This blog and Anna Hazare

It took fifteen months for the visit counter to reach the 10,000 mark, and less than a year for it to jump to 20,000. A heartening thing to see, because it means I have not been labouring entirely in vain (as I have said before, it's hard work to keep two blogs running simultaneously, especially if one of them is dedicated to whimsy and plain fun. Somebody warned that I may not be able to keep at it for long, but lo! it's been more than two years without a break already. But it helps to see an ever-increasing visit count). I shall look forward to seeing how quickly the follower count goes up to 100 and the 30,000-visits milestone is passed.

I shall reiterate that it would be nice to have more participation from my readers - by way of comments and contributions, besides visiting regularly and enlisting as followers.

One more thing I must note in passing is that maintaining this blog has brought home to me a) how many people are utterly humourless, and b) how widely tastes in humour differ.

And one last thing before I go: I shall insist till my dying day that not only is a sense of humour an essential requisite for civilization, but especially an ability to laugh at oneself - one's own sense of self-importance as balanced against the reality that one doesn't really matter in the vast cosmic scheme of things, even if one is a President or a tycoon or a pop icon. I wish more and more Indians, the man on the street as much as the movers and shakers, would learn to cultivate that virtue, which is the essence of true humility (as opposed to the ingrained habit of cringing before powerful people in the hope of currying favour and avoiding trouble). So here's my parting shot for now: I know, unlike Anna Hazare, that I am too ignorant and too insignificant a man to believe that I am always so right and good that I can and should impose my inflexible will upon this vast country without a qualm. I would run if anyone invited me to become the First Jan Lok Pal. Let me try to become a better man first. There's no shortage of people who are quite sure about their perfect moral virtue and absolute wisdom...

Weird expectations

If people will keep talking arrant and malicious nonsense about me behind my back, I think I am within my rights to keep laughing at them here. If that makes some of my pupils angry because they know I am ridiculing their parents, I am afraid that can't be helped: they should have found themselves nicer parents.

One of the latest canards I have heard about myself doing the rounds of this one-horse town of late is that I supposedly keep sitting on my chair all the time (I don't, actually, as all my pupils blessed with eyes should know, but that is beside the point here), whereas such and such tutor puts in so much more effort, staying on his feet all the time he teaches - why can't I try to live up to his example?

I am reminded of something a friend of mine, a doctor, told me from his experience long ago: a woman had a septic ulcer on the left elbow, and as the doctor was about to give her an antibiotic injection she shrugged her arm away and walked out of the dispensary muttering angrily - 'He tries to give me an injection in the right hand when he can see the boil is on the left, and he calls himself a doctor!'

Start dancing!

Wow: Google’s come up with a technological ‘paradigm-shift’ once again. Throw out your mouse and keyboard – outdated junk – and, after installing gmail motion and checking that your webcam is in position and switched on, just start throwing your arms and legs about in front of your PC, laptop, mobile or iPad. The computer will translate your gestures into commands for email – compose, reply, send, search, go to inbox, etc etc. (you can download their printable guide to check out how wide and varied a choice of gestures is already available).

Soon, thanks to Google’s now-hypnotic clout on what used to be called human minds, we shall see people monkey-dancing before their computers. And more and more, offices are going to resemble bharatnatyam or tai-chi classes. Vive la technologie!

One nasty thought: how am I going to actually compose anything like a long letter or one of these blogposts this way? And what about people with breathing problems and creaking joints?

P.S.: I won't be surprised if this is Google's idea of an April Fool joke. It's happened before. Last year they changed the company's name for a day...

Kya mazaak hai!

Renowned scientist and the prime minister’s chief scientific advisor CNR Rao has lamented that today’s children are being forced to lose all interest in real education and becoming robots or circus-animals programmed to take examinations endlessly as a substitute for learning: see this news story.

