Being Thankful For Life's Smaller Mercies...

The average man leads a quiet life of desperation, said Thoreau.
This is but natural, to submit to the lowest common denominator. But need it be? There are three main spheres that concern the average man today.
The first is himself. Every organ in his body is performing its function to make him live a full fledged active life. Every piece of his flesh is coordinating with another to breathe life into him. His whole body functions like a well oiled machine. Should he not be grateful for this? That each passing day, his body has endured the forces of nature, performs its duty well and makes him move on, even as the clock ticks another second, his heart beating muffled drumbeats to the grave - to quote Longfellow?
Should he not be grateful for this? That not one part of the complex structure that he is, has not had a major malfunction, so far?
The other sphere is his interaction with fellow human beings. The average man has a family or at least is known to a certain ring of people around him. That is his social environment. He has good friends, enemies and others who don't care but know that he exists. Should he not be proud of his existence and his contribution to such a complex social structure. Friends may come, friends may go, relatives may turn against him, or he may find neutral companions at his office; considering the complex social politics that make all this happen. All this is his social environment around him, his own little world. Should he not be proud, that come what may this private social world is intact? Minus a friend or foe now, add a fried or foe next, or just plain onlookers who know his name and or where he lives?
The third sphere which is more of a lifeless nature are the machines around him that have so inconspicuously crept into his life that he now takes them for granted. Should not a man be grateful that each passing moment not one electronic, mechanical, electro-mechanical, digital, electrical device - et al, has never ever failed him in a way so as to cripple him, stop him in his tracks where he is helpless or grind his life to a stop. These man made devices that were introduced into human life ever since the stone man started creating tools, have now evolved into machines and devices, has never failed you in a manner so as to drastically reduce your quality of life. Should you not be thankful for this?
Every man should learn not be desperate about the larger forces of life beyond his control, but be thankful for the smaller mercies of life, if he has to appreciate the purpose of his existence.

Hunters And Gatherers

"Some men are born hunters, and some gatherers. This has been inherited from our primitive ancestors who gathered fruits and nuts for survival, or hunted animals to survive."
Albert Figurado was a born tinkerer and a collector of riff-raff. He was a vehicle mechanic and he saw value in everything he stumbled across - a nut-bolt on the road, washers of varying sizes, discarded screw drivers, ink pens without caps or caps without the pen, refill points, electric wires of varying lengths, a broken kaleidoscope, an ancient mariner's compass of no real utility, discarded magnetic compasses, disintegrating rubber tubes, broken plugs, unusable hardware, an old bust Polaroid camera, an ancient radio, a ballot box he had once bought at an auction.
Each of these he collected and stored them in neat little boxes in his garage. He would find use for each of these objects, which to any other person would have been worthless, and constructed odd looking pens ,with parts from three or four discarded pens; created objects of utility from discarded objects which other wise would have found its way to the town dump or lay rusting on the road. If anything in his house needed repair, he never went out shopping to buy the needed stuff, he made use of his collection to fabricate contraptions that served his purpose. He took pride in this activity and anything and everything he came across was recycled to create hybrid odd but usable instruments.
As he grew old, and his five children were scattered across the world in five different continents, his passion evolved to a finer variation. He no longer collected discarded parts, in fact he disposed all of them with the garbage one fine day. He was now interested in a new passion. He asked his sons abroad to send him stuff that he could use to make his life easier.
But the point was he never in fact used any of these. So he became the owner of a dozen Maglite torches of varying models - some that ran on batteries, others on rechargeable batteries, some with LEDs, others with bright fluorescent bulbs. He asked for cameras, and each of his sons sent across cameras of different variations, for what they thought was their duty as obedient sons. Albert was the owner of a microwave, an induction stove, a flat TV.
But one fine day when there was a massive power surge and each of them went kaput, he still kept them. They were beyond repair but he collected them, the born collector he was. His sons as usual came to his rescue, and bought a replacement for each of these. His collection of ceramic pottery was carefully preserved, but never used, hopefully bearing the prospect of some use in the future. He asked his sons for mobiles, and he got five of them, one each from his five sons. But he never used these and they lay charging all day long on the electric sockets.
He became the owner of laptops; but alas he was technology illiterate, so he never used them. He owned three of them at once and each of them disintegrated for want of use. That folks is the story of Albert Figurado, the born collector. His sons waited and waited to see when he would become hunters, like them....

