Like a blessing come from Heaven ...

"... for something like a second / I was healed / and my heart was at ease." An epiphany? The menu proudly states that the steaks are made “specially in our modern Electric Griller” (said menu having been largely unchanged in form or content for the last 45 years). The fish meuniere melts in the mouth at the precise moment one reads that line, the two stimulii catalysing a smile that must surely fit the popular concept of “beatific”. So I knelt there at the delta / at the alpha, at the omega / I knelt there like one who believes.

Suddenly, all the niggling irritations dwindle. The parts of the world that were out of focus fit together with a discreet click (imagine a Rolls Royce door shutting. Imagine, furthermore, that the man shutting it is Reginald Jeeves).The brow, suddenly realising that Life is Not Half Bad, that in fact it would be not entirely incorrect to claim that Life is (taking it by and large, seeing it unalloyed and seeing it whole) Quite a Good Thing, becomes rapidly unfurrowed. The wolf at the door and the ghoul on the shoulder slink away to pack their bags and consult their Bradshaws.

Good my ladies and gentles, for some months now I have been sore beset by life in general and by one Nazgul in particular. I have been foolish enough to let aforesaid Nazgul and his Dire Machinations prey upon my mind. But I have now triumphed over my woes (and foe) in much the same way that Truman won over his critics, to wit, by outliving them (outliving professionally, that is). It may be premature to say that I shall now step high, wide and plentiful, but my general outlook is now far closer to that of Frederick Altamont Cornwallis ( the Earl of Twistleton to the adoring populace Uncle Fred to his favourites) than to that of Marvin the Paranoid Android. My hat is quite distinctly cocked on the back of my head and I would, if I could, Scatter Largesse to the Multitude. Right. Time to cast the eye (now more measuring than beady) over what the world has been doing while we were not around to console it.

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Roger certainly needs consolation. Poor mutt, he cried when he lost. Not Done, in my book, but I can see how Rafael Nadal-Parera can have that effect. Poetic justice in a way. FedEx now knows how Andrew Stephen Roddick must have felt for all those years when only one man stood between him and the title of best tennis player on Planet Earth. The sad part is that despite Nadal’s incredible athleticism and accuracy under pressure, Federer didn’t lose on the court. He lost in the mind. This was most evident at the French Open last year. It happened again in the fifth set at Melbourne. Federer cried out of frustration, not disappointment. Sweet Kerrist on a fibreglass kerrutch, how many times does one have to beat this man before he admits he’s beat? The problem is that Rafa never accepts that he’s beat. Not for a single point, dammit, not for a single shot. In the second set, he ran past his backhand corner to retrieve a Federer forehand that would have been a winner against any other tennis player in the world. Then he ran back to his forehand AND RETURNED the put-away from Federer. Fed had to play a third shot to win that point. That sums it up. Ole, Rafa!

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In other news, I have narrowly escaped death or at least dismemberment by the simple expedient of never having been to Mangalore. I’m normally peace-loving, discreet and prudent to the point of cowardice. One thing that really irritates me, however, is women being hassled. If this gets to the point where they are physically assaulted, this mouse will roar. Fat lot of good that would do anybody, of course. I’m not the kind of chap who looks good wearing his undies outside (spandex) pants, so if I reacted in that kind of situation, all I’d achieve would be my own rapid spifflication. Still and all … I sadly fear that if Mangalorisation becomes a widespread phenomenon, Pureed Babu might be on the menu of some not-too-finicky canine. (I’d like to think I could take a couple of them down with me, but life rarely follows my story-lines)

(Update: apparently Mangalorisation happened today in Gangotri Bar in Madiwala, Bombay. The sweet smell of progress. Maybe in a few decades we’ll even grow to like it.)

(Data point: There’s a blog purportedly by Dr. V.S. Acharya, Home Minister of the State of Karnataka in the Union of India. This is the gentleman who reportedly said that the parents of the girls attacked should have been more careful. We could all express our regard and appreciation on his blog, but I fear his innate modesty might cause him to "moderate" our comments)

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Some Indian bloggers have their knickers in a twist over a legal action that didn’t happen. (Does that make it a legal inaction or an illegal action?) Quite pointless, like a number of televised debates. So you think the TV channels shouldn’t have shown the security operations during the Bombay attacks? What were the security bosses doing, then? As I see it, with the possible exception of the NSG, EVERYbody - and this, let's face it, includes most of US - had their heads up their rectums to some extent (perhaps because the shit had hit the fan?) I think we all agree that some of our elected representatives were well past their own (presumably, respective) colons and may even have crossed their oesophagii. It’s not fair to single out Du-h Dutt for special criticism.

