of politicians broken.  They wanted changes in the Representation of People's Act to ensure that vile and undeserving candidates could not make it to the Parliament by garnering less than 20% of the votes.

Have things changed on any of these fronts?  Modi touched his forehead to the steps of the Parliament to show that it was at par with a temple.  People thought here is a person who wouldn't let this temple be desecrated by allowing tainted people inside.  The hopes have been belied.  Just look at the number of tainted ministers in his cabinet.  Has Modi even once spoken on the need to make changes in the Representation of Peoples Act to ensure that people facing criminal charges are not allowed to contest election.  And I would like to add this - to hell with the argument that even innocent people well get debarred as clever opponents trap them into false charges.  I hate saying so but Rajiv Gandhi performed better on this front when he tore up the bill defending parliamentarians facing criminal charges.

It cannot be gainsaid that Modi with all the extravaganza of his poll campaign has raised the entry barriers to politics to an all time high.  He is not even talking of electoral reforms.

Bureaucracy in this country is worse than Kafkaesque.  They have literally covered the administrative landscape with shit.  Modi does not have a word of caution for them; only praises!  He would rather have the suffering public clean the shit.  Modi is absolutely silent on the issue of LokPal.  Was it not one of the burning issues when the election was fought.  Again I hate to say this but Congress was more responsive to public sentiments when they got the LokPal bill passed.

Modi kept silent on the issue of black money and spoke up only he sensed the public outrage welling up again.  He is now making appropriate noises but his sincerity is no more beyond doubt.

Did anyone of us expect a government under Modi to play games that the Yadav regime plays in UP?  We are talking of providing Z security and other paraphernalia that make its recipient a VIP.  Why does Ramdeo require Z security?  Doesn't he have more than adequate resources to arrange his own security?

Was Modi being sincere when he bowed down to a protest by a handful of students in UP for excluding English from civil services examination?  He almost reopened the Pandora's box of lingual conflicts that were thought to be a thing of the past.  Is it okay to weaken institutions and the framework of good rules to bring in an officer of his choice?  Shouldn't judiciary's voice be heard when making changes to a system of selection of judges?  Does this not remind one of how Indira Gandhi weakened the institutional framework of the country?

All the issues that agitated the collective mind of Indian people immediately before elections have been cold shouldered.  And yet Modi persists in his efforts to generate euphoria by making grand appearances before NRI crowds abroad.

Inflation continues to rage.  If fuel prices have come down it is only fortuitous and not the result of any conscious efforts by the government.  One doubts whether data is being manipulated to show a lower inflation.  We are all aware of how a regulatory body in Delhi recently admitted to calculation mistake (read manipulation) in recommending higher electricity prices.

I will stop here lest the post becomes too long to read.

I am already feeling a little disappointed.  AntiModis may be feeling more so.

Trade Unions and Wages in Public Sector Banks in India

Trade unions in the banking industry in India are like living fossils from an age long past.  They have internalized a few moves which probably helped them survive in the past and are utterly unable to learn new responses to today's world that has outevolved them.

The same pattern of slogan raising followed by strikes and a show of fighting it out has been going on for decades.  This rowdyism had alienated bankers from the public at large.  The public thought that bankers were callous and too well paid for what they were doing.  Even though the pay scales have since then plummeted to the bottom most rung, the impression in public mind persists, probably as a reaction to persistence of the fossilized behavior of unions from a distant past.

Everyone wonders, except the wise old union leaders, about the purpose served by one day strikes indulged in by them and stretching the negotiations over years.  This does help the industry as it saves funds on wages for the days of strike and interest on deferred payouts because of protracted negotiations.  It used to hurt other stakeholders like the workers and the public.  They often wondered if there was something going on behind the curtains that somehow benefited the unions and encouraged them to behave the way they did and still do.  Today it doesn't hurt the public much thanks to vast strides in banking technology.  The workers are the sole sufferers.

It would be far better if the workers pooled their salaries for a few days instead of going on strike.  This fund could then be used to insert advertisements in prominent newspapers.  The objective should be to educate the public and the political class about the far higher risks in their job profile and a far lower pay than many others in far easier jobs.

When banks were nationalized, bankers used to draw salaries which exceeded their counterparts in state and central governments.  Naturally this could not go on and soon a committee said that these should be at par with those drawn by counterparts in government.  And once the parity was achieved, they ruthlessly pushed down the wages in the industry which today are the lowest in government and public sector.  This was done all too quietly.  Even the political masters of these scheming and plotting bureaucrats still think that bankers are too well paid.  They hardly have the time to go through the facts.  The same applies to the public at large.  Hence the need for education through massive advertising.

It is a common sense principle that those who deal in money must be paid reasonably well.  Once the public is convinced that those whom they trust with their money are not paid well enough, their sympathy may help swing the outcome of negotiations.

I would further suggest that the trade unions should give up their addiction to negotiations.  The disastrous results are there for all to see.  It will be a far superior option to just ask for total parity with central government employees.  After all isn't this what the bureaucrats wanted in the beginning?  Once you have the parity, you will have no reason or need to negotiate.

But before this can happen, bank employees must educate and enlighten the customers, public and politicians on their current plight.  Striking work is no way to do that.

My petition on Avaaz.org

Dear Prime Minister,

Sub: Income Tax exemption limit and delineation of creamy layers.

You will agree that an income which is considered barely sufficient to support a family but inadequate to allow one to reach out for better facilities and opportunities, must not be taxed. Income Tax should be levied only on incomes exceeding this figure.

A good indicator of such tax exemption point is the limit prescribed for determining the creamy layer among OBCs. Only those whose income exceeds this limit are considered to be adequately financially endowed to take care of their ward's education on their own.

You must be aware that the UP government recently raised this limit to Rupees Eight Lakhs per annum.