As a telling sign of the times, the same paper carried, just below the above article, a half-page advertisement of one of those now-innumerable tutorials promising to fulfil every child’s ‘dream’ of becoming either a doctor or an engineer for a fat fee…

One word can make a world of difference

Sayan Datta's recent confession in a comment on my other blog that he now understands much better how much of a difference single words (and even inflexions on words) can make reminded me of a joke that I read in a book of humour:

The ship had docked at port, and on the first night spent on land after a long time, the first officer became so disgracefully drunk that he could not report for duty for the whole of the next day. The stern captain entered the following comment in the ship's log - 'Unfortunately the first mate was drunk all day'. On hearing about it, the said officer was aghast, and he pleaded strenuously with the captain to strike that comment off the record, since otherwise it could permanently mar his career. But the captain was unbending, insisting that it was a serious infringement of service rules, and besides, he had written nothing but the literal truth. Realising that it was a lost cause, the first officer went away to take revenge by writing his own entry in the log - 'Fortunately, the captain was sober all day.'

Only a game

My daughter found this game by chance on the net. I was aghast. Do take a tour. It is actually teaching children (most players, I guess, would be children and teenagers) that to run a big business organization profitably, just about everything goes. Politicians, workers, environmentalists, scientists, health regulators, consumers – they are all either interfering busybodies meant to be bought off with bribes, or slaves to be worked to the bone for as little as possible, or suckers to be parted from their money in the most ‘efficient’ (read profitable-) way possible: all other considerations, especially ethical ones, be damned.

I used to think that you had to get into business school, at least, to be drilled in this most pernicious doctrine, but now it seems that you cannot be too young!

desi diners

I happened to lunch at one of the new 'Food courts' run by Haldiram's in Kolkata the other day, and I am glad to report that they are doing good business. It seems it's childishly easy to give the likes of Macdonald's and KFC a run for their money by just cloning them, even with an all-vegetarian menu. And given the clean, quiet ambience and airconditioning, the Rs. 75 you have to shell out for a standard (and adequately filling-) thaali  is reasonable pricing indeed. May the tribe prosper. 

thumbs down again

I must say I am disappointed that the last post fetched not one comment in a whole week.

That's one reason I don't write about books and movies too often - I have found out the hard way that either people are uninterested, or they have nothing to say.

And this made me thank my lucky stars once again that I don't have to depend on writing for a living: even writing light-hearted stuff. The very thought makes my flesh creep... in this country, it's much safer to lance ulcers or patch up boilers in a power plant, or even count notes in a bank. You might go back to the post titled "Ten thousand visits" which I wrote back in May 2010.

Fun movie

Just watched a newly released offbeat satirical-comedy movie titled Phas gaya re Obama. The story-line can be found here. NRI businessman loses everything in the 2008 American economic meltdown, desperate to raise money quickly, comes home to sell off his ancestral haveli, has qualms of conscience about throwing out a lot of dependants, then kidnapped by a series of increasingly more menacing roughnecks who are all slavering over the imagined ransom he would fetch – ending up with a powerful state minister who is aspiring to be CM – and using his wits to get out of their clutches, while simultaneously getting them to pay over all the money he needs to save his house back in New Jersey, then taking the first flight back, presumably forever.

It’s no great shakes, but I liked the movie for a number of reasons. It does not depend on a star cast and big-yawn ‘item numbers’, it avoids sleaze almost entirely, it ruthlessly mocks the cow belt political class as well as the now-ancient Indian obsession with Umrica and big bucks (one young man has an epiphanic moment near the end), as well as the way we (including our so-called English teachers!) are mangling the English language beyond recognition in our mad bid to get smart, it uses wit of fairly good quality (by which I mean something better than slapstick) effectively, it portrays Neha Dhupia as someone who can sometimes rise to things better than being a modeling bimbo (here, a female Gabbar Singh), it manages to convey danger and fear without resorting to crude and bloody violence on-screen, it depicts low-level goons as rather sympathetic, or at least pitiable creatures (everybody is down at heel thanks to the recession, even kidnappers!), and it lets Rajat Kapoor play the finest role I’ve seen him in since Bheja Fry: a basically good man though he is a businessman, who, floundering in an alien and hostile environment, is nevertheless ready to fight tooth and nail with everything he’s got to save himself and his family when put into a nearly hopeless situation, but who never gets greedy, never seeks vengeance, and even discovers imaandaari among his tormentors, and pays back in the same coin. Also, the use of Barack Obama’s now-famous ‘Yes, we can’ speech as the background leitmotif is both clever and entertaining. No matter what the box-office figures might tell you, it’s worth watching.

