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.