Thus it stands to reason that the exemption limit for Income Tax should also be raised to the same figure, that is, Rupees Eight Lakhs per annum. This figure indeed is an honest assessment of costs of living by none other than the political establishment itself.

If you foresee difficulties in immediately raising the exemption limit to this figure for the general population, we suggest that you do so for the senior citizens to start with. Senior citizens not only have to pay for many additional services because of their physical debility, they also tend to have much higher medical expenses. Many of them are not provided with any medical cover by their ex-employers.

We look forward to your sympathetic consideration in the next budget.

Yours faithfully

Senior Citizens of India

CC to the Finance Minister, Government of India.

To sign the petition visit this link: Click Here

भाजप भजन

प्रभुजी तुम मोदी हम मंत्री.

तुम चुनाव हमको जितवाए,
नहीं तो हम होते बस संत्री,
तुम मोदी हम मंत्री .....

बहुत दिनों बिन कुर्सी थे हम,
चिंता मन में रहती हरदम,
तुम संकटमोचन बन आये,
राजनीति के पटल पर छाये,
तुम ही असली तंत्री,
तुम मोदी हम मंत्री .....

सब चुनाव हमको जितवावो,
सबकी नैया पार लगाओ,
जन मानस पर दिन-दिन छाओ,
काला धन लाओ न लाओ,
भक्त पुरुष और स्त्री,
तुम मोदी हम मंत्री .... प्रभुजी ....

Strange Effects of Power and an Immune Bureaucracy

Most people these days relish and are even inspired by the sight of the high and mighty wielding brooms and cleaning up dirt and grime.  Some have done so with a mask and a pair of gloves while others have used their bare hands.  All these people are elites who live in complete aseptic environments and probably would not condescend even to wipe the dirt on their own shoes.  Not only this they are NOT the people who litter and pee in the public.  Heck, they hardly move around in open spaces occupied by the hoi-polloi.  But, then, who doesn't do a NaMo to authority and power?

Looking back it would seem more appropriate to have chosen the Navratnas from the hoi-polloi.  They should have been administered an oath not to litter, pee or defecate in the open and then asked to rope in more people in the manner of a Ponzi scheme.  Though the hoi-polloi might have asked, "If not in the open then where?"

Surprisingly while high and mighty responded well to the call, those who are responsible for keeping the public spaces clean, remained more or less immune.  Employees of various municipal corporations, their supervisors and corporators, even those from BJP, remained unmoved.  For them it won't be ceremonial but mean an honest day's work each day!  You certainly cannot be that harsh upon them!  They also vote, don't they?  And to be honest, the call was never addressed to them.  In the Indian politics there is only one man fool enough to proclaim loudly and clearly that public servants must perform.  We all know what has befallen him.

Ultimately it was this immune proletariat that had to take a firm stand against all this swachchhata drive.  After our Pradhan Sevak wielded spade at Assi Ghat to clean up accumulated soil and dirt, authorities moved in some heavy machinery to give finishing touches to the job.  They have now been asked by Forest department to put a stop to all this nonsense.  They have been told that it is a turtle preserve and should be left untouched.

These Forest department people must be very wise and farsighted.  They probably know where all this concern for cleanliness is leading to.  Today it is threatening the peaceful proliferation of the slow moving turtles.  Tomorrow it might be them and people like them.  Nip it in the bud as the wise men say.

A Picgrimage.

Yes that typo is deliberate.  Went on a pilgrimage but the intention was to picnic.  The place is Naimisharanya and lies about 90 kilometers away from Lucknow.  Mythology says that long long ago sages requested Brahma to provide them a peaceful and quiet place where they could meditate and also write the scriptures.  Brahma created a Chakra (a roundel) and threw it at the earth.  It landed at Naimisharanya.  There is a circular pond where this roundel is said to have landed.  The pond is known as ChakraTirth and people take a holy dip in it.  Though the name suggests that this place was a forest, there is no trace of a forest now.  There is a small township and there are villages and fields all around it.

As you enter the ChakraTirth you are accosted by priests.  Someone offers to tie a sacred thread around your wrist.  Another would like to put a tilak mark on your forehead.  Someone would ask you to do a sankalp - a ritual that ends up with paying some money to the priest.

There is a Hanuman temple (Hanumangarhi), a temple devoted to Lalita Devi, and one devoted to Sage Vyas.  There is also a temple like place where you find statues of Pandavas who are said to have had a fort there.  A priest sits there holding a microphone exhorting people to visit and donate for construction of a temple.

We parked our cars a little away from Hanumangarhi and walked towards it.  We passed by a spacious and well furnished hut where we saw a Mahant (senior priest) holding court with several gentlemen who appeared to be influential officials.  This was borne out by the vehicles outside with beacons indicating their official status.  Someone tells us that the Mahant is also the local MLA.

My brother-in-law was accompanying us.  He is a government official who has been provided with an Ambassador with a red beacon.  But he had consciously chosen to visit in a private car.  He wondered if it would have been better to use his official car.  That would have saved the ladies with knee problems a lot of walking.  And who knows, we would have also been accorded a proper and warm welcome.

On our way back we also visited a temple devoted to Chandrika devi.  A narrow road from Bakshi Taalaab leads to the temple.  On the way we find several colleges and institutes that seem to have sprung up from the fields all around them.  Some examination was being held in one of the colleges and there were vehicles parked on both sides of the road.  This lead to a jam.  But our drivers had the grit to manoeuver their way through it.

Chandrika Devi Temple campus was clean and not too crowded.  On one side there is a large pond and a pedestal in the center with a huge idol of Lord Shiva.

The temple has a entrance on one side for VVIPs.  Most temples do.  On our way back we debate the chances of equality before law in a country where people resist equaliy even before God!

