A hearty welcome to all!

If you are in love with life, food, poetry....i welcome you heartily. Your feedback, constructively phrased, is more than welcome!!

Friday, December 6, 2013

RULES-NOT FOR ME.


Yesterday, I got  the third call from boss during peak working hours.  I had just finished a rather frustrating discussion with a self styled messiah of the downtrodden and the ringing desk phone left me pretty frazzled. Boss was deeply concerned about the sad traffic situation in the town and was rightly concerned about the take of the police on the same. I took a deep breath to explain certain things and in my mind’s eye, unfolded the events of not so long ago.

The fact is, the traffic situation in the town was nothing to write much about. We made certain half-baked attempts which, obviously, didn’t work out. And then….IT happened. In quick succession, two adolescents lost their lives to rash driving right in the heart of the town. Unfortunate incidents, which catapulted to an uncontrollable law and order situation. Students, egged on by mischief mongers, went on a rampage  setting fire to shops, ransacking public property, burning tyres and pelting stones at one and sundry. The normal life of the town came to a halt and the police had to tread carefully since students were involved in this carnage. The situation was somehow controlled but it did leave me pretty disturbed. In a week’s time, we called numerous meetings of different sections of the society to elicit their help and support to put a proper and responsive traffic policing system in place. This, knowing very well, that we had no traffic police station, no designated staff and the massive demands of the district were anyways eating into our existing meager resources. However, the idea was that if people were so aggrieved about a crumbling public service, we must exert ourselves to the optimum to provide for the same and also that we would get immense public support and participation for the same. People came in hordes, spoke enthusiastically, their speeches brimming with ideas and promised us the moon. We, of course, were over the moon. I was, in short, really very happy and was never as motivated before as I was then. In a week’s time, we began awareness campaigns around the town sensitizing the masses about traffic rules and regulations. Then came announcements about the traffic rules and restrictions that were to be followed. After a buffer of 15 days, a well thought out and intensively discussed, debated and popularly welcomed traffic system was put into place. The town looked pretty much changed overnight. It was no longer higgledy piggledy madness on the roads; there was an order and a system and we all felt pretty proud to be a part of this exercise.

How I wish we had waited a little longer before backslapping ourselves! 15 days into the exercise and complaints started streaming in. First, came in the parents of under age children objecting to their pre-pubescent wards not being allowed to ride two wheelers on the roads without a license. One parent even threatened that only heavens help us if his child does not get through to a top notch engineering college just because he really can’t go for tuitions in a bicycle! Then, came in truck and bus associations opposing various restrictions on their movements on the main roads in the peak hours. Their grievance was that their business was getting hampered and we didn’t really need to be so strict. Yes, some serious accidents had occurred, but don’t they occur everywhere. Does it mean that we get so badly psyched out? In quick succession came tractors association, senior citizens’ associations, journalists and any group..you name it and they were there. Opposing the rule of wearing helmets, opposing fines on traffic violations, opposing frequent checks by police, opposing stop boards and barricades at crucial junctures, opposing removal of encroachments, opposing removal of stray cattle from roads..in short..Opposing everything. We were bewildered. Were not these the same people called for our collective idea churning sessions and weren’t these the same people who had so vociferously criticized the lack of order and had recommended a ‘strict’ enforcement of ‘traffic rules’?  What  had gone so terribly wrong? Was our staff being inconsiderate, lax or just too unconcerned? I frantically asked for this was our collective dream project which we just could not throw away.

A number of discussions ensued and what appeared was that everybody wanted a public enforcement of rules in general. But the clinch was that the exercise must cause no personal inconvenience. The other must be checked, bossed over, made to bend. But..not me.. I should be allowed to do as I feel like and as I have done before. That was the whole idea. I believe ‘walk the talk’ concept was definitely moribund here. And this was definitely not how a society which prides its fundamental rights and values democracy should function. However harsh it might sound, the hypocrisy was all there to see. In a nutshell, it appeared that the civil society was not in the least happy with the implementation of rules meant for the greater good and to secure lives and safeguard public property.  Because it curtailed personal carpe diem.

All this was pretty disillusioning..the same people who had criticized us for being lax were coming down on our heads like a ton of bricks for trying to do something good. In no time, all talk had vanished faster than the cheapest perfume and we were not even left with a pleasant scent. I tried to do a lot of reflections wondering that maybe we had gone wrong somewhere. Maybe awareness campaigns needed to be more long drawn, maybe we were admitting failure too soon. Despite protests, till date, we continue with the enforcement of basic traffic rules though we have been forced to relax a number of them. However, the bitter chocolate still bothers. Many a times, our staff is heckled on roads for fining a student racing on crammed roads, detaining women for not wearing helmets, questioning men for not carrying their driving licenses etc. A lady constable was recently manhandled by a journalist of a leading media office for stopping the latter’s vehicle for a regular night checking. However, we soldier on.

I must say that in all fairness, I am not disillusioned really. But I am nonetheless wiser. When that super smart journalist screams on TV that India wants to know why  corruption is not being dealt with firmly and similar self righteous verbose, I look the other way. Maybe India does want to know, does indeed talk a lot, but India does precious little. India refuses to look beyond the self-a looking beyond that is such an essential element of a sensitive, sensible, modern society. I agree that one experience is too miniscule to debunk the beautiful concept of public-private partnership and that one has to weather a number of pitfalls before one succeeds in a purpose. But that does not stop one from wondering that if India was actually so desperate for a change for the better, would the response be like this? I again come back to a question mark as I explain all this to Boss and hope that this is his last and final call of the day.


Saturday, November 23, 2013

RETIREMENT BLUES

A few days back, I was privy to an informal chat between retired and soon to be retired administrators from bureaucracy and judiciary. I understand that retirement is always a bitter sweet moment- finally, you  have reached that stage in your life where you have achieved all that you could professionally and now you can simply retreat into your cocoon of simple pleasures; also, it is a moment of letting go of a number of privileges you have always held dear for the time has come to move away from the public arena. The Hindu scriptures christened this stage as vanaprastha- the period of life when one retreats into the forests. In modern terminology, its all about going into the wilderness, getting away from the humdrum of daily existence and soothing one’s nerves that have been frayed by the daily pressures of living and life. Of course, one never goes into the forests these days( there are none anyways and if you really have to go, you need to book into a resort) to spend the days of retirement because one just does not retire. Many retired persons find exciting avenues of engaging themselves and actually manage to have a blast in the post retirement phase. Many more prefer a life of quietude in the midst of family and friends. To each his own, basically.

