SO MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING..REALLY!

The election fever and fervor are reaching a fast climax and the entire nation is waiting for the campaigns to end, polls to begin and finally, the results to be declared leading to a change of guard at the Centre and in many states. Predictably, one of the major issues looming large over the poll arena is corruption and its corollary, a clean, efficient government. The big question with a big Q is- will the country, with a bourgeoning youth population vote for non-corrupt, “cleaner than washed in Surf Excel and whiter than dipped in Ujala” politicians? Of course, we all have cried ourselves hoarse on corruption in the media, at extended family picnics, over working lunches, at kitty parties, pub sessions, long drives, at the family dining table and in bed. Yes, it has been done to death and more. Which gives rise to the strong conviction that this time around, we all will vote to throw away those slime balls who have sucked away our hard earned money from the government coffers and bring in the talented, sincere, raring to work and wary to steal kinds into the political set up. A sanguine conviction..but will it really work out in the end?

During the urban local body elections in the state a while ago and more recently, the upcoming general and assembly elections, there have been rampant talks of the voters being gained over by the contestants not by flexing muscles and sinews, but by money. The aspirants reportedly spend crores of rupees in arranging gala feasts for entire localities, distributing fancy cell phones en masse; even distributing cash etc. and all these are not always slanderous gossips or hearsay. There have been numerous instances of candidates being caught or their supporters’ vehicles being seized carrying obscene amounts of unaccounted for money. But then, that is just the minute tip of the giant iceberg.

In my opinion, the reality is that money, freebies etc are being generously distributed by candidates, who themselves, have no ethics or ideology to speak of. One look at the drama that unfolded just before campaigns kick started clearly indicates that a politician, wannabe or seasoned, only understands the language of power. He or she believes in the ideology of that party which is willing to give him/her the ticket to try out luck in the elections. That is all that matters. Since the ideologies, beliefs and ethics of our politicians have become so fluid so as to fit into any party vessel, it is anybody’s guess how staunchly they must be guarding moral values and once elected, how scrupulously; they would be putting the national interests above their own. Forget the lascivious chair and power hungry politicos, the aam junta- the common people are no less. Yes, the election commission has dutifully appointed observers to monitor the entire process of electioneering and special ones, as well, to ensure that the pure, gullible minds of the holier-than-thou voters is not sullied by those who will pull all strings and exhaust many foreign bank accounts to get the votes. Ah! But are the common and not so common people really so wide eyed, innocent, straightforward and honest? Even if we wish to believe this premise, where is all the money being pumped into the elections going? If some candidates are giving, it is because many, nay; most of us are willing to grab fistfuls of free cash and free giveaways willingly. And, there is competition in this as well. A whole lot of freeloaders are jumping around, changing allegiances at the drop of a freebie because the anthem is ‘ He/she who gives the most takes the most’. Development issues, the larger cause of honesty and transparency are put in the garbage bin to bring out once the election shenanigans are over. This, when the campaigning, the groundwork etc are being done not by the so called old, corrupt have-beens, but the new X,Y and Z laptop-tablet-Bluetooth-facebook-twitter generation who otherwise need a fancy cola to satiate themselves after mouthing reams of platitudes on the acute need of a honest, corruption free government as the panacea for all the ills plaguing the country.

There are, of course, a few men and women, with integrity and strength of character, who are in the fray and who promise to show the light in the next five years. The light to a better, well functioning and efficient democracy, the light to a more responsive and responsible government. Meanwhile, one can just feel that as regards, corruption, it is actually much ado about nothing and may the best person(s) win! Amen.

THE AGONY OF STEREOTYPES.

I have been transferred to my hometown and am presently, putting up with my parents. Quite relieving indeed, to have a home and hearth since transfers always mean a dislocation, the pain of getting all your stuff in one piece to the new place and of course, the deep fear of unknown in the professional sphere. Home town means the comfort of being surrounded by members of extended family, relatives and bevy of familiar faces. Hometown also means frequent visits of relatives and old friends to check out how one has been faring in life and also to offer suggestions as to how to improve one's state of being. Not an issue at all..except that I happen to be working in the police. The media blitzkrieg has ensured that even though the police force is reviled for its perpetual ineptness, there is a growing sense of awareness and empathy for the problems afflicting the police force. Foremost happens to be the psychological health and emotional well being of the police personnel on job. Psychologists, Sociologists, Public administrators, Medicos, NGOs, universities in India and abroad et al  seem to have had a field day in conducting extensive researches and concluding that a majority of our police persons go through immense stress, depression,anxiety attacks and a plethora of other psychosomatic disorders due to the demanding nature of their jobs. Which is, in fact, a reality.

