THE BIG "THENGA"

17th March 2013

I like the word “thenga”. It is neither Hindi not Bengali nor Gujarati nor Marathi. Its pure Hindustani. It is understood by one and all. It rolls off from the tongue easily, fluidly and without any pretence. Above all, it conveys volumes without being offensive or abusive. In gentler Victorian times it was called Cocking a Snook, but in these days of fast food the English realized it was too time consuming for comfort, and they shortened it to “Sod Off”; the Aussies in their gruffness called it “Bugger off, Mate”. The average American – mentally, verbally and phoenetically challenged – simply reduced it to the Middle Finger sign, with the more articulate of the lot adding “Up Yours”. I also like the word Thenga because it sort of rhymes with Tango. They say it takes two to tango; but one can Thenga the whole world.

You could do a Thenga, and usually get away with it. As the Italians recently did to us. The Marines shot dead a few Kerala fishermen, went temporarily to jail, and then on a Supreme Court sanctioned holiday to the home country with a promise to return to do time. They broke their promise, and bolted permanently – and did a big Thenga to the Indian government. Harish Salve who pleaded the Italians’ case so effectively got egg in the face – sorry, Thenga. The Supreme Court? I don’t know, but I’d rather not be Thenga’ad by them. Now it transpires that the French did a Thenga to us in 1998 when they did a bolt after being arrested for spying off the Kerala coast. Pakistan Thenga’as us all the time.

Come to think of it – everyone Thenga’as everyone in this country. The public do it to the cops all the time by breaking every law. The Bombay Municipal Corp did the Thenga to the Supreme Court re: the hawkers issue. The Supreme Court recently ordered that there was a surfeit of Laal Battis, and ordered a crackdown. What happened? Ya guessed it mate!!! They were shown the big Thenga by cops, ministers, and every junior civil servant trying to act big. The SC also said “Off with tinted glasses”. Response? One hellava big Thenga.

Now, re: the Italian Thenga, our beloved and angry PM said he would take very strict action (Heh, heh, heh). My good friend Babubhai’s very good friend Popatlal remarked tongue-in-cheek, that the Cabinet has ordered banning pastas and pizzas in restaurants as a swift reprisal. That would bring the Italians to their knees! he said. He also said, seriously, I must add, that it was time our national emblem was changed to the Thenga. Worth considering, I muttered, only half tongue-in-cheek.

MY DIWALI AWARDS

                                                           MY DIWALI AWARDS


The festive season has come to an end, and in the aftermath of the noise, smoke, smog, pollution and the resultant high BP and chest ailments I have decided to publicly honour the everlasting contribution made by our enlightened public. The Supreme Court said that there should be no noise at all in certain areas, and that the noise should be within permissible limits and upto 10PM only in residential areas. The Mumbai Police said that no crackers should be burst on roads, but only in open grounds. But . . .
i. The 1st prize therefore, ladies and gentlemen, goes to the parents who dared to be different, and who indicated to their darling offspring that IT’S OKAY TO BREAK THE LAW. The not-so-little darlings with unabashed enthusiasm let loose string bombs, atom bombs, rockets and what-not, littered the streets with paper residue, added noxious gases to the gas chamber called Mumbai – all under the appreciative glances of doting parents. And who cares about the time and place restrictions? Residential societies, hospitals and government colonies were united in this defiance of the law. And why not? After all, our founding fathers too broke the law, didn’t they? So, my first prize goes to the educated and enlightened parents – businessmen, doctors, lawyers, IAS officers, etc.

ii. My 2nd prize goes to the Mumbai Police for turning A BLIND EYE AND A DEAF EAR to the ear-splitting blasts all around. Oh yes, there are laws, rules and judgments, but aww c’mon, what the hell. This is celebration time, right? Like good humans they followed the lofty ideals of see no evil, hear no evil and speak no evil. Why spoil the party, is their motto during Diwali.

iii. The 3rd prize goes to SIVAKASI FIRE WORKS. These good Samaritans supply the bulk of fireworks and firepower. What would Life be without such good souls? Never mind that they employ child labour; never mind that they make their labour work without protective gear; and just too bad that the labour is not insured. What are these minor inconveniences compared to the larger joy and happiness that they spread during festivals?