Six Pack Fetish

Six packs have emerged as the latest fetish that is almost universal.  Some talk shows even suggest the possibility of going beyond six to 8 or 10 or even twelve.  Some write-ups on the internet dismiss four packs as amateurish which suggests that a lower number is possible too.  You must have noticed that all these numbers are even which would make a single pack odd.  And yet, that is what most of us, including dear NaMo, have: a single huge block that is unfortunately and derisively called a paunch.  Needless to add that the a after p takes away all the punch.

This large variation of the numerical component in describing the musculature of one's tummy is in sharp contrast with the fixed numbers that go with most other muscles like biceps, triceps and quadriceps.  And they remain bi, tri, or quadri for all Homo sapiens irrespective of their affinity or otherwise for a gym or for starvation.  I would be happy if someone could explain this perplexing variability in the numerical component of abdominal musculature.

Another mystery that requires some honest explanation is this:  Are there real people who have the six packs visible all the time - while sitting, while relaxing, after a hearty meal, or when the stomach gets distended with flatulence?  Or do they have to suck the tummy in and keep it taut to bring out the artwork?  Though, it must be admitted that these packholders, when appearing on the TV, make you believe that the artwork is there permanently.  And TV, or the larger movie screen, are perhaps the only places where you get to see these packs.

The six packs naturally go with a diminutive tummy.  When I look at some of these packholders I often wonder if they still have all the organs intact inside or did they have to get some removed or trimmed.  Is there still space for the 200 ml of bowel gas that is the average according to the medical literature?

Whatever be the case, this much coveted artwork is to be seen in humans only.  Most animals have a coat that is too loose of furry for this spectacular display.  I wonder if that paves the way for calling ourselves Homo packiens!

I am afraid it is time to close for I have to tend to my single pack now.

Gain knowledge till money comes your way!

It is Dipawali time.  Today is the festival of Dhanteras - the festival of money itself.  So one can be pardoned for daydreaming of money on this auspicious day.  And you can hardly think of money these days without a figure of xx lakh crores of INR clouding your thinking.  XX unfortunately is a variable and takes on any value from 02 to 70 depending on whom you chose to trust.  Also it must be changing with time. But now there has been a sudden and substantial markup.  Recently some leaders have proclaimed that if whole of the black money stashed overseas by some of our fellow countrymen were to come back to India and get divided equally amongst citizens, each one would be richer by INR 15 lakhs!  Let us take the country's population as 1.2 billion.  Though I personally suspect that this figure doesn't include another half a billion who have spilled over to numerous other countries.  But even if we ignore these runaways, simple arithmetic shows that the total quantum of money stashed overseas is 1800 lakh crores, or 18 crore crores, or, for the westernized, 1.8 million billion!  And this puts the value of xx at 1800!!  It makes your head spin.  In any case, it does make mine spin.

So let us get down to something that we poor citizens can better handle.  And that is the figure of 15 lakhs of INR that is coming our way, or is it?  There are a few questions that immediately spring up and keep you from enjoying the thoughts of the bounty.  These are:

1. Will this amount be taxable in the hands of the recipient?
2. If the answer to 1 is yes, then 
1. will the whole of it be taxed at current rates, or, 
2. will the tax be calculated from the year of independence till current financial year as the aforesaid 1800 lakh crore was generated over this entire period?  
3. If the answer to 2.2 is yes, what will be the interest payable on demands from earlier year?  I suspect that at currently stipulated interest rate we will not only end up paying the whole of 15 lakhs but will also have some arrears to pay.

So unless a specific exemption clause is enacted in the Income Tax Act for exempting this sudden windfall gain, the citizens are going to end up poorer after receiving 1.5 million INR each!

Yet another issue that keeps on disrupting my daydream is whether the recipients will also have to share in the cumulative prison terms that the perpetrators are going to be awarded?  Though I have a feeling that with the large number of recipients, merely queuing up in front of the nearest jail and passing through it at a leisurely pace will be enough.  If each citizens spends 10 minutes inside the jail in this exercise, a total of (1.2 * 10^9 * 10) / (365 * 24 * 60) = 22,831 man-years of imprisonment would have been served.  I am sure with this there will be some left over for their future crimes too.

Well, well!  So no citizen would mind doing that pass through if the Income Tax exemption is granted first.  Till that is done, let us bide our time and go through various treaties that have been signed by our beloved leaders in this and other matters.

Dipawali is okay.  But knowledge must always get precedence over filthy lucre, shouldn't it?  And, God willing, you may be able to figure out how to park your 15 lakhs overseas whenever you get it.

Intoxication - A Tale by Munshi Premchand

I was the son of a poor clerk who had no income other than his salary.  I had Ishwari for my friend.  He happened to be the son of a very wealthy landlord.  We often had heated debates in which I dubbed landlords as leeches, predators and people living off the fat of the land.  Ishwari naturally defended landlords though his arguments were seldom as weighty as mine and for obvious reasons.  The only arguments that he could muster was that not all men are born equal and that it has always been this way.  These could hardly bear the onslaught of moral and humanistic principles invoked by me.  However it must be said to Iswari's credit that unlike me he never lost his cool and kept smiling through the debate.  May be he understood that he was trying to defend something that was not entirely defensible.

Though, Ishwari was always harsh upon his servants and attendants.  He had his fair share of the arrogance and haughtiness that characterized his class.  He was quick to lose his temper if he found his bed was not made well enough, or his milk was not warmed just right for him, or his bicycle was not sparkling clean.  He would not put up with any laziness or lack of courtesy in his servants.  But he was friendly and polite in the extreme with his friends, especially me.  I often wondered if I would be just as harsh to the less privileged if I were in the place of Ishwari.  And I suspected that perhaps I would have been even more so as my love for the lowly was based not so much on principles as the fact that my own place in the society was closer to them.  I also suspected that Ishwari would be an aristocrat even if he were in my place  because that was his innate nature.