Education instills Corruption and the Greed of Money at an Early Age

I have had brushes with corruption - both ideological and practical in my years of study. I am going to cut a long story short in this post.
The school where I completed my higher secondary studies was in a remote part of Maharashtra which was practically lawless. I was in the tenth standard and we shared our examination center with a local vernacular language school.
The day of the exam I was aghast seeing exam bound school girls stuffing study-help books into their panties - making them seem to be in advanced stages of pregnancy - one place which certainly no flying squad would dare to explore. The boys were not shy either. With their favorite teachers conducting the exam, they became extremely bold and indulged in mass copying. The other teachers had to turn a blind eye since these teachers had been bribed heavily on the pretext of paying tuition-after-school fees. The tuition never took place, but help during the exams was guaranteed.
At the other exam center in town, which was the vernacular school itself, it was mayhem. But the irony of the whole thing was that in spite of having study guides next to them while giving the exam, the over-all passing score was as low as 18 % while 35% was the pass marks for each subject.
However the very next year that same school had a district topper - perhaps this was one guy who could read the study guides and locate the correct answers very fast. And of course, if you didn't know where to find the answers the friendly supervisor was always ready to help with the page number in the textbook, or hand over a copy of the answer sheet of a good student who had finished earlier. Usually the help was in the form of the hint of the final correct answer. So the question was there, your friendly supervisor gave you the answer and you had to write the gobbledygook in between the question and the answer. The exam paper valuators were so hassled and understaffed that they rarely looked at the whole solution; if the correct answer was there at the last line, that was just fine.
Now to the head hunters of exam paper evaluators. Once on my way to my degree college which was a good eight hours journey from my residence at that time, I came into contact with a guy who was travelling to the same destination as me. When I told him where I was from in Maharashtra, he said, that he knew the place well. In fact he had traveled there to meet a certain "Peter Benedict", to whom the exam papers for a high school from a neighboring district had been allotted.
Benedict Peter was our family friend and a teacher at the same school where I studied and was know for his steadfast credibility. I asked this gentleman whether he got anything out of Mr Peter; that is the tampering the answer papers, but he nodded with a 'No', but added that he got those answer sheets allotted to a more friendly teacher who was more agreeable to him. Probably this guy on the bus had connections at high places. How this system worked was, the student left blank spaces in the answer sheet, which was then submitted to the appropriate evaluator; the evaluator himself filled in the blanks with the correct answers. So lawfully there was no trace of any wrongdoing once the marks were allotted!
My next brush came when I was staying in a hostel while doing my higher secondary. We had a budding doctor who was the son of a vice chancellor in Madhya Pradesh, and studied in a local medical college - after giving capitation fees, of course. I never saw him studying even though medical studies are notorious for their bookish culture. This guy used to be away whole nights at sleazy places and partying with shady friends.. The night before the medical studies I found him not sitting with his books, as the rest of his brethren would be doing at that moment. He confided in me that he had accurate information that the medicine question papers had leaked and he would be away all night trying to find places where they could be located.
In the twelfth standard the education system just broke down in most schools. Physics, Chemistry, Biology and Math teachers were in high demand in the college where I studied because some of these teachers were actually on the board who set the papers. So the second year of high school, there were no classes, just students queuing up for tutions at these teacher's residences, joining the rat race at an early stage in the true sense. I for once. balked at tuition; it just didn't fit my study style. I wanted to understand what I learnt and not be spoon fed by an automaton PhD in Math(I feel most PhDs are misfits and not fit for any kind of teaching job; but of course there are huge exceptions!).
So we had no classes at college, attendance was nil, and I was burning the midnight oil at the hostel, equipped with a table lamp and books sitting late into the night on the hostel terrace. We had a certain English teacher I will call AZM whose classes ran full houses in the preparatory previous year. That was because of his huge grasp of the English language, love for literature and English and a witty disposition.
But the very next year his classes were empty, save for a few girls. His class was almost always the first class on the timetable and I made it a point not to miss the English classes, while the others were busy attending tuition classes and giving mock tests in IIT style. The word spread that AZM was actually taking classes, and some of the students realized that they were not going to learn any English in tuitions from Science teachers who stumbled with basics of the language. So the numbers swelled till they ran up to two dozen - mostly them planning to go for higher studies in the US of A.
But only till the mid of that year. Exams were fast approaching and the science tuition masters, who were raking as much as a thousand rupees per course- a huge sum in the late 1980s - upped their ante and went into war mode with their mock exams and hints for the oncoming exam. Of course they had to do it; their reputation would depend on the number of students appearing in the merit list that year, which of course would pay rich dividends the next year too - to continue the vicious cycle. I for once, never saw the inside of these tuition classes.
The day of my Chemistry practical exams I was to experience the cost of not adhering to the tuition culture. The chemistry teacher who had among his tuition candidates my close competitor student in Chemistry who was just a fraction of marks behind me in ranking, pointed out to the visiting external supervisor that I was the brightest student on campus and that he must test my knowledge. The usual ploy is to wine and dine the visiting supervisors so that they didn't create any problems during the practical exams for the favored candidates, but gave full marks blindly - depending on the quality of the wine and dine of course. Pointing me out as exceptional meant that I was about to face some "gotcha" questions that the others would not, since the supervisor would then definitely take up the challenge and try to match his wits with mine. Fortunately the question - answer results were positive but I can never forgive this particular scheming S*o*B.
The event of the actual higher secondary exam capped it all. A week before the exam, I was approached by a friend who was also training with one of the high profile tutors. He wanted to make a deal with me. There was a certain Bihari guy who he knew who had access to the leaked papers for the oncoming exams. My friend told me that if I could afford to shell out a couple of five hundred rupees per paper, I too could have access to the leaks. I didn't believe him; but a few minutes before the exam the next day, he handed over a sheaf of papers. "These are the leaked papers, he told me, mark my words, this is just a sample of what I can provide you."
I didn't give a second thought to the papers, for two reasons. I didn't believe they were genuine, and secondly I was afraid I would get nervous hunting the answers to the papers and forget what I had already prepared. When I returned from the exam hall I compared the leaks with the original question paper. They were almost identical, save for a few questions. However I didn't proceed with any of this monkey business - and that was good, because the third day all the question papers were replaced by new ones, from what I heard from my friend. The board keeps about six sets of question papers and in case of a leak, one of these sets of question papers replaces the original.
But I had the last laugh. When the results came out, I got higher marks in all subjects than this friend, who had attended Physics, Maths, Chemistry and Biology tuition in addition to the steroid of leaked question papers. I was just getting to realize how complicated and warped the education system was becoming. During my graduation I had another brush with corruption in education. The system was thus: you gave the exams, but you were usually made to fail by a few marks and then a week after the results were announced, you usually filed for re-evaluation.
The concept of re-evaluation was just incredulous to me. How on earth could another evaluator re-judge the evaluated answers by the first examiner? The trick was re-evaluators were paid handsomely for the re-evaluation process, since the board found it hard to get examiners  for the re-evaluation process. The the re-examiners were also contacted by the examinees and bribed to get the extra 7 - 10 marks required to get through.
So after every exam you found a huge number of borderline cases all crying out for re-evaluation. That was the whole intention of failing the students; border line at the first attempt; and giving them a second chance through re-evaluation to pump in the few extra marks required to get through. And the teachers made some quick bucks too.
I guess the situation is worse in states like Bihar and Uttar Pradesh which are practically lawless. Well I have rambled enough, but gives some food for thought.
Engineers and Doctors with worthless degrees and feeble brains? - would you allow nation-building by such lame ducks. Reforms are necessary - but the Government almost always seem to move in the wrong direction, and hiccups later. Thank god for small mercies!
Before the the ilk of Anna Hazare and Kiran Bedi confront the government machinery like David did before Goliath, they must sit and ponder how the very concept originates at the grass roots.