iv. The CONSOLATION PRIZE must go to the . . . Yes, you guessed it . . . to the doctors! This profession is the largest beneficiary of doting parents, a smiling police force and (fire)powerful Sivakasi Works. I read somewhere (but I’m sure it’s just a joke) that the Perchlorates in the crackers restrict the thyroid gland’s ability to take iodine from the bloodstream, causing hypothyroidism; the Smoke affects the lungs triggering asthma; Stronium impairs bone growth in children; Aluminium affects the brain and lungs, and could also lead to Alzheimer’s in some cases; the Copper in the crackers can cause severe skin disease; and Barium can cause vomiting, diarrhea, breathing trouble, numbness and general muscular weakness. Not to speak of deafness, high BP and other related problems. Now you know why the medical community has not issued any warnings at all!

Next year I am actually going to give a gold, a silver and a bronze – just as they do at the Olympics. All I am looking for are some sponsors!

FIRE, FIRE BURNING BRIGHT

Every evening at 9 when I sit to watch the news I am filled with a sense of outrage; and like a glutton gone insane I continue to watch the news, and continue to feel outraged. What perplexes me more than the shamelessness of our ruling elite is the complacency of the educated elite. Yes, in the Indian context we are the educated elite – anyone who has done his schooling automatically falls into this category where the dividing line between the haves and the have nots (in education) is clearly defined. And those of these millions who have access to computers – and by logical extension – to the Net, FB and Twitter (like us) fall into the class of the super-educated elite.

So why am I filled with angst? Yes, I am. Because we have chosen to close our eyes and shut our ears to what is happening around us. Because my Inbox is full of chain letters and chain jokes – none of them original – interrupted by the outbursts of a few fellow-outraged concerned citizens who send me Pritish Nandy’s comments on the state of the nation.  

And what IS the state of the nation? Scams of immeasurable gigantic gargantuan proportions, Coalgate, Karnataka MLAs on a study tour, farmers suicides, reservations in promotions, economic paralysis . . . Can someone please add to this list? And add to the debate? Any silver lining? Yes, mercifully so, even though fleeting and like a mirage – the Indian Army, the higher judiciary, Narayan Murthy, Abdul Kalam, Ratan Tata, Aamir Khan, and a handful of committed civil servants who are plodding on despite all odds to take the country, huffing and puffing, to the goal post.

And what about us, the vast majority who are content to send chain letters and chain jokes, and upload pictures of our holiday abroad with baba log in tow? Ever heard of Nero, the guy who fiddled while Rome burnt? Well, he is immortal, and we Indians have immortalized him.

Sorry, friends, for this public display of angst – but I just could not take it after seeing Arnav Goswami in action today. Please add fuel to this little spark, and set off a conflagration of vocal resistance that will change our anthem from Chalta Hai to Nahin Chalega.

NORTH-EAST: Music gone sour

Did it require an exodus of 10,000 plus from Bangalore to highlight the problems of the North East? Did it require the beating up of a group of N.E. students in Poona to merit a discussion on TV? Did it require the escape of 6,000 from Hyderabad to tell us that there is a region in the north east that is part of India, and that its citizens are Indians too? And did it require an orgy of violence on Sunday in Bombay to drive home the point just how badly we have consistently neglected our north eastern states? Were we bothered about the north east when the region was reeling under a 100-day blockade that drove the price of petrol to Rs. 200/- a litre, and the price of a gas cylinder to Rs. 2,000/-. And this was just last year! Are these citizens discriminated against? Yes, hopelessly so. The answer indeed is a sad YES.

Those from the North East who live and work in ‘mainstream’ India have to bear the taunts of Chinky Chinky Chinese. None occupies a pride of place in industry; none is a prominent lawyer; none, a prominent CA. And with the sole exception of Panjor on CNN-IBN there is none from N.E. India on national TV. (By contrast, the BBC has newsreaders from almost every ethnic group). India Tourism has almost completely ignored this beautiful region from its adverts. Even our dear ManMohan Singh seems to have forgotten that he became PM from Assam!