The festival of Dashahara was close at hand.  I had made up my mind not to visit my family.  I didn't have enough money to pay for the fare and I didn't want to ask them for more money.  I knew well enough that they were already spending beyond their means on my education.  Also I had to catch up on my studies and that would have taken a back seat at home.  At the same time staying in the boarding house almost alone was not a very welcome prospect.  So when Ishwari invited me to accompany him to his home for the festival, it didn't take much persuasion.  I readily agreed.  Ishwari was an intelligent and hardworking student too.  I told myself that it will be better to study together with Ishwari.

Ishwari was happy when I accepted the invitation.  He was also prudent enough to tell me, "Please take care not to criticize the zamindars (landed aristocracy.)  Not only will my family feel bad, it might be quite disruptive.  You see the servants and peasants are made to believe that they are duty bound to serve us and it is our divine right to be the recipient of their labors.  No one would put up with you giving them ideas to the contrary."

I countered, "You don't expect me to turn into a different person, do you?"

He just said, "I do hope so," and let the matter rest at that.

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This was the first time I would be travelling second class.  I had no experience of travelling even in the inter class, let alone second.  We both were excited about the vacations and the journey and reached the railway station quite early in the evening.  We roamed around for some time and then went to the refreshment room for our dinner.  The waiters were quick to figure out who was the boss and it showed in the deferential treatment meted out by them to Ishwari while nearly ignoring me.  Even though Ishwari was paying for the dinner, I felt bad about it.  I expected them to be just as prompt and courteous in serving me as they were towards Ishwari.  My expectations were belied and this left a bad taste in my mouth: I hardly enjoyed my dinner.  Ishwari paid the bill and left a tip of half of a rupee.  It occurred to me that the waiters must be earning more in tips than the whole salary of my father.  Yet, their attitude towards me kept bothering me.

As we were leaving for boarding the train, the waiters saluted Ishwari and bid him goodbye paying scant attention to me.

Ishwari observed, "Look at these fellows:  How well mannered and cultured they are!  This is very unlike our servants back home."

I said dryly, "Perhaps they too would be just as well mannered if you gave them a tip of half a rupee every day."

Ishwari said, "I do not think it is just a matter of earning tips."

I responded sarcastically, "Of course not, it must in their DNA!!"

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The train, a mail train, left Prayag station.  It next stopped at Pratapgarh.  A passenger opened the door of our coach.  I immediately shouted, "This is second class; not the general compartment."  The passenger entered the coach, cast a strange look at me and said, "Yes, sir! I know that much."  He sat down on the berth opposite ours. I felt very embarrassed at my behavior.  I didn't know what had come upon me.

We reached Moradabad early in the morning.  There was a whole team at the platform waiting to welcome us.  It comprised of two gentlemen and five servants.  The servants picked up our luggage.  The two gentlemen were in tow behind us.  As I learnt later, one of them was a Muslim, Riyasat Ali, and the other was a Brahmin, Ramharakh.  They were munshis or supervisors.  They looked at me in a manner that seemed to underscore my inferior status.

Riyasat Ali asked Ishwari, "Is this young gentleman your classmate?"

Ishwari replied, "Yes, my classmate and my roommate too.  It is because of him that I am staying on at Allahabad.  But for him I would have returned to Lucknow long time ago.  This time I managed to persuade him to accompany me home.  There were several telegrams from his own home asking him to spend the vacations with his family, but to no avail.  The last telegram was an urgent one costing a quarter of a rupee per word!  He said no to even that."

The two gentlemen tried their best to look suitably impressed.  Riyasat Ali again spoke in an uncertain tone, "For a person of his stature, he dresses too simply!"

Ishwari said, hoping to put all his doubts at rest, "He is a follower of Mahatma Gandhi.  He will wear nothing but khadi.  He made a bonfire of all his fancy clothes.  He is a true aristocrat and has an annual income of two and a half lakhs from his estate.  And yet he looks like an inmate who has just walked out of an orphanage!"

Ramharakh said, "You are right.  One could hardly guess his stature by looking at him.  There are few gentlemen who could match his simplicity."

Riyasat Ali corroborated, "He reminds me of the nawab of Changli.  He always wore a mere khadi jacket and a pair of the cheapest variety of shoes.  Once, as he was roaming around on his own, the authorities mistook him for a labor and dragged him to work on a college building.  The story has it that he donated ten lakh rupees for construction of the college."

Though I was embarrassed, I did nothing to counter the white lies that Ishwari had spun about me and and that were being corroborated by the two gentlemen.  Perhaps I was persuaded into believing in those lies myself.

When we emerged from the station, there were two well groomed horses with elegant saddles on them waiting for us.  Though I had mounted mules a couple of times as a child, I had not experience of horse riding whatsoever.  I was terrified as I mounted the horse.  I tried my best not to let the fear show.  Ishwari was ahead of me and he made his horse go really slow.  Perhaps he had sensed the fear in me.

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Ishwari's house was almost like a fort!  The main gate at the entrance was huge.  It was as big as the one I had seen at the Imambara.  There was a guard at the gate, and an elephant just beyond it.  Inside the house there was a whole army of servants.  Ishwari introduced me to his father, uncles and cousins.  He spun the same yarn before them as he had done before the two gentlemen at the station.  And he did it so convincingly that it left no doubts in anyone's mind.  Everybody in the house and the servants became extremely deferential towards me.  In their eyes I was a baron with my income running into lakhs of rupees, and yet I had no airs about me.  I was considerate to everyone.  Many of them started addressing me as Sir.

A couple of hours later when Ishwari and I were all by ourselves, I said to Ishwari, "Please stop this mischief.  You are embarrassing me no ends."

Ishwari smiled and said, "But for this mischief the idiots around here would not condescend to accept you as my friend and my equal."