Documentaries and Phantoms

This retelling is set in a remote desertland of Western Maharashtra were farmers grew cash rich due to one major factor- the diversion of water from the river Godavari to irrigation canals that turned barren land into fertile soil fit enough to grow sugarcane which grows in dry and hot climates but requires water throughout the year.
My father was a teacher in one of the public schools that sprang up following the setting up of huge sugar factories whose management wanted affordable public school education for the rich farmers in the region. Me and my younger brother were students in this all-boys public school.
There was a unique ritual in this public school. As a matter of convention, films were shown every Saturday so that all the boarding students had their dose of entertainment. My father was familiar with the operation of the film projector. So he was handed the task of running the projector as well as procuring films for the Saturday open air shows. My father, being a post graduate in Botany preferred to get educational films mostly on nature of a more didactic nature. He procured these documentary films by corresponding with the Canadian, Australian, German and Russian embassies who had a rich store of documentary films shot on high quality film.
The kids at the school however were not much in favour of these films which they called "daku - military" - a pun on docu - mentary.(daku for dacoit in hindi, and their sworn enemies the military police!)
We brothers however eagerly awaited films on our favorite comic heroes - the Phantom, Mandrake and the like. Walt Disney movies then were yet to gain widespread acceptance in India. One fine day we came to know from the grapevine that a film called - The Phantom of the Opera - was to be screened that Saturday. Expecting it to be a movie on the Phantom - the ghost who never dies... we excitedly waited for the start of the show. Unfortunately we were disappointed to the core as it was no Phantom movie, but rather a soap opera! We went home disappointed, but later were satisfied by the screening of a Tarzan movie and a movie called "Saboo and the Jungle".
Does anybody remember the names of any of the movies mentioned in this post? For I have heard a lot of positive feedback as an adult on Phantom of the Opera, but that Saturday it was just one disappointment for us.