The only Indians who know just how gentle, and how talented, these people are, are those in government – either in the civil services or the armed forces. Truly deplorable that it needed violence, and Mary Kom, to tell us ‘mainstream’ Indians that there is a very beautiful region with very beautiful people in the North East – and that they are Indians.

VIGNETTES OF TURKEY - TONGUE-IN-CHEEK

Vignettes of Turkey – Tongue-in-cheek

I landed in Bombay in the early hours of an October morning last year, back home from a 16-day 3,500-km long tour of the Western half of Turkey. I came back suffering acutely from culture-shock, and relieved that I was an Indian. Let me explain.

On landing in Istanbul I was struck by the absolute – not relative, but absolute – cleanliness on the streets. Not a piece of litter, not a scrap of paper, and certainly no pan-stains. And this was not just on the broad spaces and wide roads outside the airport, but right upto the Sultanahmet district where I was put up. My shock worsened when I saw the same fetish for cleanliness as I rode through the small towns of Turkey – Kanakalle, Kusadasi, Marmaris, Fetheye . . . Strange, I thought, these guys don’t seem to have anything to do but to keep their surroundings clean!

Next, the silence – long spells of eerie, nerve-wracking silence. No honking on the streets, and if there was someone in the way a very gentle toot sufficed. Even ordinary conversation seemed muted. Yes, the vendors in the Spice Market and the Grand Bazaar of Istanbul did shout, but almost apologetically so.

And then the historical monuments – the amphitheatre, the temples - beautifully preserved and painstakingly restored from centuries B.C. All without a Rajesh etching in stone for posterity his immortal love for a Smita.

All this left me a nervous wreck! I just could not take in the restraint and the restrictions!

And then I pondered. How lucky was I to be in free, democratic India – where I can exercise my fundamental right of freedom of expression. Freedom to litter, freedom to spit, even to piss where I pleased. Freedom to shout and swear and scream, and to make money through corrupt practices.

And the taxi driver who drove me home from the airport yesterday morning epitomised that freedom. I saw his spirits soar as he broke every traffic rule, ran through every traffic light, swore as his taxi ran into potholes left by the BMC as if to remind us of Their existence, left his signature of pan-masala spittle on the road, and honked furiously at invisible pedestrians in his way. And as I inhaled in lungfuls the lovely, sweet stench of Mahim Creek and saw the mountains of garbage all around, I breathed a sigh of relief.

I was home.

ASSAM VIOLENCE IN SOUTH BOMBAY

I am agitated, and I must write this. I sensed that trouble was brewing as I drove to my office yesterday at about 2 in the afternoon. As I passed Churchgate station I saw several young men in groups of 4 to 7 walking purposefully towards New Marine Lines. What set this group apart was that they were wearing caps proclaiming their religious identity. This was distinctly odd in Churchgate, I thought to myself, where nobody really bothers about your ethnic, religious or linguistic background. Their body language and gestures as they talked told me that these fellows were in no way going for a peaceful prayer meeting. Little did I realize that they were on their way to Azad Maidan for their cocktail of arson and mayhem.  

This morning as I read the newspapers I was shocked and appalled at the senseless rioting that claimed 2 lives and crores in property-damage. The reason? These guys were protesting the killing of Muslims in Assam and Myanmar (Burma). The organisers? According to the TOI a dozen Sunni Muslim organisations, prominent among them being the Raza Academy.

I got nowhere in my quest to find some logic and reason behind this violence. In fact, I was flooded with more questions than answers that came from all corners of my mind. Why Myanmar, for instance? Why not Syria where Syria’s president Bashar al-Assad is trying to crush a 17-month old revolt against his rule, in which more than 18,000 people have been reportedly killed? Why no protests against the 846 killed in Egypt’s revolution? And why no protests against Tunisia where as many as 300 people have been killed and 700 injured during the month-long uprising in early 2011? And pray, why not against Libya where about 50,000 people were killed since the start of the uprising, according to Dawn of Pakistan? And why not against Pakistan where bombing Shias and Ahmedias has become a state-sanctioned pastime? Why were no protest marches launched against the embassies of these countries, particularly against Pakistan? Is it the contention of the Raza Academy that it’s OK for Muslims to kill Muslims?