Without comment

This is The Telegraph's Valentine's Day special for Durgapur.

What do my readers feel about it?

yeesh!

I just heard that a very 'successful' and 'modern-minded' couple - husband a CA/MBA and senior executive in a large MNC, wife an engineer - arranged for a lavish Saraswati puja at home because their child, apparently, has been running from pillar to post to get a scholarship to some undergraduate course in the USA but has been unsuccessful so far. 

Just wanted my readers to know.

Humbugs

Wielding his pen dipped in vitriol and still going strong at 96, Khushwant Singh in today's newspaper remarks on the strange contradiction of a nation that boasts of Gandhi as its greatest icon and also takes great pride in showing off its military muscle in public pageants (as on Republic Day in New Delhi). He sums up by saying that 'India is not the land of Gandhi, it is the land of humbuggery'. 

Which reminded me of a schoolboy who recently told me his teachers had taken away the offer to let him speak before the assembly because he had demurred at needlessly buttering up an ex-principal by calling him a 'great' man ( though it is common knowledge that the teachers and the entire student body almost without exception privately despise the man in question, and in any case he has not left any significant achievement behind). 

Not only are we humbugs, we elders as teachers and parents insist that the children in our charge must grow into humbugs too! Otherwise, our 'glorious civilization' will be in danger...

What young India can teach us

I was dealing with a class which is about to go up to the seniormost year in school - class 12. We were studying F. Max Mueller's famous 150-year old essay What India can teach us (from which Jawaharlal Nehru quotes proudly in The Discovery of India). We had reached the point where he was waxing eloquent on India's rich mythology - whereupon I stopped and grinned at the boys and girls, saying, 'Of course, you know all about that, don't you? Any one of you could impress any westerner with gems from our rich storehouse of myths, surely, you, the smartest lot of today's Indians?... Let's see now,' and I picked on one girl at random and quizzed her 'What was Kacha's relationship with Devayani?' She looked blank, just as I had expected. 'Well, then, how were Bali and Sugriva related?' Again, she shook her head doubtfully, looking more flustered than before. No one came to her aid, though there were a few hushed mutterings. I tried one last time: 'What was the name of Lakshmana's wife?' The girl's face lit up with delight - she knew this one - and she declared, 'Sita, Sir!'

Home truth

There's a comic strip titled "Golmele Ginni" (Troublesome Housewife) in Anandabazar Patrika which often gives me stuff good for belly laughs. Recently there was one strip in which the little grandchild says 'Grandma, don't you want to go to the zoo?' Pat comes the reply: 'No, I don't like the idea of buying tickets to visit my relatives...'

I've got a double!

Imitation, they say, is the sincerest form of flattery. So - since so many people, students and teachers alike - pass off my writing as their own, I guess I should feel flattered. I have lately been told by some pupils of mine (and I checked) that someone has flattered me even more by opening a fake account in my name on Facebook, using the same photo as I use on my real profile. 

'How did you know it wasn't really me?' I asked them. 'Well, Sir, you don't send or grant friend requests to schoolgirls, do you?' they said charmingly. Clever, I must say...