Therefore, I was curious as to what some senior administrators had in mind regarding retirement. My last engagement with a retired person was with my father who had caustically flung away all our worries regarding his post retirement life and our suggestions to engage in some ‘meaningful’ work with the retort that he was retired, not dead and that he would not be bossed over by anybody now, he was a free spirit and he would enjoy life the way he always wanted to but couldn't in all these years. Coming back to that discussion, in a nutshell, I found that the  seniors were haranguing about not getting deluxe rooms in state guest houses or that due courtesies were not extended to them in the public for a post retirement. The best judicial officers and administrators of the time were actually pitching in their brains to devise ways and means to wring  a whole lot of post retirement sops from the government. The idea was that they had given their lives to their respective jobs in the government; now it was payback time.

As I said, to each his own. But still, that doesn't stop me from thinking that this constant clamour for attention, for privileges, more so, when one is retired and comfortably pensioned off, is a tad vulgar. I understand and do agree that we, government servants, give a lot to our jobs sacrificing little pleasures of life. But that is a choice we made early on and we didn't choose to change our choices for reasons best known to us. Though not completely or in full measure, but  still in a big way, the government provides for us to make our lives comfortable. We, the officers in senior ranks, enjoy privileges of housing, vehicles, provident funds etc  all of which are objects of envy of our counterparts in the private sector. I am not comparing the two and not even trying to point out that everything is hunky dory with our job structures and compensation policies. Having said that, I do feel that we are reasonably well taken care of for all the personal sacrifices and efforts we make in our professional spheres to keep the government machinery rolling. And maybe, that is precisely the reason why retired persons screeching for the same perks they enjoyed while being in the service seems to be in a bad taste. As one of my seniors put it beautifully, we need to learn to let go. Yes, we need to learn to let go, to wave that final goodbye and gracefully retire without stirring up a huge fuss.I am sure life is much more beautiful than wasting it pestering over silly privileges of a government vehicle or accommodation in some dak bungalow. What bugged me during that chat was that just nobody was talking about how they wished to utilize their years of experience in the service for some greater or social good. For our retired personnel can be veritable think tanks and their knowledge honed by age and experience can be invaluable in a lot of spheres. It would be a wonderful   if such pettifogging could be dispensed with for we, the youngsters, are keenly watching these super seniors for direction and purpose. They may fade away from the professional arena, but the light left behind lingers. And, they nor we would want a gust of petty, silly wind to blow it all away.


Saturday, November 9, 2013

FAMILY-SHALL IT SHINE ON OR BURN OUT?

The banana muffins are baking in the oven and a delicious aroma wafts from the kitchen. And it calms my frayed nerves a little. The past few days have been trying professionally. Amongst other things, I have been really bothered and concerned dealing with the woes of women. This is not the most original thought but nevertheless one can’t help feeling that these days, a woman is most insecure/unsafe within the family or with a loved and trusted one. Day in and day out, one personally hears or gets informed from the media about women being tortured, abused and violated. Domestic violence is on a steep rise and so is crime against women. Rape, murder, kidnapping have become more common than the house sparrow. It galls, frustrates and lets one to think that somewhere, our social institutions are failing miserably. The socio-cultural lag has persisted for too long to be taken as just another process in the entire scheme of social transition. The sight of young women displaying sindoor, red bangles et al- all the possible symbols of marriage with a child held at the hip and springs of tears welling out of eyes narrating the horror tales of their in-laws home makes me nauseous now. And when the gory tale of misery unfolds for the nth time, I curse the institutions of marriage and family for failing yet again to measure up to the expectations and emotional demands of people. Being a student of social sciences notwithstanding, my short stint in this service has been gradually making me a non-believer of sorts in the very social institutions which sanctify a person’s existence in the society. A beloved betrayed, a wife deserted, a child uncared for and unattended to: incidents such as these occurring with alarming regularity don’t inspire one to have much faith in the existing social fabric. And when the mind is animated with cynicism and frustration, alternative models of live-in relationships, open marriages etc seem attractive.


In the last fortnight, I somehow go to watch a few superhero movies..Indian as well as English. Blessed with powers extraordinaire, the so- called super humans try to maintain the world order and check the anarchist and destructive intentions of the evil powers. Funnily enough, all of these movies have a similar theme. Evil is evil because it has been deprived of tender human emotions which are born and nurtured in a family; be it Voldemort, The green goblin or Skeletor. And our specially endowed superheroes are unfailingly good and kind and courageous for they have been cradled in love and affection. And that is what has made them different, made them special, given them stupendous powers. For the Harry Potters and Spidermen have been loved, have loved back and have lost their loved ones, they realize the value of emotional bonds and risk their very entities to ensure that the same are maintained. And when our superheroes are in mortal danger, it is always the unconditional love of the family/parents which helps them scrape through. Even our homegrown superman Krrish gets a new lease of life out of filial love in the recent edition of the movie series. Of course, all these movies are so much about stunts, technical imagery and mind blowing animations that we rarely notice the finer nuances crafted into them. However, it is a telling point that whatever be the era or the age or circumstance, family and the love that envelopes it can never really go out of fashion.

As students, we read numerous research papers, articles and even entire books committed to the institution of marriage and its natural corollary, family. Of course, there have been numerous debates and contentions, but everyone grudgingly agrees that we may manage without conventional marriages but we just cannot do away with the family. Therefore, it is particularly heart wrenching and distressing to note that now, families have become virtual hot spots of violence. Spouses sparring and warring with each other, children warring amongst themselves or with their parents to the extent of causing mortal harm have become routine. The love of the family which is supposed to light up the sky is actually just not there. All the fermented hate is threatening to burn the social and moral fibre. The sad part is that this sort of anomie, as depicted in all these superhero movies, will only spawn evil. For good to breed and blossom, we need our parents to teach themselves and their children what loving, caring and sharing is all about. Imperfections exist, problems do arise but then, it is only by engineering our way through these problems that we learn to persevere and sacrifice for the family and therefore, live together as a unit.

Though getting enmeshed in such emotional brouhaha is easy, it is definitely not the solution. As I see it, incidents of domestic violence and crime against women are increasing rapidly because somewhere we have ceased being responsible. As women, we aren’t responsible enough to handle our rights, as parents, we aren’t responsible enough about the welfare of our children and as children, and we are just not responsible to the needs and requirements of our parents and/or siblings. Various social, political, economic and legal forces are at play in bringing about such a deplorable state of affairs. The problem being so complicated, solution also cannot be arrived at a jiffy. But if there is to be a beginning, it has to happen through our agencies imparting informal and formal education. Before the heat and the hate generated in families blows us away, we better learn that hate has never really won. Not even in the most ambitious and fantastic of movies.