When all the channels were culpable to some extent, why do so many people love to hate Ms. Duh-tt? (When I last checked, there was no Facebook group titled “Can u please get Rajdeep Sardesai / Arnab Goswami / Srinivasan Iyer off air?”) Could it be because she was the only Managing Editor who rushed to the spot, planted herself in front of the camera and shoved her mike in the most places? Do they not realise that she leads from the front and cannot allow her juniors to go to dangerous places (like In Front of Guns or In Front of the Camera)? Could it be that, despite her acumen and her objectivity and her succinct analysis (“As you can see, there’s a person in white at that window on the 9^th floor” – would we ever have worked that out for ourselves?), despite her (gasp!) Padma Shri, there are some Indian television viewers who just don’t like her? Strange concept that, well-nigh unbelievable, of course EVERYbody loves her, but perhaps it’s worth investigating, psychos are everywhere, they could even be dangerous, one might be well-advised to get gag orders against them, it’s all in the interests of a free press and we know how much we need THAT.

One school of thought holds that the central character is more about the gag reflex than about gagging free speech, but what do I know. In any case, how many people in this country READ blogs anyway, let alone any single specific blog? You think it would make an iota of difference if ALL of us spewed venom about her? Get a life! What I can’t figure out is why she bothered. She should be serene in her superiority, knowing that her Padma Shri places her in the exalted company of Hans Raj Hans, Sania Mirza and of course Pa’s Favourite Girl.

God knows

Saturday night, after some total chilling by the river near Bhadreswar (there was beer, peace and quiet, great home-cooked food), we started the drive back to Calcutta. GT Road should be clear at 10 p.m.

Except that it wasn’t. First swarms, then hordes, then bloody phalanxes of men tramped in the opposite direction. Gamchhas round waists and sometimes round their heads as well, poles over their shoulders with a pot slung on each end. Some of them carried extra-large poles and pots – we’re talking humongous here, with those things they needed the turning circle of a 16-wheel trailer truck - for extra credit with the gods. All on their way to Tarakeswar to offer libations there. A million able-bodied males wasting days of their lives to pour water over a divine dick.

Then there were the papier-mache monstrosities carried by 4 men at a time. Comic to the point of horror. The Shivas were recognizable, but that hairy thing? Hanuman? What did he have to do with Shiva? (Would somebody enlighten me?) And those goats? On closer examination, they were goats-with-humps, so perhaps they were meant to be bulls. You know, Nandi, Bhringi.

It was just about tolerable at first. But as the night wore on, we found we’d already spent 2 hours traversing half the distance that had taken us 75 minutes in the morning. Through traffic. Very Small Person was sporting, but there are limits to a 4-yr-old’s endurance. She was sick. I was livid.

Near Uttarpara, the road was totally blocked by the human flood. It was past midnight, VSP was curled up in my lap desperately tired but unable to sleep because of the din. (One group was playing the well-known devotional song Tootak tootak tootiyan) We were stuck at a roundabout with traffic trying to come in from the right, a bus trying to back into a side-lane and (suddenly) the first traffic in the opposite direction that we’d seen in 2 hours.

Then it got ugly.

The flood poured through between the stalled vehicles. And expressed their displeasure at finding CARS blocking their route of march. CARS? On a ROAD? What the f*** do they think they’re doing here? Kick them! Thump them! Call ‘em names! Which was what they did. My tolerance was low because VSP was terrified, but I couldn’t even open the door because of the crush of bodies. At the same time, I was sick to my stomach with fear. I’ve seen cars – with people inside – that have been overturned in similar situations. And set on fire.

I can see the other guy’s point of view up to a point. These blokes were tired, footsore, thirsty, aching. A large number of them were also blind drunk. Lumpens. Fortunately, the fit passed. We were left alone. Eventually, the cars moved. We reached home at a quarter to 2.

The point to note was that, for 2 hours and 30 kilometres, there was not a single policeman in sight. No barricades. No markers. Nobody to control traffic. So in that frightening moment at midnight, I called up the District Magistrate. The DM had taken charge about a day before, but she reacted quickly. When I next called from the safety of the Calcutta side of the river, she said that police had “been dispatched”. Normally I wouldn’t presume so far as to advise another officer (no matter how junior) on their job, but (a) I’d been in the middle of it with my family and (b) I’ve worked in that district in two stints and I know that there is a police station and two outposts within 15 minutes’ walk from there. So I suggested that she should tell her SP to do something about this jamboree, which will be repeated every Saturday night for a month. Otherwise there could be a stampede, people might die. The press will bay for her head.

Bad ch’i.

Next day the Naina Devi temple was in the news. Auspicious day my ass.146 dead bodies. Women and children. If this God exists, s/he makes Heath Ledger’s Joker look like a goody two-shoes.

And the day after, they posted personnel along the route. I’m so disgusted I don’t even want to say “I told you so”.

I think the moral of the story is, God might try to kill people in nasty ways, but people should be smart enough to plan against it.

Baroda Blues

I don’t understand what the fuss is all about.