After a short while a servant entered the room.  He was there to massage our legs as per the custom.  After all we had undertaken an arduous journey to reach home. As he moved towards Ishwari, Ishwari motioned towards me, "Sir first."

I was lying in the bed.  No one had ever massaged my legs, never.  I always termed this practice as inhumane, idiotic and a mark of a decadent life of excessive money and no sense of shame.  And now I was indulging in it myself and enjoying it to the hilt!

It was ten o'clock now.  Another servant appeared with a message that lunch was ready.  Both of us went for a bath.  I used to wash my own dhoti and undergarments after bath.  But today I left them behind, like Ishwari, to be washed by a servant.  Somehow it felt awkward to wash my own clothes.

In the villages it is customary to wash your feet before you get down to lunch.  A servant was waiting at the entrance with a pot of water.  Ishwari stepped in front of him and the servant washed his feet.  I imitated Ishwari.  All my ideals of equality of human beings and the like failed to deter me.

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All my plans to study hard with Ishwari got a short shrift.  I was having the time of my life.  Ishwari and I would go for walks, boating, fishing and hunting.  Sometimes we would watch wrestling matches or play chess.  Ishwari used to have omelettes for snacks and I loved it too.  We were literally surrounded by servants all the time.  There was one to give me a bath, another to wash my clothes, and yet another to fan me as I relaxed.  I was known and respected as the prince disciple of Gandhi.  Everyone was extra careful with me.  My breakfast and snacks were always ready at the right time, my bed must be made for me well before it was time for me to retire.  Even Ishwari could wait or make his own bed, but not me - the simple minded prince!  It would be an insult to the prince.

One day Ishwari stayed back in his mother's room talking to her.  It was past ten in the night.  I was feeling very sleepy.  But no one had made my bed!  Making my own bed was just out of the question.  It was half past eleven when one of the servants turned up.  He apologized for the delay and said that he was very busy in the kitchen and elsewhere.  He cringed as I started shouting at him.  Ishwari must have heard me shouting.  He entered the room and took stock of the situation.  He then said, "Good that you gave him a piece of your mind.  These lazybones deserve it."

A few days later I was sitting alone in my room.  Ishwari had gone to attend some ceremony in the village.  Dusk had fallen but there was nobody around to light the lamp.  The lamp was sitting on the table with a matchbox next to it.  But then how could I, the prince, light it myself?  Ishwari didn't ever do that.  I wanted to read the newspaper but it was too dark for that.  I could feel the anger simmering within me.  As luck would have it, Riyasat Ali happened to pass by my room.  I called him in and gave him a sharp rebuke.  I shouted, "It is dark and nobody cares to light the lamp in my room.  Not even you.  If you were working for me you would have got the boot within an hour.  I wonder how Ishwari puts up with useless fellows like you."  Riyasat Ali was taken aback.  He lit the lamp with trembling hands and silently walked away.

A thakur (one belonging to the Kshatriya caste) from the village used to visit me often.  He didn't look like a very responsible person but considered himself to be a disciple of Gandhiji.  One day he walked into my room as I was sitting alone.  He paid his respects and asked with folded hands, "Sir, you are a disciple of Gandhiji, aren't you?  People say when he gets us independence there will be no landlords around."

I said with pride in my voice, "And why do people need landlords?  They are merely parasites who exploit the poor."

Thakur pressed on, "Sir, then, will the government confiscate all the land held by the landlords?"

I responded, "I am sure that most of the landlords will voluntarily surrender their holdings.  Those who don't will suffer confiscation.  Personally, I am in full readiness to transfer my land to my tenants soon after independence."

Thakur sat down on the floor and started massaging my legs.  He said, "Sir, not all landlords are like you.  Some are real tyrants.  I would forever be obliged to you if you could give me a piece of your land.  I will be happy to serve you as long as I live."

I said, "I am still a student and don't have much say in property matters.  But soon I will.  And then I wouldn't forget to send for you.  I will teach you driving and appoint you my driver."

I came to know later that on that day the thakur got high on several glasses of 'bhaang,' gave his wife a good thrashing and challenged the village moneylender to a fight.

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The vacation finally came to an end.  Many people accompanied us to the station to see us off.  I played my role of the simple minded and kindhearted gentleman to the hilt and was rewarded with awed expressions on the face of the villagers.  I wanted to tip all the servants heavily but then didn't have the money for it.  Thakur even came to the platform and kept close to me all the time.

When the train arrived it was overflowing with passengers.  It was difficult even to gain an entry in the second class.  Inter class was even worse.  With great difficulty we could enter a third class compartment.  There was no other option.  The vacations were over and this was the last train of the day.  People instinctively made room for us and we got to squeeze in on a berth.  But it was very cramped and uncomfortable.  We could hardly move.

Some of the passengers were literate and quite knowledgeable.  They were talking about wonderful governance by and the justice system of the British rulers.  One of them said, "This is really unheard of - the equality before law.  And the system of justice does really treat the mighty and the meek equally.  Even if the king does a wrong, he cannot escape justice."

Another person said in agreement, "Yes I have heard of decrees against the king himself."

I was sitting close to the door of the compartment.  A passenger was carrying a huge bundle on his back and was on his way to Kolkata.  There was no place where he could keep the bundle.  The weight of the bundle made him restless and he kept coming back to the door.  He will stand there with his back to me and the bundle will rub into my face.  I was feeling suffocated.  Suddenly I lost all control and I slapped the man several times and pushed him away."

The man glared at me and said, "How dare you hit me?  I too have a valid ticket for the journey."

I countered by slapping him a few more times.

Suddenly all the passengers in the compartment turned against me.  Some called me names.  Someone said, "If you are so delicate, you should travel first class!"  Another person added, "Never mind if he is a moneyed person.  Had he done this to me, I would have paid him back with interest."