A better way to travel

Travelling around swathes of West Bengal and the metropolis of Kolkata this time round (it was full holiday season too), it struck me with renewed force how utterly alike people are becoming everywhere – in this country at least. And it wouldn’t have bothered me so much if they had become alike in good manners and civic sense. But it is most evident to anyone who cares to notice that all the resemblance applies to undesirable traits: the same spitting and littering right and left, the same unconcern for traffic and parking rules (and eagerness to quarrel if anyone points out they are breaking rules), the same loud and coarse jokes, the same hogging (and it is hogging I mean – I have nothing against decent eating!), the same jostling and queue-jumping, the same disdain for other people’s convenience, the same vulgar display of new-gotten wealth, the same obsession with shopping malls everywhere (why go to places which are of historical/cultural significance, then, if all you want to do is shop and eat?). I don’t go abroad, but I am alarmed to hear that the streets of Singapore and Dubai are crowded with Indians exactly of the sort I have described, and road signs in Switzerland are being written in Hindi, and there are streets in London and New York which sound and smell like any town in India, and imagining what kind of crowds I might have to rub shoulders with in such places, I say a quiet ‘God forbid’ inside my mind.

I used to love travelling, and have travelled far and wide for a long time. Of late, however, I notice I am becoming less inclined to travel for pleasure. Travel-related books and video CDs, meanwhile, have become widely and cheaply available – you can visit any place from Antarctica to Greece to the Ajanta caves to Shantiniketan from the comfort and safety of home, avoiding all the expense, worry, risk and annoyance of having to rub shoulders with vast hordes of unpleasant people. Even watching Durga puja or Christmas celebrations around the town is done best on TV. Maybe, in the years to come, that is the way I will travel for choice!

P.S., Jan. 10: I found this absolutely hilarious little essay on the net, and though the author is a foreigner, my sympathies lie entirely with him.

OOPS!

Talk about whimsicality!

While fiddling around with the comments list on my blogger control panel I accidentally deleted all the more recent comments there.

I am, of course, deeply dismayed. My deepest apologies to all who had written those comments. Please don't stop writing, and I promise not to be so silly ever again...

Taking a break

I have written sixty times on this blog this year. Over that same time, the followership has risen a bit, and so has the number of visits. The figures are not bad, but I would have been happy to have more followers, more visits and more comments. I have this suspicion that not enough of the readers of my other blog visit this one frequently. I do, do hope that they would give it a try. As I have said before, it offers a different flavour, and you would get a more well-rounded mental picture of me if you read both. I have said that this is not merely a fun blog, but one dedicated to whimsy. That is a much broader, deeper idea: so I write about everything from noses to mobile mania to mangled English and pretty doctors and what have you, and I expect my readers not only to smile with me but muse along, too, and perchance to jerk awake and revise some of their long-fixed opinions now and then…

Anyway, I shall take a break for a while. Sixty times a year is quite a bit; many blog-writers I know cannot write more than two or three times, unless they are writing fatuous nonsense three times every day. Take time to explore older posts on this blog, and comment on some of them, as Rashmi has done recently. Good critical commentary and suggestions will of course be welcome, too. Some of you might discover, if you give it time, that it grows on you, even if I say it myself. Meanwhile, Merry Christmas.

No 'chat-ting'!

My older ex-students often tell me they cannot access me by chat on gmail, or even look up my blogs, because, though they are stuck before computers all day long, most colleges and offices - out of sheer exasperation with how much employees tend to waste company time on the net if left to their own devices, I'm sure - have blocked out all sorts of facilities, including blogs and sites like Facebook and orkut.

This morning one old boy told me something that really takes the cake. Apparently the computers in his workplace are loaded with some sort of filtering program that blocks out anything that has the word (or wordlet) '-chat' in it. As a result, he said, he cannot even look me up by name on Google Search (I being a Chatterjee)! The same goes for Sarat Chandra Chattopadhyay...

A great speech mangled

In a cartoon titled 'Gaurav' in The Telegraph today, the smart young teenage hero is thrilled to see that The History Channel on TV has dubbed Dr. Martin Luther King jr's famous speech, not into Hindi but Indian English, so that the great man seems to be saying "I'm having a dream that one of the days, my baba-logs, you know, will not be judged by skin and all, yeah? But by their good character only..."

For the benefit of the mystified, the relevant line in the original speech was I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.