Saturday, September 21, 2013

SO NEAR AND YET SO FAR

Our town municipality went to polls a few days back after some hectic campaigning, rabble rousing et al which have now come to characterize elections in any part of the country.  Amongst other notables,  the lady chairperson won again by a thumping margin-a wonderful example of woman empowerment. However, there is a chink, a huge one. Since the time I joined in this district which is roughly a year ago, I have been witness to mass cribbing over the state of the district headquarters.Young and old,                                     students, intelligentsia, women and even politicians have bemoaned that the Municipality and its chairperson are simply defunct and it is for all to see. Roads exist just in name, mostly, they are small arteries joining potholes the size of Vesuvian craters; garbage dumps create an unsightly view and raise a huge stink at all places, drains don’t exist and wherever they do they have been clogged since a long time, street lighting is poor and no public amenity seems to be properly maintained. This in a town known to be the home to some of the prominent freedom fighters, writers, educationists, politicians and visionaries of the state. A town which has a prominent place in the tourist map of the country and is also the home to a missile test range which gets frequented by scientists of national and international renown, all through the year. Yes, the living conditions in the town have been appalling and I always thought that there was a huge merit in all the virulent complaints against the elected members constituting the Municipality. Therefore, when the elections were announced, I could understand all the feverish political activity and the fervor surrounding the entire process. Maybe, the people wanted change and I felt they truly deserved it. However, all my optimism was pretty short-lived. Once campaigning begun, it appeared as if there was a mad rush among candidates to appease the voters. Not through emotional speeches or vacuous promises which would have put any lovelorn suitor to shame but through rampant cash mongering. It appeared to be a test of who could muster the wherewithal to make the highest bid for the voter. Of course, with the administrative machinery exercising maximum vigilance to deal with unethical practices, the cash and freebie peddling was not a blatant road show. As it is like with all things in this country, the important deals happen behind curtains and under covers. Our people might scream their voices out and go teary eyed regarding corruption and all other evils afflicting our society, but when it comes to making a little personal contribution to the cause, we come to a naught. We would rather grab that Smartphone or that bicycle or those caches of liquor bottles being offered by a candidate to ensure our electoral support rather make an informed, just and fair choice. All this  seems an ode to hypocrisy, especially in a country where Anna Hazare and Arvind Kejriwal were being hailed as the new, modern icons in a corruption beleaguered nation a few summers ago.   Somebody put forth an argument that poor people cannot really be blamed for getting lured into this ugly web. Really? Is poverty the single big qualification which can be taken as an excuse for all the wrongs? Somehow, are not we poor because we are so corrupt in our individual thoughts and practices? It is just not that we are poor financially; we seem to wallow in social and ethical poverty as well.

I ruminated for a long while as to what my angst was really all about. I was surely not a stranger to the practices and intentions of our people. This perfidy in the name of democracy has been in existence for some time now. Was it the direct confrontations with such double speak which was creating such a bother? Partially, yes. The realization that all the anti-corruption self-righteous movements led by the bright, young people of our country are only but storms in a teacup brings in a tsunami of pessimism. However, the real angst is about the fact that the people of this town (which incidentally boasts of a very high percentage of literacy) have again lost the chance to make a choice which might have given them an opportunity to be able to enjoy the benefits of an urban life. For the next 5 years, the Municipality shall be graced by the same nincompoops of the previous term who filled in their personal coffers at the cost of larger good. Why? So that they could afford to dole out expensive bribes or throw mutton feasts right before the elections and get the next term assured. Who really bothers about ramshackle living conditions? My worry is not about the elected but those who elected. The feasts would be forgotten in a week’s time, the few thousand rupees would be spent in a month, the free saree/dhoti might just tear off after six months and the phone would conk out in a year. What would remain are the same potholed, bumpy roads, badly lit environs, tricky public amenities and a general grumble regarding the sorry state of affairs reminiscent of medieval times. What would also remain are incidents of women getting molested in dark streets, people suffering accidents on bad roads and children suffering from dengue/malaria because nobody really bothered to clear the massive garbage dumps.

As for myself, I pity my spine and back for the nth time as my vehicle bumps and swerves through the roads of the town. And then, I look up, catch the sight of the lovely near full moon giving a teasing look through the branches of an old tree..and then, all rancour is temporarily forgotten. The milky orb seems to beckon to forget all man-made follies and rejoice in its heavenly beauty. And, I dreamily submit.
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              


Thursday, September 5, 2013

THE YEAR GONE BY

I turned a year old today and just realized that this blog also turns three this month. Though I had been largely inactive in blogosphere, I guess I am back for good. It does feel nice to get back to putting down one’s thoughts and opinions in black and white. That ways, last year has indeed been a year of ‘getting back’ to lots of things I had forgotten or neglected in a wave of melancholy. Why the melancholy is altogether a different matter. As I sit back and think about it, it does gall that I did lose some very precious years wallowing in an ocean of self doubt. Not that I am finally out of it; there are slips and relapses but what makes me really happy is that now I at least know how to deal with such situations. My last birthday had brought with it a new posting, a new phase of life which, at that time, had seemed so daunting. Demanding it has been and also a strain on all the reserves of my physical, mental and emotional strength but, at the same time, it feels nice to realize that I have come out of it pretty unscathed. And in the journey of this past year, with all its personal and professional challenges, I did manage to do certain things I have wanted to do since a long while. I am quite excited that finally I learnt free style swimming. Not that this was the first opportunity. But on all earlier occasions, I couldn't really learn because of paucity of time or some injury or the other. Finally, I did manage to ‘bell the cat’ this summer. It was nothing less than a personal victory. And, I have relished the moments in water under a dazzling, blue summer sky. Trees swaying in sync with the evening breeze, chirping birds and a general quietude at the pool complex did a lot to calm my nerves which invariably get frayed after office hours.
I admit my profession has taken away a lot of my personal space and life has been pretty much hectic and exhausting. But still, it has been a lovely feeling to get back to certain quirks I used to have long back. One of them was listening to music which I had just given up a few years ago. The only gyan on music came from random TV surfing. A few months back, I bought a whole collection of music CDs after a long, long time..and finally resurrected my music system. And as the strains of lovely, soulful music fill up the air these days, I always wonder how I did manage to do without it in the first place.
Of other things, I taught myself to bake breads, to devise new ways of spending quality time with my baby, to leash my temper, to talk nasty with an even tone, and got back to giggling unabashedly and not necessarily in that order.
Basically, it has been quite a journey, a decidedly choppy but one of those where you are glad that all is well that ends well. And I make a birthday wish for myself that the ‘wellness’ factor continues to persist in my journey to attain peace with myself and with surroundings. So, it’s another year to look forward to, to wish myself that all those lovely people who faithfully stand by, through smiles and tears, cheer on!                         


Wednesday, August 28, 2013

IS SELF-EMPOWERMENT A FAR CRY?