And why no sympathy (this is the least that I expect) for the 250 Hindus seeking asylum in India following reports of forcible conversions? Are these guys trying to create a communal wedge, this time in Bombay? This was the one thought that came to me in the utter confusion following yesterday’s madness in my backyard.

The only voice of reason (Where are the others? Why are they silent?) that I read was that of Maulana Wahiduddin Khan in Mumbai Mirror. “A large number of Bengali Muslims migrated from Bangladesh and settled in the area. It is strange how the government failed to check this illegal migration. . . It is the Muslim tendency to maintain their cultural identity wherever they settle. I think this is not a correct practice. They do this in every country”, said he. These Raza guys will undoubtedly brand him a traitor. Instead of burning public property in Bombay, these guys would do well to go to the jungles of Assam and try to alleviate the suffering of their co-religionists. And never mind if they ignore the original locals who are equally affected, if not more. At least someone will be given succour.

If only the Raza Academy had sent sms’s to protest against corruption and other social ills and gathered in thousands as they did yesterday, they would have been part of the mainstream and of the nation-building process. Alas!

As for the police who were roundly thrashed by these miscreants, they have their images on camera – of a few of them at least. Why not chuck them into jail along with the ringleaders of this Academy and throw away the key? But I know this won’t happen. 2014 is not very far away.

The Red Light syndrome

I was a little disappointed, and a little sad, at reading the small pocket news item a few days ago in the Bombay edition of the DNA. It concerned the penalty of Rs. 3.75 lakhs slapped on Subodh Kumar, the previous Municipal Commissioner of the BMC by his successor and the present MC – for using a red light car 3 months after he retired. Mr. Kumar IAS was apparently an officer of high integrity, a quality that is in shorter supply than clean air in Bombay. Builders hated him, and tried their best to ease him out of that post. They could not because he had the full support of the CM himself. That itself is a sure indication that the man was incorruptible. And then he threw it all away by doing something absolutely silly! He got someone to give him a car with a beacon, 3 months into his retirement.

This is what bothers me. As a probationer at the Mussoorie Academy I looked upon with amazement and awe at the sight of the DC of Dehra Dun travelling in an entourage of 8 white Ambassadors, red lights flashing even at two in the afternoon. We who were strolling on the Mall were ushered to one side to see the Great Momo zip past us. The colonial masters left in 1947, only to be replaced by desi masters of a poorer quality. Subodh Kumar unfortunately, though of impeccable integrity as widely reported, did not forget similar incidents that he must have experienced in his long career in the IAS.

But why blame the babus alone for this? Some 20 years ago I was in HQ when we had appointed someone who is now a well-respected Senior Advocate in his early seventies to argue our case at the High Court. His condition: he must be driven to the High Court and back in the official car with the beacon flashing. At the behest of the Chief Commissioner I invited this advocate to have tea with the CC. When the CC called me to his room it was in time to see this advocate finish his tea and tell the CC fawningly with an embarrassingly false smile what a privilege it was to argue for the Government, and yes he would bill us the taxi fare!

A few years later I had a similar experience when I invited an HRD expert with a leading confectionary company to address our officers at the Training Division at Mahalaxmi. “Of course, you will send me the office car, wont you?” I sent him the diesel Matador van that should have been junked decades earlier. That was the last this expert and I saw of each other.

When I was posted at Ahmedabad a college friend who was settled there since long had a strange request to make. Could I join him and his family for ghar ka khana on a week day, he said with emphasis and finality? Sure, I said, would be delighted. “But just a small request please, if it’s not too much of a bother. Could you come in your office car, the one with the red light? And could you please pick me up from my office so that we could go together?” As we neared his house in a society at Satellite there was one more request. “Could you please ask the driver to switch on the siren?” Disappointment was writ large on my friend’s face when I told him that my car did not have a siren. The following day he called and in a state of excitement thanked me profusely. His stock had shot up by leaps and bounds in his housing society that evening!

So, I guess we all like our Red Light Areas.