Yet another person said, "And what exactly was the poor fellow's fault?  The compartment is packed like a tin of sardines.  One can hardly breathe.  He moved to the door to get some fresh air.  Isn't he too a human being?  Must a rich man be so inconsiderate towards a fellow human being, rich or poor?"

"Is this the justice in the British reign that you were talking about?"

A villager said with scorn, "He may be playing haughty here, but I am sure he will not be able to set foot inside a British Officers' office."

Ishwari mumbled to me in English, "What an idiot you are, Sir!"

It felt like my intoxication with my assumed personality was finally wearing off.

A Gentleman's Punishment - A Tale by Munshi Premchand

Like most of us, Sardar Shivsingh, District Engineer of Shahjahanpur, had his share of both good and the bad.  According to his subordinates the good thing about him was that he was compassionate even towards the guilty and believed that justice need not be harsh.  The bad thing, from the viewpoint of his colleagues and subordinates, was that he was neither greedy nor selfish.  His compassion, even for the guilty, had rendered his subordinates lazy and they had little apprehension of any action against them.  And what they and Sardar's colleagues detested about him,  had turned them into Sardar's mortal enemies.

One fine morning Sardar got ready to leave for inspecting a bridge that was under construction.  He had instructed his coach driver last evening to report for duty early in the morning but he hadn't turned up yet.  The sun came up and rose high in the sky and made the cool breeze of the morning hot.  However it seemed that all this had failed to pull the driver out of his slumber.

Sardar got tired of waiting and let himself down in a chair.  At long last, the coach driver did show up but now the orderlies went missing.  One that had been sent out to collect the mail was busy offering a prayer in a temple.  The other, who was to deliver a message to the contractor to come and accompany the officer, was smoking marijuana with a local sadhu, Baba Ramdas.

It was getting very late and hot.  Sardar, annoyed and tired of waiting, got up and went inside the bungalow.  He spoke to his wife in an irrirated voice, "It is so very late but even one of the orderlies is not to be seen.  I am truly fed up with them."

His wife looked blankly at the wall and replied, "They have been spoilt by none other than you yourself!"

Sardar said with much annoyance, "So? Do you want me to hang them?"

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Sardar did not have a car, nor even a fitan (a fancy horse drawn carriage.)  All he had for transportation was an "ikka," a plain carriage drawn by a single horse and lacking all ornamentation.  His staff  called it his flying craft while others in the city very unkindly called it a junk cart.  Sardar was very thrifty indeed.  His dependents included two younger brothers studying at Allahabad, his widowed mother living in his native village as also his widowed sister.  He provided scholarships to some poor students too.  This put him in dire straits financially.  And yet, he never succumbed to any temptation to accept bribes.  His friends and loved ones admired him for it.  However, the same trait was sorely detested by those who were in a business relationship with him for it came in the way of their making money.  Even his wife was at times miffed by his overly honest ways.

One evening when Sardar returned from his office, his wife had a talk with him.  She said in a loving tone, "What use is all your honesty?  No one ever has a good word for you."

Sardar replied in a firm voice, "I couldn't care less.  The God above sees all."

His wife, Rama, had anticipated this response.  She said, "Let us not get into a debate.  You, of course, get a reasonably good salary and can make do without going for any extra income.  Just think how does your approach affect those around you.  Your orderlies, peons and clerks get no more than 5 to 10 rupees a month.  They too have families, social obligations and all the usual expenses.  Their children too have to be married, there are occasional medical expenses too.  How can they manage all this with their meager salary?  The other day the wife of Ramdeen, your peon, was here.  She was crying bitterly.  Her daughter is to be married.  Ramdeen is a brahmin.  In their caste expenses on a girl's marriage run into thousands.  Tell me, who is going to be responsible for their misery?"

Sardar himself used to ponder over these matters and didn't totally disagree with his wife.  In fact this was the reason for his leniency towards his subordinates.  However his leniency and gentlemanly approach was never accepted by the subordinates as compensation enough for the underhand dealings denied to them.

Sardar said, "I do not disagree with you.  But I just cannot compromise on my principles.  If it were up to me, I would give all of them a hefty raise.  But as regards bribery, I will neither engage in it myself nor allow my subordinates to do so."

Rama repeated her question with sarcasm, "Then, again, who will take responsibility for their misery?"

Sardar said irritably, "The responsibility squarely lies with those who choose to live beyond their means.  Why should an orderly aspire to have a lawyer as his son-in-law?  If a peon chooses to employ a household help, it is almost a sin.  It is the height of folly if a stableman's wife aspires for heavy silver jewelry.  How can another person be responsible for their ostentation?"

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The relationship between engineers and contractors is like that between honeybees and flowers.  If the bees are content with what is their fair share, no one can have any complaint against them.  This sweet nectar that rightfully belongs to them is called 'commission' in the parlance of public works.  It is not bribe.  Bribe is bad and it mars your life in this world as well as the next.  Bribe is immoral and there is always a fear of punishment lurking in the mind of those who indulge in it.  But 'commission' is as natural and beautiful as a garden.  And it is accepted as such by others, the God himself and your own conscience.  It doesn't tar your reputation.  It is like a sacrifice that is a sacred religious act and not a murder.  Despite such societal acceptance, Sardar never approved of 'commission' and steered clear of it.  He could be pardoned for such stubbornness.

The month of March was coming to an end.  An inspection of public works in the district by the Chief Engineer was imminent.  But most projects were still incomplete.  The roads were in bad shape.  The contractors were yet to procure requisite material for repairing them.  Sardar's repeated reminders to the contractors bore little fruit.

He summoned a meeting of all the contractors.  He thus addressed them, "Do you want me to be dubbed a non-performer in this district?  I have always been nice to you.  I could have got all work done departmentally instead of awarding contracts to you all.  I did not do so because I did not want to hurt your interests.  And this is what I get in return!  Well, well!!"