This Monday, a poor but respectable looking Muslim lady came on grievance at the Block Headquarters of the district. Genteel  and with a look that she has seen better days, she  put forth that she  has been widowed for some years and had no means of leading a respectable life with her children. On grounds of absolute poverty and destitution, she was requesting for some litres of kerosene from the Public Distribution System. Though her problems had nothing to do with me, my curiosity was aroused. I asked her a few details about her family and then I asked her that vital question which was bothering me throughout her piteous narration. Being a single parent is never an easy task and no child/children can be reared in modern times on a few litres of kerosene bequeathed by the Government.  Was she employed and if not, why was she not looking for some avenue of employment to fend for herself and her family? To me, the very idea that a meagre supply of kerosene would provide for her subsistence seemed atrocious.  Initially, the lady was taken aback by this volley of questions. She thought it over and replied that she was semi-literate and therefore, getting a job would be difficult. I further prodded and found that she had some basic skills in stitching.  I volunteered to find her some apprenticeship at a local tailoring shop which she flatly refused.    Again, offers to liaison her with some NGO so that they could help her start some stitching business from home were also dismissed.  My dogged persistence for over another hour to find her some way of earning a respectable earning sadly met with failure. I may be wrong but I conjectured that the lady was not really interested in helping her own lot. Not for her, the sweat and toil and sincere efforts to make use of all her talents and provide well for her family. It all boiled down to bottles of kerosene.

I did feel sad for the lady but even sadder about the fact that after all that we are talking and claiming to do, self-empowerment in the little pockets of India doesn't even exist as an idea. It is not fair to generalize on the basis of one case, but for over a year now, I have been a witness   to scores of able bodied men and women clamouring for government funds to make a hut, get an umbrella and most importantly, to get their hands on  that  alchemist’s stone-BPL card ; which is seen as the solution to al financial issues.  I agree that there is nothing wrong in demanding what is our right but then, from another perspective, would not it be so beautiful if the young and the young at heart people of our country could make use of their hands, feet and those singularly gifted brains to generate their own incomes and make themselves self-reliant rather than wasting their time in waiting for government sops. When we talk of a shining India, maybe we are talking of this kind of scenario only.  What is disturbing is that this scenario seems too far off. Our people simply do not want to put in their hard work and efforts in a meaningful manner. In some instances, there is a lack of sincerity, at many others, a lack of able guidance. They seem to still believe in Karma, cry about their misery and wait for the other to do something for their cause.and nobody seems to tell them that the only person who can better their cause is they, themselves.I believe, in a lighter vein, that the stories of Eklavya or Chandragupta Maurya or even Shankaracharya need to be retold to our children; stories of how brilliant young   minds with no pedigree backing them blazed the trail by virtue of sheer will, dedication and hard work.  

As a part of the administrative system of the country, I do feel concerned about the perpetuation of this ’culture of poverty’. A laptop here and a few hundred rupees allowance there cannot and have not been  able to deal a blow to the endemic poverty afflicting our country. And the persistence of this culture is the reason for a number of socio-economic and financial problems bothering us, not to speak of exponential growth of crime, criminals, anti-socials and the ensuing law and order issues. we are slowly becoming a nation of squatters and shortcut Romeos. What we require and need to cultivate are men and women who are replete with confidence and self-belief  and who are willing and able to rise above their miseries by their own undaunted efforts. Not for them the wasting away of man hours standing in queues begging for some paltry grant. I  believe we all will have a reason to smile and cheer when our folks sweat it out and also enjoy their fruits of hard labour. Till then, gloom prevails.                                                                                                                                       
                                                                                                                                       

Saturday, August 17, 2013

ONLY IF WISHES COULD BE HORSES...

   With the number of files and pending work in my office assuming terrifying proportions, of late, I have been besieged by the urge to run away from this madness. I guess it happens to every person once in a while. The hitch is that it has been happening to me pretty often in the last couple of months…I seem to be in a state of flight even in my dreams! Psychologists may dub it a state of escapism…from the realities of the world. Whatever said and done, I must confess that there is actually a burning desire to go away and do all the little things which makes one’s spirits twirl around merrily. In  such a frame of mind, this poem came into being.

                                                                    DESIRE

Desire burns in my heart..every day,
To soar high up to the fluffy clouds
And envelop myself in those snowy blankets.

To dive down that mysterious azure sea
And gaze at mermaids and playfully tweak the huge octopus.

To sit lazily on a rosebud waiting all night
And drink the dew as it mixes with the nectar on that pale red petal.

To be that happy season of spring
And make the trees flower and blossoms break into a jig.

To caress the glowing cheek of the infant
And bask in its dimpled smiles and delighted gurgles.

To travel in a quaint caravan through the sun-painted dunes
And hope to meet a pharaoh looking for his lost treasures.

To trek up those lofty Himalayan peaks
And listen to life’s philosophy at the foot of the mystic whose wisdom the world seeks.

Set me free for I am restless,
The unknown beckons and I must say
I leave now for I wish to explore the world that lay
Beyond these walls….
A world that is exciting and gay.



Saturday, August 10, 2013

WHILE THE COUNTRY REJOICES…

The monsoon is increasingly on the wane even though cyclonic depressions persist off and on in my part of the world. As the sky turns grey and gloomy , friends and relatives scattered around are making enthused calls to discuss their plans for the soon-to-arrive festive season. Early birds are booking tickets for travel; enthusiastic shoppers are making the most of the sale season and shopping till they drop- all in preparation to make the most of the holidays in the coming months. And few like me, are looking at the red marked days of the calendar with a fair amount of dread.

It is surprising and even unfortunate that when the entire country is gearing up to celebrate a dozen pujas and festivals which dot the calendar in the coming months, we, the people in uniform, are gearing up for nothing less than a battle. For, in the present context, festivals assume sinister proportions when it comes to the issues of maintaining law, order and peace in the society. In my stints in different parts of the state, I have been regularly observing, much to my discomfiture, that festive season is the opportunity when our people think it is the ripe time to dig out old wounds, flare up tensions and generally disturb a tenuous social fabric. Come the festival season and our police stations are besieged by groups  nursing wounds against their own group or some hostile one, arising out of some inconsequential matter. Yes, we are there to help out but what appears particularly disconcerting is that absolutely regular and otherwise sane people become totally rigid, are unwilling to see reason and sort out the issue amicably. Very often I have wondered as to why these people want to waste their time and act like killjoys. Across caste, creed, religion and race, haven’t we all been taught that festivals are the time to forget all grief and grievances and to rejoice in caring, sharing and giving. Sadly, it is not to be.