The Mallu Aunty and the Hyderabad Dudes

I heard this remarkable conversation on a train. The train I boarded for my hometown was a long distance one. I was alone with two guys who were travelling all the way from the source that was Hyderabad and one other guy who had boarded the train one stop before me. At the next stop a feisty lady got in with a teenage girl.
"Only two stops..", she told the other passengers to indicate that she was on a short journey. As soon as she settled down she wanted to know was where they were from and what was their destination. The long journey travellers explained that they were from Andhra Pradesh and that they were on their way to the holy temple town of Sabarimalai. It was their seventh trip they explained. Then this lady went on to ask whether thye were studying. No, they replied, we are in HR management.
The talk on went to the different inter-state cultures. One of the young men asked her a rhetorical question whether Vidya Balan was from Kerala. Yes, she replied, but women in Kerala did not go to see those types of movies! But Dirty Picture is a good movie reiterated one of the young men, and Vidya Balan is a superb actress. Kannada movies are much better than Telugu movies stated the lady with an air of finality.
Why, asked the young men. Your Telugu movies have a lot of violence she said. To change the topic one of the young men noted that girls in Kerala were very 'decent'. Not like Hyderabad girls, he added.
I really couldn't imangine his idea of 'decent'.
We are more hygienic than people from other states, declared the middle aged woman. Also we do not sit on the floor like you people, we always use a chair or stool.
One of the young men smirked, "Madam, so you think we are not hygienic. I don't think so. It's all in the mind. It's the mindset, the way of thinking". By this time I was so embarassed that I wished the conversation would end quietly rather than in verbal tirades.
The talk went on to similarities between the South Indian languages, Malyalam Tamil Telugu and Kannada. Say "zha", said the lady. It is a real tongue twister she added. The young men tried pronouncing this malayalam syllable but were unsuccessful, much to the delight of the lady. About water, the lady said, her family was forced to drink chlorinated water in the city. I don't like the taste she said, making a face. The well water we get in our hometown is as good as mineral water. I don't like the taste of chlorine!
One guy took out a bottle of what looked like medicine, pointed at it and informed the lady - ayurvedic medicine. Let me have a look said the lady. No, it's not medicine was her verdict. This is a food supplement. The young guy took back the bottle, read the label and said "Aaah! So this is a food supplement after all!" That was where she picked up the thread, and said,"I am a deputy manager with Ranbaxy; our HO is in Delhi you know".
All the time she was saying something to the Malayalee boy(the other guy in the train who got in one stop before me), in Malayalam. Noting that she was very cozy with the young chap, one of the Hyderabad boys commented, "Your son madam?" No, she replied unflustered. I was just talking to him in our native tongue. But he's not my son.
A beggar appeared from nowhere asking for alms. The Sabarimalai pilgrims did their holy duty by handing over a few coins. The lady however admonished her daughter in Malayalam,"Never give alms to beggars. Should not encourage begging."

The Story of the Aimless Policeman

This is one anectode which did not make it to the last post, but should have. I was not a witness to this, but was recounted to me by someone who did.
I have seen policemen in uniform smoking in public and in public places, when they are actually supposed to nab people who do this, and fine them. But this story is about a more conscientious one of his lot.
I was returning home from office and hastily flagged an autorickshaw for the trip.
This auto driver was in a good mood and out of the blue came up with an experience he had recently.
Apparently one day he had been flagged down by a policeman.
"Where to?" asked the auto driver, apprehensive that he may have been on the wrong side of the law.
"Nowhere in particular", replied the policeman. "I just want to have a smoke. Just drive around till I finish it."
Saying this the policeman took out a cigarette, lit it and added, "Don't worry about the fare. I will pay you for this trip."
The auto driver recounted this to me and looking back at me, said with a knowing smile, "You know policemen aren't supposed to smoke in public. So I took this guy around in circles in my auto, till he had smoked his cigarette and dropped him at the very place where he boarded it."
"And he did pay me the fare," he added with a twinke in his eyes.
Talk about policemen on a wild goose chase!

Oh, the Pleasures of Sin!