As the contractors emerged from the meeting room, they started talking amongst themselves.  Mr. Gopaldas said, "I hope the Chief Engineer's visit will make this fellow more alive to the reality."

Shahbaz Khan said, "He is impossible.  I am simply waiting for his funeral."

Seth Chunnilal added, "I know this Chief Engineer well.  He is going to take Sardar to task."

Old Haridas said in a sage voice, "It is true that our business interests are affected.  But for that I would consider Sardar to be a godly man.  Look at us.  We hold on to the last paisa by the skin of our teeth.  But Sardar, who is financially stretched, doesn't even touch 'commission' income that would easily work out to ten thousand rupees every year.  Though he is suffering, he doesn't compromise his principles.  He wouldn't accept a single penny from us.  It is but our bad luck that we have to oppose such a saintly person."

Shahbaz said in agreement, "It can not be gainsaid that this man is an angel indeed."

Seth Chunnilal said in a somber tone, "You are right Mr. Khan.  But, then, if you want to stay in business you cannot be a stickler for principles.  The world is like this.  We cannot help it."

Mr. Gopaldas, a graduate, said with pride in his tone, "Well if he is so principled he shouldn't have taken up this job.  It is okay to be honest.  But shouldn't you care for how your rigidity is affecting others?  We would rather deal with a person who makes money for himself and lets us do the same.  We don't mind even if he demands more than usual.  After all, for every rupee of commission that the officer takes, we make five!  But this person simply wouldn't let us.  Whatever you might say, I am totally opposed to this person."

Shahbaz Khan said, "Yes, it is okay to be good and honest but only so far as it doesn't hurt the interest of others."

Those who had earlier nodded vigorous agreement with Haridas were now all siding up with Gopaldas.  The spark of truth is short lived indeed in weak souls!

                                       --------------------------------------------------------

Sardar had a daughter and he was in talks with a barrister at Meerut for her marriage with the barrister's son.  The barrister's family belonged to a high caste and was quite well to do.  It had taken huge efforts to get the matter close to being concluded.  All the details had been worked out except dowry.  Earlier on the barrister saw no point in discussing the matter with a person at the level of a District Engineer.  A District Engineer would naturally be liberal with money and not insisting on a fixed amount would only enhance the barrister's dignity.  But as close inquiries revealed Sardar's way of life and his financial status, the barrister thought it wise to negotiate the quantum of dowry beforehand.  He sent a letter to Sardar asking for a dowry of five thousand rupees.  He added that he regretted being forced into being so explicit with a demand for dowry.  But the old, orthodox, selfish and unthinking elders in the family left him with no other option.  He was helpless in the matter.  Sardar finished reading the letter and inhaled sharply.  All his hopes had been dashed to the ground.  He felt very restless and started pacing the room.

He picked up the letter and went inside.  He wondered if he should share it with Rama.  Finally he decided against it as there was no hope of getting any sympathies from her.  Why be weak?  She will only make me feel like a fool with her acerbic criticism of my ways.

Sardar was a kindhearted person and such a person can hardly face adversities and remain unmoved.  He was full of sorrow and remorse.  He wondered why should he have to suffer so even though he was careful not to hurt others.  After months of efforts and just as he hoped that the matter was about to be closed, the whole thing had gone up in smoke!  There was no way for him to remedy the situation.  It may not be easy to go through the same pains once again.  He felt immersed in gloom with no ray of hope.  His eyes filled with tears as he thought that there was no one on whose shoulders he could cry.

He sat down in the chair.  Several bills submitted by contractors were lying on the table in front of him.  The bills had been lying there for weeks awaiting Sardar's attention.  As he looked at the bills in theses moments of weakness, it occurred to him that a simple solution to his problem was right in front of him.  He wouldn't be required to speak up; a gesture will be enough.  The subordinates will manage everything with just a nod of agreement from him.  He will not have to face any embarrassment.  The thought took such hold on his mind that he started looking up the bills and working out the likely amount of commission he might get.

 However the weak moments passed soon as his real self reasserted itself.  He thought, "What has come upon me?  Am I going to lose a lifetime of inner rectitude for the sake of money?  I may not have money but I always hold my head high.  Even those having motor cars and other luxuries could hardly look me in the eyes.  Am I going to throw this hard-earned honor away for making money?  So what if it runs into thousands of rupees?"

Having thus overcome his momentary weakness, he was suddenly filled with joy and had a hearty laugh in that closed room.  He felt light and relieved at this victory over sudden rush of greed.  He threw the bills down on the floor and walked over them.  He was all smiles as he left the room.

                                       --------------------------------------------------------

The Chief Engineer visited Shahjahanpur as scheduled and the visit brought Sardar bad luck in its wake.  None of the projects had been completed.  CE's assistant said, "Sir, it is just not possible for the contractors to complete projects in time.  The District Engineer subjects them to much harassment."  The head clerk accompanying CE found accounts full of errors and omissions.  To make matters worse, the visiting team was not offered any gifts nor was any dinner hosted for them.  It made them dig deeper for finding faults.  After all they were only colleagues and not family members!

The contractors in the district sought an appointment with the CE.  They came with a gift hamper overflowing with expensive presents.  They said, "Sir, even at the cost of incurring your wrath we must submit that we can no longer put up with the unjust ways of the DE.  He may have a reputation for not accepting commissions but you cannot imagine how harsh he is towards us!

The CE wrote in his inspection report - "Sardar Shivsingh is very honest person and has an exemplary character.  However he is not able to properly manage the affairs of a district as big as Shahjahanpur."

As a result of this Sardar was demoted and posted at a smaller district.

His friends and well-wishers organized a farewell function.  Everyone praised him for his uprightness in their speeches.  In the final speech, the president said that they were all going to sorely miss Sardar and no one could fill the vacuum left behind by him.  However the farewell dinner proved that a good dinner can help people overcome any grief howsoever severe.