Come festivals, and people in the nooks of the country suddenly turn violent, irrational, sectarian and chauvinistic. They are on the lookout for opportunities to settle old scores and even out personal or group grudges. It seems as if the feeling runs strong that the administration is bound to deal with such nuisance with soft hands since it is festival time and so the license to all mischief mongers to run amok. Therefore, what should ideally be a time to make merry actually turns murky. I have often noticed  that  particularly, processions involving idol immersions are actually  open air discotheques for all the drunken hooligans of the area who are also drunk with the confidence that they outnumber the police personnel and the latter would turn a blind eye to most of their wrong doings considering the sensitivity of the situation. Being held at ransom on these occasions leaves a bitter taste in the mouth. One is helpless. Yes, we do take a whole lot of preventive measures but nothing is enough to meet an entire mass bent upon creating and perpetrating mischief.

Having ruminated and deliberated over this issue many times, I feel that our social character and conduct leaves a lot to be desired. As a society, we are increasingly portraying ourselves as an intolerant, impatient mass given to lawlessness at the drop of a hat. Not an image to be proud of. Especially, in an era where the level of progress and sophistication attained by a society is measured in terms of the willingness and eagerness of the people to abide by the law of the land. We blame a whole lot of factors for the present state of affairs but I believe that primarily, as individuals and as members of some group or the other, we are failing to evaluate ourselves. We are failing to introspect, failing to understand that such base conduct does not contribute to our self respect or win the respect of significant others in the long run.


As , we get ready for another festive season, another season where groups of people will be ready to slug it out over some flimsy issues, I go green with envy thinking of my friends and relatives enjoying themselves to the hilt. As they bring out their festive fineries , special recipes and holiday brochures, I try to think of some ingenious solutions to make peace between warring parties so that the coming season is relatively peaceful. So much for our bubbling religious fervor!

Saturday, August 3, 2013

ON DOING NOTHING

Every evening, I need to cross a railway check gate in the outskirts of the town to go to the swimming pool. And invariably, the gate is always closed around that time to allow some train or the other to pass through. On all these occasions, it is always a delight to sit inside the vehicle and observe how people around take to this sudden halt to their daily business. Most often than not, I find people fretting, grumbling and complaining about this forced wait. They, after all, have important things to attend to and a wait of 15 minutes is such a criminal waste. Is it?
I habitually find that the betel and tea shops of my small town become abuzz with activity around dusk. Menfolk, irrespective of age, gather around these shops and while away hours altogether. I have nothing to complain regarding this mode of leisure. But yes, I do wonder that as a society, as a country, why do we stir up a fuss of being always so busy, always in a hurry and always so very impatient? Many a times, I have had the strong urge to roll down the windows of my vehicle and tell people at the railway crossing that the skies wont collapse on their heads if they stood still for a few minutes, enjoyed the breeze around and didn’t take pains to dodge below that gate, negotiate themselves and their vehicle through the tracks just to save a few minutes. Sadly, for all the efforts we make to be so fastidious about saving time, we are not exactly known as a nation of time-keepers. We are generally late in keeping appointments, meeting deadlines and are also known to be pretty casual about the sense of time. Then why this artificial hurry..this rushing around like headless chickens. It hardly serves any purpose.
In a similar vein, I find that there is huge peer pressure in my service to profess to be busy and be occupied all the time. So much busy that some colleagues openly flaunt their leave accounts like score cards: they have not taken a leave or gone on a holiday since ages as they are so devoted to their jobs on hand. In the midst of such seemingly career devoted workaholics and time conscious citizens, I get reminded of a beautiful essay I read in college. It was called “On doing nothing”. Herein the author had sung paeans on the pleasure of just lying down on the grass, looking up at the blue sky and just doing nothing. I believe such blissful moments of doing nothing are such an essential part of our existence. For they relax our minds, bodies and spirits and prepare us for the next challenge. I recall my French tutor recounting stories of massive traffic jams in Paris on Friday evenings for everybody wants to holiday over the weekend so that Monday can be looked into the eye with utmost courage. Compare this with our dispensation where an application for leave is met with utmost scorn and the applicant must explain his/her distress in most piteous terms to get the leave sanctioned. And heavens shall fall on the one who dares to take a leave to do just nothing..nothing at all. Yes, the idea seems preposterous to many. But for all this seriousness and dedication, our work productivity is pretty marginal. I am no theorist but I gauge that one of the reasons could be that we are perennially tired and bored. We don’t own it up but the truth is many lose interest in the work at hand. It is the drudgery and the lack of fortitude to own it up which makes us grumpy persons and professionals.
How I wish I could land a copy of that great essay and exhort people to take a break,....do nothing. It wouldn’t turn around our lives around, for sure. But maybe, it would make us a little happier, contended and give us the effervescence to smile during the next closed railway gate or merrily hum around in our offices on a Monday.
  

Thursday, July 18, 2013

ON HISTORY

History- the very word reminds me of the troubled evenings and sleepless nights spent in memorizing innumerable dates and scrambling to differentiate between a Chola and Pandyan king. Or for that matter, labours made to cram all the vital details of the dancing girl of the Indus valley civilization or the height of the tallest temple at Khajuraho. History always seemed such a troublesome subject and I, like many others of my age, could never fathom why we need to know about all that is dead and gone. Not only know, but also remember and then give exams on the knowledge so painfully incurred. It never helped my cause that my father was a professor of history; all my loud lamentations against the existence of the subject were always met with disdain and vehement disapproval.


But, I figure, surroundings and atmosphere do have an impact on you. Surrounded by innumerable books on history of India and those of different parts of the world, I figured out on one particularly sweltering summer afternoon that history is much more than a jungle of dates and figures. What began as a way to while away summer holidays, soon became an area of great interest. I remember having spent weeks on end rummaging my father’s library and reading up on all the books on history just the way I would read a story book. Indeed, it was a fascinating journey through the glories, trials and tribulations of peoples and races all through the world across centuries. Not to say that thereafter, history, as a subject in school, appeared any less formidable, but yes, it was no longer a nightmare.

It was much later that I realized the importance of learning our personal as well as our social histories. Because it is this knowledge which actually tells us where we came from,who we are and where we are headed. As children and teenagers, the idea is totally lost on us. We really don’t care two hoots, coming from sheltered well-provided for families. I have always wondered as to why we sympathize with orphans? Just because they don’t have a family? Not the whole story. Our hearts go out to them for they have no idea who they really are, where they have come from and what defines their being. They are deprived of a sense of personal history, in other words, they are deprived of roots. And that probably, is heart-wrenching and cruel. If we look back, we find that during all conquests, the invaders would always attack the symbols of history of the group facing the siege. Amongst other reasons, the prime motive has always been to deprive the race under attack of the wonderful memories of its past; to deal them the most savage blow ever. For a group which has no memories of its past will lose its moorings and will not be able to sustain itself in the struggle for survival. It will not only lose a war, it also will lose out in a race of life.