Two rather funny incidents concerning government officials come to my mind and looking back at them I can't help smiling.
The first happened when I boarded the night train to my hometown when I usually board a reserved compartment forsaking the unreserved one which is smelly and unhygienic. Malayalees are a conscientious lot and they adhere to rules no matter how slight the risk of being in the wrong. So following the rule, be a Roman In Rome I usually ask the TTE for a reservation to Kottayam from Kochi trading my unreserved ticket for a reservation, though the distance is almost negligible and does not really warrant a reservation and usually the TTEs turn a blind eye to those who board the reserved compartment on this short trip. Most often it happens that the TTE asks me to first get into the train, but I never see him again!
This night the TTE was an old fatherly gentleman who had alcohol on his breath. I approached him and asked for a reservation.
Come with me he said, and I followed him like a meek lamb.
Pointing to the Air Conditioned coach he asked me to board it. I protested saying I wanted just an ordinary reservation, not an A/C.
He patiently explained to me like a father admonishing an errant child that there was not much difference in the fare of an air-conditioned coach and a regular one.
I decided to humour him and boarded the train.
A few minutes later I saw the old gentleman again. I paid him the difference in fare, and to my surprise he asked me- Do you want a receipt?
Nonplussed, I said as you please, then hesitantly, 'yes'. Don't worry he said, pocketed the money, and trundled off without handing me the upgraded ticket, maybe to find a seat to sleep off his intoxication.
I could almost sense Anna Hazare turning over in his sleep.
The other incident happened when I went to a government office in search of a gazetted officer to attest my identification proof. On entering I was told that all the officers were in a meeting, and I would have to wait.
As I waited near the security guy's desk a cup of what looked like black coffee was sourced from the meeting hall. The security smiled contentedly, as if this happened regularly during the meetings, took a sip of the evil looking decoction and mumbled, Really good strong stuff! And he smiled at me as if he was sharing a dirty joke with me.
I had a faint feeling that all the officers at the meeting were having sips of black coffee laced with alcohol. In an official business meeting! In the presence of female employees!
That turned out to be true. When I met the officer for the attestation, I caught a whiff of alcohol on his breath. The coffee had indeed been laced with liquor! The conclusive hint was that the government beverage outlet was just opposite this government office, and maybe the alcohol was a business complement.

The Intrepid Malayalee goes travelling

You see a person in a train, whom you can't place. You doubt whether he is a Malayalee because he does not have the usual walrus moustache, the oily hair or the malayalee accent.
Well when you notice that he has got into the train at 3 am in the night and has set his mobile alarm for 6 am in the morning, and having slept for just 3 hours still goes to the basin to wash his teeth for an infinite period of time, a homespun towel draped across his shoulders, you can be sure then that he belongs to the malayalee tribe. As Douglas Adam quotes in the HitchHiker's guide to the galaxy
<quote>
A towel, it says, is about the most massively useful thing an interstellar hitchhiker can have. Partly it has great practical value - you can wrap it around you for warmth as you bound across the cold moons of Jaglan Beta; you can lie on it on the brilliant marble-sanded beaches of Santraginus V, inhaling the heady sea vapours; you can sleep under it beneath the stars which shine so redly on the desert world of Kakrafoon; use it to sail a mini raft down the slow heavy river Moth; wet it for use in hand-to- hand-combat; wrap it round your head to ward off noxious fumes or to avoid the gaze of the Ravenous Bugblatter Beast of Traal (a mindboggingly stupid animal, it assumes that if you can't see it, it can't see you - daft as a bush, but very ravenous); you can wave your towel in emergencies as a distress signal, and of course dry yourself off with it if it still seems to be clean enough.
</quote>
It may not be for these reasons that the malayalee carries his threadbare towel (homespun, because it is easy to clean it by just wringing it), but all the same it is a malayalee trademark - a symbol of hygiene.
In fact most labourers in Kerala can be found with a red towel wrapped across their head as they go about their menial tasks and when he comes home the first thing he will do is wring the sweat and water out of the "toowal" and have a long renovating bath with the costliest herbal soap available in the market.
Mark these actions. You can bet he was brought up in the best of malayalee tradition.
To a malayalee sleep is sacrosant. He will never disturb his body clock, come what may, I think even if there were to be a mild earthquake.
Another malayalee trait is the habit of constantly worrying. If he reaches a bus stop and has just missed a bus by five minutes, he will spent ages fretting about it. And he can be even verbal about it. "If I was just five minutes early..." to all who care to listen!
This is in sharp contrast to the laid back attitude of rural north india. Time does not flow, it stops. If a bus is missed, of course there will be another bus coming, even though it might be after a good six hours!
I am posting a flowchart that shows what we must worry about, and when nothing can be gained by crying over split milk. But that goes against the malayalee mindset!