However, all realities and facts of life are not so sweet. It is a wonderful feeling and quite satisfying too, enlightening one's relatives, friends and acquaintances of the rigors of one's service and subsequently, receiving hosannas and kudos from them for all the thankless jobs one engages in on a daily basis. But, it is another story altogether when this strategy backfires. Recently, a family friend of nearly 3 decades visited us. After the routine recriminations about losing one's pinky glow and not being able to keep in touch due to the demands of the job, the favourite topic of police brutality and apathy unfolded. Being a part of the police and finding it a little tough to swallow the seemingly unwarranted criticism, I thought it to be a good idea to enlighten the gentleman about the serious problems facing the police..resource crunch, staff crunch, poor infrastructure..the works. Not to lose out, he gave a quick repartee that being in the police( and thereby having lost all charm, beauty and appreciation of finer things of life), I must be in a state of chronic depression given the issues and challenges we face on a daily basis. Not expecting a personal remark, I could only mutter that the general problems might not  always be person specific. Not to be deterred, the doctor in our family friend rose to the occasion and dutifully lectured me on how tough the job is, how the stressful situations have managed to sink me into a state of despair and how it is so evident on my poor face. All presumptions...and I was about to refute when the grand suggestion arrived that I must meditate and practice yoga religiously since the latter is a panacea to all such problems. And, to top it all, extensive researches, monographs and studies have attested that yoga is indeed the alchemist's stone-the one stop solution to bring about physical and mental well being.

i have nothing against yoga or any other commonly accepted mode of relieving tensions and stress. However, there cannot be a stereotypical solution to any problem. All police persons or for that matter, all human beings may not attain moksha through one widely feted practice. I, for one, draw immense relief from the drudgery of the day by chatting away with a loved one or by talking about some hilarious vignettes of life with a close friend.For me, a human interaction spiced with emotional connection is much more a stress buster and energy booster than meditating, which frankly induces me to sleep. I tried to convey the same to the seasoned doctor, who, by then, had the expression on his face, which, I am sure, he reserves for the relatives of his patients who are on their death beds. An extremely sorry face indicating that there is no hope for me given this attitude towards holier-than-holy yoga which comes with certificates from sages of the hoary past to the ablest researchers of the present. A look of pity that given my job, there is actually no hope for me and I am on my way to an asylum sometime pretty soon. Which, i think, is far from reality!


 I strongly feel that it is true that our lives have indeed become stressful, tightly wired and challenging on a day to day basis. We all need to beat the heat and it is up to us to devise ways and means to do so. There cannot be stereotypical solutions to our individual concerns. The road map to our little joys cannot be dictated by some sham-glam research. That which gives a spring to our steps, lights up our faces and kills all the dark monsters has to be identified by us and pursued by us. Thinking of all this, i shake myself up from the reverie to find our family friend still lecturing me on the benefits of withdrawing from the world to mental solitude in order to achieve peace inner joy. I smile, for I strongly believe that the real joy is in engaging with the world, sparring with life and drawing strength from it. And then, I pick up the phone to talk to a dear friend. to relieve the agony of this hackneyed conversation.

SKILL CRUNCH- THE REALITY OF THE PRESENT?

With the general elections round the corner, quite a lot of pending work has to be hastened up before the model code of conduct gets implemented. One of them is appointment to the department at the district level. Last week, the process to induct a few skilled workers to the district police voluntary force started. A staggering  number of twelve hundred people had applied for  around thirty posts and had attached degrees attesting their qualifications which were much more than our modest requirements. We, at the recruitment cell, were bracing for a tough week handling over qualified candidates, numerous recommendations, sob stories et al.