As a matter of opinion, I believe that the pedagogy in our country should concentrate on teaching history to our children in a creative manner. They should be told right at the outset that it is nothing but a web of beautiful stories left behind for us by our preceding generations so that we can take pride in their achievements and learn lessons from their mistakes. History also is prone to interpretations, re-interpretations and on various unfortunate occasions, distortions. Now, the latter is a tendency which poses a huge challenge to the social fabric today and the onus is upon well-meaning historians and academicians to contain it. While reading a number of novels with plots situated in Europe or America, I have often noticed that in these places, even the smallest of towns boasts of a museum which chronicles and portrays the local history and is a major attraction for school children and college/university goers. Maybe, we should take a leaf from their book and think of introducing our children to the exciting world of our past by ensuring periodic and regular visits to local museums. Yes, we don’t have many, but it would be a nice idea if we could just use the available resources. We generally never think that visiting museums is a great idea to engage a day but now, we can give it another thought.

My dalliance with history is now limited to getting obsessed with historical novels or dreaming of a long pending visit to Egypt-the land of the oldest civilization or for that matter, occasionally trying to reconstruct the history of my forefathers. However what set my thoughts on history in motion was a random quote that the bird which seeks to soar high should forget the trees it nested upon. I could not disagree more. I believe that the bird should always remember the trees, the love with which they gave it shelter, allowed it to nest and took great care. This memory will give it the zeal and verve to soar higher and higher. And whenever, the bird is desolate, it will remember where it can go back for solace. History is precisely those trees..and we are the birds. We would do well to understand and remember the writings on the sands of Time for us to have the forbearance to strive to greater heights of success, as an individual, as a society.

Wednesday, July 10, 2013

MID-WEEK MUSINGS

As it happens, mid-week is the time when everybody feels vexed, tired and spent. The days gone by seem a drag and the rest of the days left for the week to get over seem heavy on the shoulders. The weekend, especially if you are expecting a long one, seems as distant and forbidden as a sinful dessert. And, it is then that your quirks take precedence and certain instances which one has made peace with in the past look particularly galling.
The past week and the week before that, I was frantically looking out for a play school for my two year old. Considering that the town I am in happens to be an important commercial centre for the northern part of the state, I was under the impression that finding a decent institution won’t be much of a task. However, this was not to be. After scanning about 7 of them, I realized that we, in this state, and maybe, in this country, have a long, long way to go in terms of infrastructure and an eye for finer details. All the play schools I came across were small, dinghy one-room establishments. Poor lighting, almost no ventilation, a few ragged toys, dirty toilets and most surprisingly, no open space for the young ones to play. After I came to terms with the shock, I realized that these were hardly play schools. They were, in spirit, badly managed and even badly maintained crèches where working parents leave their children while they go out to work. I did ask a few proprietors why exactly they had maintained the establishment in this pitiable state. Some feigned ignorance, some gave the excuse of lack of funds and some said that there was hardly any demand for better maintenance. Or for that matter, a small town is not expected to offer better facilities. All of which left me fuming. We have conveniently borrowed the western concept of play schools but only marginally. I believe the idea is that in a play school, the child, in a setting which is home away from home, learns to get acquainted with the outside world. At a time when our social contacts are narrowing and there is hardly any play area in the concrete jungles, we want to send our child to a nice, welcoming place to make friends and get initiated into the process of secondary socialization. That is why parents are hankering after play schools. All the more when the precocious tiny tot starts getting hyper-active and a strain on the care-giver’s nerves! Resourceful, money-minded scrooges have cleverly sensed the need and have invested in charades in the name of play school. Actually, they are more like cattle pens to which a parent would never want to send his/her child. The school in-charge hardly has any knack of handling children, forget a professional degree, the environment is anything but conducive and the ambience leaves a whole lot to be desired. I was inclined to think that garishly coloured walls with cartoon pin-ups are not anybody’s idea of a play school. And we don’t pay a hefty sum for this squalor. I so wish that the owners/managers of these establishments would understand and respect their own importance. They are the ones who are supposed to be the first ones to be handling a generation which would be the torchbearers of tomorrow. They are the ones on whom we have trusted to develop the faculties of our babies, channelize their energies, make them happy and yes, teach them little things while they play and fool around. And they must also understand that the great geniuses of this country in every conceivable field have not only risen from the metropolises; an astonishing majority is from the small towns of India. Expecting a warm and enriching place for one’s child should not be a privilege of a parent in the metro, but a right of every parent in the nook and corner of this country. It is time that we think of a body to regulate these sharks, inspect such schools and ensure that when our kid steps out of the home for the first time, he steps into a sunny, cheerful world; not into a dirty, suffocating place obnoxiously called “play school”!

As if worries in the personal front aren’t enough, what particularly gets at my gut these days is a total lack of social grace and etiquettes amongst people around us. I believe that as we evolve as human beings and as a society, we are supposed to be more sensitive and caring about the emotions and feelings of others. Didn’t Thomas Hobbes say so eloquently that the primordial life was discarded for a more civilized way of living and life because the former was brash and brutish? Isn't it that we, the civilized people, are expected to have and display in abundance, etiquette and manners, which are a quintessential part of a progressive, evolved society? I have been pretty conscious of the fact, more so of late, that in our present way of living and life, such niceties have taken a backseat. They are supposed to be a part of the gossamer charm of the old world, somehow not compatible with the brattish world of today. All that we want today is not to peek into, but rip apart the curtains sheltering the personal from the public. Rip apart so that we can vicariously enjoy the minute details of the other’s life which is actually of no consequence to us whatsoever. But then, doesn’t this attitude conflict with the parallel view that in the present century, life is moving at such a ‘catch me if you can’ pace that we hardly have time for ourselves, forget others? Well, I am muddled. But then, I have to confront nasty intrusions into my private space on a daily basis. Being a government servant and serving at a post which is in the public glare almost all the time, I realize that I must be accountable and am under scrutiny for the minutest of decisions made in my professional capacity. But my personal life is just mine. I am not a sportsperson, a socialite or for that matter, a media personality whose very career sprouts, flowers and thrives under the public glare. My private space, as long as it does not affect my professional capacities, is simply nobody’s business. But in a small town, much to my utmost chagrin, my personal sphere happens to be a matter of great public interest. It is absolutely disgusting when even well heeled and well educated individuals become nosy parkers, ask you the most personal of questions or are waiting for you to give away some detail of your mundane life to fuel their juicy gossips later. Not that I lead a rock ‘n’ roll existence and not that I am a stickler for utmost privacy, but yes, it is extremely unsettling to realize that scores of people are prying into your daily existence, monitoring your moves for God knows which sinister design. The end result- I have to really work on myself so that I do not become quite a nervous wreck. While I fret over this, I do feel like hitting out at all these intruders and give them a lesson or two on social conduct and manners. For our social grace and composure is what defines us, earns us dignity and respect from our brethren in the long run.