Sardar's household bags were all packed up.  When he came back from the farewell, his wife found him very sad and morose.  She had been after him to entertain the CE, tip his assistant, offer gifts to the Head Clerk and host dinner for all of them.  But it was all to no avail.  So even after she got the news of Sardar's transfer and demotion, she continued to be sarcastic towards him.  But now the look on Sardar's face made her heart melt.  She asked him softly, "Why are you so sad?"  Sardar said, "Do you think I should celebrate and laugh merrily?"  Rama said, rather seriously, "Yes, you ought to celebrate and laugh.  It is their lot to cry who compromise their integrity and principle for mere money.  You have not been punished for doing any wrong.  You have been punished for being a true gentleman.  And you must not let it distract you.  On the contrary you should be happy about it."

Having finished speaking, Rama looked at Sardar with eyes overflowing with love.  Sardar too looked at her lovingly and found her face aglow with true joy.  He hugged her and said, "All I needed was your love and understanding.  Now no punishment can detract from my joy."

The Miller Woman's Well - Concluding Part (V)

Twelve years have passed since then.  Chaudhary is no more in this world; nor is Harnath.  Chaudhary kept worrying about the well throughout his life and he regretted his failure in his last moments too.  Harnath somehow pulled on with his business but could never generate enough spare cash to repay Gomati's funds.  The business went down under soon after Chaudhary's demise.  Harnath had no one to whom he would be answerable and started speculating.  This ultimately lead to closure of the business and he was also forced to dispose off most of the jewelry and other household items to meet his obligations.  After just an year of his demise, Chaudhary was joined by his son in the heavens.  Chaudhary's wife lost all desire to live.  She fell ill but there was no money for her treatment.  She suffered heavily for a few months before joining her husband and son.  The only survivor was Harnath's wife who was pregnant.  She had neither any money with her nor any person to support her.  She could not even take up hard labor as she was pregnant.  She somehow made both ends meet by sewing clothes.  Women in the village used to console her saying that she was surely going to have a son.  This worked as a life support that kept her going.  Ultimately it was a girl that she gave birth to.  She thought that this was the end and now she had nothing to live for.  She felt little love for her newborn daughter and didn't even feed her.  It took a lot of persuasion from the neighbors to make her feed the baby.  But her breasts had little to offer to the child because of her own malnutrition.  As she suckled the baby for the first time she suddenly felt a surge of emotions for the child.  She prayed for all blood left in her body to be turned into milk so the baby could survive.

As the baby looked at her innocently the mother could clearly see the helplessness, hunger and begging in her eyes.  Her heart went out to her and her eyes shed tears that fell on the baby as living proof of mother's love, affection and blessings.  This made the weakling's face come alive as flowers do in the light of the moon.  The baby was ill fated and not destined to experience mother's love for long.  The mother fed her with her own blood in the form of scarce milk and some other food.  The girl grew steadily weak and so did the mother.

One day people found the mother lying dead on the floor and the emaciated baby trying to suck at the mother's withered breast.  The villagers performed the last rites of the mother and raised the girl out of sheer pity for her.

The girl was now almost seven years old.  She used to mow the grass from far and wide and offer it to the villagers for their cattle.  One day, as she was wandering in search of tall grass, she reached Gomati's dilapidated home. The girl looked around as if in a trance.  Suddenly she started digging a hole.  She went on from morning till evening without food or water.  She continued till it was very dark.  Most villagers were afraid of going to that side of the village.  The little girl didn't experience any fear whatsoever.

She got up early next morning.  She mowed till noon and she had more grass than she could normally mow in the whole day.  After noon she again proceeded to the ruins and worked on making the hole bigger and deeper.  Two boys from the village too accompanied her.  Together they kept playing this 'dig a well' game.

Next day some more boys and girls from the village joined this game.  They were all full of energy and by evening the hole was as wide as a real well and two arm-lengths deep.

As the word spread amongst the youngsters the group grew considerably.  There was division of labor.  Some would step inside and dig.  Some would pile the soil in big bamboo baskets.  Yet others would pull it up and out.  Soon the well was more than four arm-lengths deep.  The adults in the village were not yet aware of this strange activity that the children were engaged in.

Then one day a villager, looking for his lost buffalo, wandered into the ruin.  He saw the dim light of an oil lamp and a huge pile of soil.  He got scared and ran away.  He returned with some other villagers and saw the young girl sitting there all by herself.  One of them asked her, "Girl, have you dug this hole."

"Yes."

"And what are you up to?"

"I am going to have a well here."

"You think you will be able to do it all by yourself."

"All the children in the village help me throughout the day."

"Girl, this is dangerous.  You or one of the boys could get trapped in the well.  Stop this nonsense."

Next day none of the other children turned up at the site.  Our girl too mowed grass throughout the day.  But as soon as dusk fell, she picked up an oil lamp and her primitive tools, went to the site and started working.

The villagers tried to persuade her, gave her a beating and even locked her up in a room.  But all this was of no avail.  The girl would always make an escape and resume working on her well.

The villagers' attitude too softened.  They were touched by the girls single minded devotion to the cause.  Some of them started helping her.  Now that the girl had some time to spare she started making mud bricks for lining the well.  She often worked overnight.   Sometimes elders talked to her and were surprised by the maturity and wisdom displayed by a child merely seven years old.

Their joint efforts finally bore fruit and a well with a parapet of pucca bricks was finally ready!  That day the girl's joy knew no bounds.  She danced around the well and sang songs.  When she was tired she went to sleep right next to the parapet, never to get up again.

Her dead body was noticed next morning by a villager.  The villagers were shocked and surprised.  Some elders exclaimed that it was none other than Gomati who had reincarnated as the girl.  From that very day the villagers started calling the well as the miller woman's (Hindi - Pisanhaari's) well.

Concluded.