But, what started with a resounding bang ended with not even a meek whimper. Candidates boasting to be computer software engineers( and surprisingly, competing for a contractual job paying a paltry salary) could not type a simple document on the computer, supposedly qualified plumbers could not fix up leaking taps, electricians had troubles fixing up tube lights properly and nobody really wanted to work as a sweeper. This, in other words, meant a huge problem was at hand. We had to meet deadlines, fill up posts, and we badly needed skilled people. On the top of it, the state police was taking up an ambitious computerization project and we badly needed staff with a decent hand in computers. Seems such a simple ask was actually asking for the Godot in one of the most literate and developed districts of the state. For, the degrees existed only in paper; the skills were certified in black and white but not in practice. What  began as a feeling that I could be a fussy child picking my way through the choicest gifts turned into a veritable nightmare. My cup of woes was full because I could not find a remotely employable person with some specialized skills. To top it and add to the exasperation, my colleagues quite timidly put forth that the candidates may be lacking in talent, skills but what they didn't lack in was moolah to bribe the recruiters and buy jobs for themselves. Already beleaguered by all sorts of people calling, pleading and begging for their protégés, I was really, really angry. Angry about being surrounded by people who claim to be worshippers of a Arvind Kejriwal or a Anna Hazare but have no scruples themselves. Angry at youngsters for not willing to learn, not willing to be sincere at their vocations but just taking shortcuts. Angry at so many others for recommending useless chaffs for jobs they hardly deserved. Yes, poverty is always invoked to make us sentimental enough and dole out jobs. But, my perennial issue is as to why this tearful song of poverty is always used to goad and emotionally cripple a recruiter to give away a job but is never played to goad these youngsters to work hard and resolutely to polish their skills and make themselves worthy. Yes, I was and am angry and disturbed that we are slowly becoming a skill starved society with loads of bunkum talk but nothing to show by way of actions. All we want are backdoor entries to everywhere. Not our style to work hard and prove ourselves. Not the life of a proud lion, but the life of a slinking hyena.

Maybe, it was a frustrating exercise and the very thought of starting a hunt again within a short span is mentally exhausting, but the nagging fear which persists is that whether a severe skill crunch is the reality of the present and would be a legacy of the future. No doubt, we are proud to be the country of some of the most talented people of the world but some bright brains can never compensate for a mediocre, trudging majority. Our pedagogy and a whole lot of ancillary factors are responsible for this. But my anger remains- why do we denounce corruption so much when as individuals, we are salivating to corrupt or be corrupted at the slightest opportunity? This is an issue which requires a special reflection. Which I should put off immediately for another day to concentrate on my undone job of recruiting a few averagely talented blokes for some very simple jobs.

                                      

HOMECOMING

My current read is a book by a friend on the struggle of the Tibetans for their homeland, their feeling of being uprooted, their terrible longing for their hearth and ‘home’. This urge ‘to belong’ is so predominant in human beings- the urge to belong to a place, the urge to be rooted emotionally to some physical space. Being the child of a government servant, I have never had the leisure to develop a sense of belonging to a particular place. Regular transfers, change of government quarters and rented residences have ensured that there is hardly any place I could call my own. I cannot return back to the lawn I had my first fall, cannot return back to the room where I went through the sweet agony of my first crush, cannot go back to the living room where we celebrated the little joys of life. Such has been my loss..there is just no physical space to identify with oneself..No favourite corner of the house to rush to in moments of glee or sadness..no place which still retains the fragrance of your past. Eventually, I moved to a university in the country’s capital which was a beautiful home away from home for six odd years. After leading a life of a Bedouin for so long, it was immensely gratifying to stay put at one place, develop roots, make friends and identify with the surroundings. It has been nearly eight years that I have been out of the university, but still, the very memory of it, brings a lot of comfort and a queer sense of solace.

Personal issues and conflicts in profession had taken a heavy toll on me, of late, and I was craving for a break to sort myself out. And, I realized that other than my alma mater , I had no place to slink to, to lick my wounds, to retrospect and to enjoy a few stolen moments of quietude. I did go, with loads of trepidation for I had not been back at the campus since long. I don’t know what I expected when I drove down there; I no longer knew a soul at the campus and I had heard from friends and erstwhile classmates about the massive changes in the university and how it wore a new look. Yes, at first glance, I must say it had changed, renovations and cosmetic makeover had taken care of the pajama casualness of the campus but, something about the air was still so much the same. I sat outside my erstwhile hostel nursing a small snack watching life drift by. Students going to and fro to the library, the mangy mongrel trying to catch the warmth of the wintry sun, the eccentric dhobi mumbling away., the protracted chai sessions in the nearby benches..everything was still like it had always been. the situations were all frozen in a frame, the characters different,though. After an old hostel mess worker recognized me and started making fond enquiries, I picked up courage to venture into the hostel where I had stayed for half a dozen years. The place where I had made friends, nurtured grandiose dreams, had had loads of fun, had gone through bittersweet moments of stress…it all stood before me. Wandering through the corridors brought back a bouquet of happy memories, memories of love, affection shared with precious people I had come to know and cherish. The days gone by fleeted past like a vivid movie with all emotions intact. At last, it was time to leave. I walked up to the gate and lurched suddenly. I had lurched at this gate every single day of the six years spent and all my friends used to have a hearty laugh whenever it happened. The same, unexpected motion and subsequent reverberation of the same laughter and teasing in my ears unlocked a tsunami of emotions. And..the tears came on!

A homecoming it was, to relive the past, to draw strength from the carefree, happy days of the past in order to build up the strength and fortitude to face the stress of the mundane of the present and future.