Friday, July 5, 2013

THE MISINTERPRETATION OF THE POLICE PERSON IN UNIFORM

When I was training for the job at the National Police Academy, a question which was asked often was what had attracted us to the job. A common refrain was the glamour of the uniform. And that is what best and most obviously defines us in police- the uniform. In my opinion, the purpose of uniform anywhere is to delineate a group and give it a distinct identity. Also, to bind the members of a group, inculcate in them a sense of we-feeling. Apart from serving all these functions, I believe the uniform imparts an aura of professionalism and seeks to do away with frivolity. In my job, the uniform performs all these functions and also binds us all together forging esprit de corps. I personally feel that the uniform gives me a lot of confidence and commands immense respect. Other than all these sterling aspects, I believe that the uniform does not and ought not to have any other significance. Startlingly, it is not so and I have been discovering this much to my annoyance.
In my place of posting, people regularly come to the police with a whole bundle of problems that does not pertain to our area of administration, that is to say, land disputes. Often I have advised the complainants to approach the concerned authorities and courts but the usual retort is that the entire exercise would involve money and a whole lot of running from pillar to post. The best alternative is to have a policeman to just hang around by their side and lo and behold! The mission shall be accomplished without much sweat. This solution often gets my gut but it is happening everywhere. May it be in case of labour union problems, industrial issues, land disputes or domestic quarrels- I often find that people are not willing to sort out their issues involving other mechanisms or for that matter, register a case with the police. All they want is the menacing presence of the police personnel to gnash their teeth, roar on their behalf and with some arm twisting, solve out their issue. I have often found this manipulative attitude humiliating to the person in that uniform. The policeman/woman is paid by the government to do a job and acting like a gangster in uniform is definitely not one of them. Most pertinently,the buck doesn’t end with the police person at the police station level only.
On several occasions, I have been invited to myriad functions which I don’t believe falls within the ambit of my professional or personal interests. After attending some, curiosity got the better of me and I did ask the organizers as to why they actually require my presence. Grilled further, the reply, much to my exasperation, was always that they apprehend some problem and miscreants would stay away just because I am around. I take a long, hard look at myself and ponder whether I really look those roguish, ghoulish, forbidding sorts who can scare away hoodlums just by mere physical presence. Definitely not! To top it all, an elite local club wants me to preside over their GBMs so that the defaulters get scared enough and promptly pay their outstanding dues. And the idea of it all leaves me terribly short of words!!
For years altogether, the judiciary, media, NGOs and even our political bosses have been boxing our ears because we, the police force, have often been caught overstepping our authority and violating human rights. Granted that this happens, but nobody looks at another side of the spectrum. Wherein it is the people who want to use us for all the wrong purposes, egg us on to do jobs which have nothing to do with us per se, where we are supposed to be their vicious Rambos in uniform sorting out their problems smoothly, efficiently, effortlessly. Yes, we are in uniform because our job profile demands so, we are in uniform so that the person in distress identifies us and comes to us for redressal. We have not donned the uniform to scare away, to be anybody’s Rottweiler on the prowl. The saying holds true that we get the police force we deserve. I have begun forming this opinion that just because the civil society does try to use the police to suit its selfish ends at many times and often using hefty bribes to do so, they have spawned a web of corruption and sheer unprofessionalism. And this Frankenstein thus created threatens the very fibre of our society; encouraging our policemen and women to digress because they have been doing the same on many occasions at the behest of the very people who take up cudgels against them screaming violation of rights and space when their interests get adversely affected.
Whenever I take a look at popular media, especially cinema and television, portraying the police force, a wave of scorn envelops me. On great many instances, the police person is some sort of Robin Hood single handedly cleansing the entire system. Is this a true reflection of our society, of our job profile? No. However, it is a reflection of our fantasy. If you look around, we are not a region blessed with Viking-like personalities or even prone to athleticism. Our police force is a reflection of the same. In all the years I have worked as a part of the police force, I have yet to come across an Terminator kind of policeman/woman. None of my staff goes around like a person possessed to set all wrongs right just on his/her own. I know that fuelled by the popular perceptions, people expect some such miracle, but, it doesn’t happen in reality. Yes, we, officers, who are at the helm of affairs in the district, can boast of having sub-ordinates of indomitable courage, intelligence, zeal and sincerity who work hard to maintain law and order and curb crime with an iron hand. That is the heroism of a regular person who happens to don the uniform as a part of the job and we must salute that. It is not the heroism of a superman. It is high time that we understand that like any other field, we, in the police, work and deliver as a team. There are no superheroes and heroines. And, we definitely don’t want to be seen as that grimacing Tyson in uniform whom people can use to get their dirty work done. The uniform is something we wear out of necessity and with immense pride. Not because we want others to get terrified by the sight of  us. At a stage when we are moving towards an era of community policing, we cannot afford this misinterpretation of the police person in uniform on a regular basis. If it happens, it is a loss…to the people, to the society and to all of us in uniform.


Saturday, June 29, 2013

AN ODE TO NATURE

Since the whole of last week, the nation, as a whole, has been grieving the loss of life and property to the fury of nature at Uttarakhand.  A beautiful place perhaps created by God when he was in one of his best and magnanimous moods stands devastated today. I am reminded of that lazy afternoon many moons ago….perhaps, this time of the year, when I first set my eyes on snow-clad mountains of the Dhauladhar range. Pristine white, with a dash of blue, juxtaposed with proud pine and deodar trees, the mountains solemnly looked down upon me through a haze of mist. I must confess I was pretty much taken in by the serenity as well as the general way of life of that hill station which was so different from that in our plains. A few years after, I was lucky to live on the hills, albeit for a short period, during my training for the job. The intoxication of the pine scented air, the cool climes,the laidback attitude of the people, the homely bakeries were all sorely missed once I got back to the plains. Often I would daydream of the little details- the clean springs, the swaying tall trees, the church spires, the tourists etc. all of whom are integral parts of hill stations.Don’t get me wrong.. I am not the mountain-hugging, trekking kind of person; I am fully aware how life can get tough up there. But somehow, the romance associated with them has clung to me. And thus, I managed to string the following words together.