The very fabric of our existence is under threat, some good people Get Out There and DO Something about it, and we call them Fascists? Very Bad. Because Fascists are a Bad Thing, and surely nekkid pictures are Bad Things too. Being against nekkid pictures must be a Good Thing, therefore people against nekkid pictures cannot be Fascists. Right? Far right.

All this hoo-ha, you know, all this secular shekular, very bad only.

I came across this programme on the telly on Sunday night. Barkha Dutt and a load of Wise People talking about the incident at the Maharaja Sayajirao Gaekwad University of Arts, where a student named Lunar Enticer was arrested for threatening the national identity. Many wise things were said, the gist being that we must not say or do anything that could cause offence to anybody. Very nice, in fact the sort of thing I learnt at my mother’s knee, or at least the sort of thing I would have learnt if I had not been busy being a wise-acre.

I fail to understand why some people (Bloggers, This Means YOU) do not understand. This depraved boy Chandramohan produced paintings where religious icons were shown in conjunction with (gasp, sorry!) nekkid figures. Very bad. One Wise Gentleman pointed out that this was the Thin End of the Wedge – if people can paint religious icons nekkid (for example, a naked cross! Even a naked Shivlinga!), they could even paint his mother nekkid! Considering that the said gentleman is in his fifties and his mother is presumably in her 70s, I entirely agree that such a picture must NEVER be painted. I must, however, caution the gentleman that his mere mention of this possibility could offend not only me but also his mother.

(Warning – Long Digression)

What’s more, if this kind of thing is allowed, people might even suggest that the gentleman’s parents HAVE been naked at some point of time. This, of course, cannot be true of Traditional Indian Parents, who are always Fully Clothed. They might even suggest that his parents (shudder) Had Sex. This would strike at the roots of our Ancient Civilisation and Culture, because we all know that not only are Indians Never Naked, we Do Not EVER Have Sex.

Indians hold the proud honour of being the world’s second most populous nation without ANY SEX WHATSOEVER, because ALL Indians are born through parthenogenesis. Some Indians are born from nodding flowers and raging fires, as clearly shown in Indian films, but not one is ever born because his parents Had Sex (or ‘did’ sex, to use the Orkutian idiom). This proud truth is under threat from Indians residing Abroad, so the Guardians of Our Culture should give serious thought (which is the only kind of thought they are capable of) to attacking all the educational institutions that Corrupt Students’ Minds by suggesting that Indians can and do Have Sex.

Some stupid people have suggested that Indians Know About Sex, because they have seen Women Worshipping Shiv Lingas. Such people do not realize that this is a Demonstration of Innocence. These women have never seen a non-Shiv linga (even though most of them are mothers themselves) and therefore approach the holy phallus Entirely Unaware of its anatomical significance. In similar fashion, the temple at Kamakkhya has NO sexual or anatomical significance whatsoever.

(Now back on the main line …)

A group of Morally Responsible Citizens stormed the MSG University, called in the police, roughed up a few students and faculty and closed down the exhibition. Fine upstanding citizens these, demonstrating effective democracy in action. For what is democracy but the will of the greater number? There were more of them (the Outraged Citizens), so they were democratic. Tomorrow or the day after, we may witness a few thousand artists enraged at the Loss of Freedom descending upon these corporators and rending them limb from limb (or other portions of the anatomy, perhaps even those portions that Do Not Exist In Indians except as Spiritual Depictions). That would also be democratic as long as there were more rend-ers than rend-ees. (Though very unlikely, given the wimpish attitude of the intelligentsia so far – no fires, no broken furniture, not a single weapon in sight. One despairs of their democratic ability)

Then the students and some faculty did Something Very Bad. They set up an exhibition that purported to show Indian erotica through the ages. This, of course, was intolerable. India has NEVER had any erotic art. Ajanta, Ellora, Khajuraho, Orcha do not exist. Or if they do, there are no artefacts there. Or if there are, Somebody Else Did Them. Or even if we did, we don’t know anything about that. Just shut up. ShutupshutupSHUTUP. (This is Good Democratic Reasoning.)

So anyway, there was some to-ing and fro-ing and then the Dean suspended the Head of the Arts Faculty. Serves him right – he was actually trying to Support the Students. He is now in hiding, which of course is sufficient proof that he must have Done Something Wrong.

There has been some criticism of the police. Totally unwarranted, in my humble opinion. The police were very prompt in arresting the student. They have not, of course, registered an FIR against the corporators for their alleged ruffianism on campus. This proves their Fixity of Purpose. I mean, being Guardians of Morality, they cannot be seen to waver and Accommodate More than One Point of View. As for being Guardians of the Law, give the poor cops a break, will you? They’re busy enough Guarding Morality, they’ll get around to Upholding the Law sooner or later. Or some time.Like early 2009.

So all in all, this has been an enormously reassuring excise in Defending Civilisation. Next week, we’re going to Burn some Books. And if we get lucky, some authors as well. (The tenets of Guarding Morality are not clear about Burning Critics. This might be Seen as Weakness).

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