                                              JOURNEY

Gurgling and murmuring, twisting and turning
The stream tumbles down.
Down the snowy Himalayas
Writhing past the verdant greens and thick forests
Stopping for a moment, just a moment
To take in the heavenly beauty of valley of flowers,
And sway to the music of humming bees
Who have just sipped the sweet nectar.
And then, admiring the tall deodars
Rising high and higher in the hope of stroking the clouds.
Then it moves past, stealing one last look
At the gaily flowers emanating their fragrance to every nook.

Here comes the gigantic fall,
The stream braces itself, breaks its lull
To hurtle down the huge boulders,
And join the cesspool below.
Where the tourists flock to gaze at nature’s wonder.
The children enjoy the frothing waters
Before they get distracted by the sweetmeat sellers.
Yonder sits the ageless sadhu
Enjoying his tobacco, contemplating yet another journey towards moksha.

Here on the stream rushes ahead,
Propelled by the speed of multicoloured fishes.
A definite restlessness, a tinge of anxiety exists
For the stream now yearns to meet the mighty river
Just like the soldier longing to go home
To catch a glimpse of his veiled beloved as she comes near.
The plains approach, the stream slackens its pace
Excitement mounts, the journey is approaching an end.

The stream takes a breath before the bend
And, reminding one of a baby stumbling forth to meet its mother
The stream leaps and bounds to embrace the river.

As I write this, the innocuous streams, placid lakes  and the merry rivers have turned menacing. A lot many lives are in danger, many more have succumbed to nature’s anger. Which makes me wonder-when will we learn to treat nature, our surroundings with the dignity due to it? When will we learn that our fairy tale romance with nature can go horribly wrong if we mindlessly fiddle with it all the time? Maybe, we will learn, some of us have already started. It is also important and it is better to be late than never for we have to keep the romance alive for posterity.



Saturday, June 22, 2013

MY FAVOURITE PEEVE OF THE MOMENT

As a bureaucrat of some 5 odd years standing, I have realized that the very profile of the job demands and ensures continuous and consistent dialogic interaction with the public at all points of time. And being a part of the police service, one also realizes that this interaction is situated at a space when a person is distressed/disturbed/outraged in his/her private sphere and expects immediate redressal of the same. Of course, the machinery needs to swing into action immediately, but what suffices at the initial moment of agony is a protracted, patient hearing to the person’s issues. However, this is not always the case. The lack of proper infrastructural facilities at the police station, severe staff crunch coupled with exponential work overload often lead to instances wherein the troubles of the people get scant regard. Sadly so, because not only do their problems compound; they also lose faith in the efficacy of the administration to handle their problems. And specifically, when the problems relate to that of crime and criminals, life and property, one can very well imagine the extent of grievance of those people who haven’t been able to set the wheels of police administration in motion. It is precisely to deal with the issues and grievances of those people with the administrative machinery in general, that the idea of having a joint grievance session at the district level comprising of all senior officers of the district was conceptualized by the government  and is being implemented since the last couple of  years  across all the districts of the state.
A beautiful concept indeed..but does it actually work? Having sat through many such sessions, I feel that considering the heavy footfall of the people, their profound expectations and the setting of such sessions, I don’t think the purpose is being served in the true sense of the term. First and foremost, the setting. A motley of senior officers gathered at a conference hall in the morning of the first working day of the week. Some still dealing with weekend blues, some more having made that trip to their native places  have grudgingly trudged back to work and some quite excited to see colleagues and friends from other departments and waiting to catch up on some workplace gossip. Tea does its faithful rounds and so do packets of paan, seasoned betel leaf-the source of survival of many government officials posted along the coast. And if some god fearing officer has chanced to make that early morning temple trip, plates of prasad are dutifully circulated. Of course, with 30 odd officers present in the same room, phones keep incessantly buzzing as do the hum of the orderlies and peons in the background. Frequently, an urgent call comes..the senior officer hastily summons his deputy and leaves. The arrival of the deputy calls for yet another round of tea, chatter and further bonhomie. The scene outside is equally colourful. Media persons are present in full strength to encapsulate the ignored miseries of the people who have come from different parts of the district. Petition writers are seemingly busy drafting out the grievances in the terms and language to ensure that their customers get their due. Touts hover around trying to impress upon the aggrieved their contacts with the who is who of the district machinery and what miracles they can conjure up for a small sum. And then, there are the people. In hundreds, having come from towns, villages and hamlets. Sometimes with their families, sometimes alone. Waiting to get a chance to appear before the movers and shakers and get their work done in a jiffy. Some with genuine issues, some for the heck of it. And with such a gathering at one place, can you keep the hawkers behind? Right from balloons to vegetables to pens to assortments of snacks, the hawkers peddle everything and earn a handsome profit. For where will the people go till they have been heard?Hey, it is the weekly fete for all of them!

But then, the purpose of these sessions is pretty solemn and serious. What has not been redressed at the lower level is grave and requires the immediate attention of the senior officials. But is the purpose met? Not when people in tens and twenties come thronging into a not so big hall with officials cloistered together. Not when everybody is speaking all at once. Not when there is somebody overtly dramatic at your neighbour’s elbow and you are more attracted to his/her antics to pay much attention to the one standing next to you. Not when even the aggrieved are answering phone calls along with your colleagues. Not when the complainant is telling you his story of woe and a pesky media person is jostling his camcorder to capture your repartee. Not when 5 people at once are jostling for your attentions. Not when one of your colleagues is losing his temper at some person for coming up with made-in-air grievance. Not when your colleagues are discussing the current movie in town or that the tea has no milk in it. Not when you are feeling uncomfortable, suffocated, utterly irritated and confused all in one go. The purpose is definitely way off the mark.

I have my sympathies with the people who spend their time and money and make efforts to come to the district headquarters to be heard by the district officials. I so want that their problems get solved; that they don’t make such a trip again as they do at present. But then, there is something so amiss with implementation of this concept in a real life situation. When a person comes to me with an issue, I would like to hear him out in quiet, somber surroundings where I can critically analyse his problem, involve him in a dialogue and then think of something which would be the best possible way to assuage him. Also, I would like to ensure that the person gets his privacy in talking about his issues which may not be possible in such a jamboree kind of setup. Also, I would like to hear out a person at a time and space where my faculties are intact. Not when I am not at peace and comfort with myself. Not when my most favourite peeve of the moment is attending those grievance sessions where I hear less, comprehend little and cannot think of doing much. Simply because, the setting, the atmosphere and the general climate is not so conducive. Yes, one can invoke that magical word that we, the young bureaucrats, are frequently burdened with: motivation!  I do feel severely guilty at times, but then I remind myself that Abraham Maslow also agreed that motivation can have its impact only when the basic, hygiene factors are met and satisfied.

So I console myself, get peeved further and resign myself to attending the next joint grievance session on Monday.