Death

The wailing coming from the other end of the veranda was piercing.

Nothing unusual for the keeper at the mortuary. The silence in this abandoned part of the hospital usually gets broken with these familiar noises.

“The post mortem can only be done tomorrow morning” he nonchalantly threw his words at the small crowd outside the room without looking at anyone in particular before bolting the door shut.

He just had received the second body of the day. Someone who had died in an accident early this morning while returning from a marriage. Not that these information matter to him, but he just had overheard from the discussions of the people accompanying the body.

“Do we have to stay here all night?” Someone asked him. Some were dreading the prospect of staking out. Too much for them after what they have been going through since they heard the news. Managing the victim, the bereaved family and the legal procedures involved in such incidents.

“How can I say? Do whatever you wish to.” heaving himself up the raised platform and fishing out his half used bidi from his shirt pocket while replying. He chooses to stretch himself for a while.

Slowly the crowd thins out and silence sets in. Night descends on that part of the campus and the glowing streetlight reminds the keeper to switch on the lone incandescent bulb on the veranda.

“WHY ARE YOU STILL HERE? Didn’t I tell you to come tomorrow”, he shouts admonishingly at the pile of cloth from under which a pair of startled eyes of a frail young woman who looked much older to her age stared with blank expressions. Neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

Disgusted he heads for his outhouse at the back of the mortuary to cook something for the night. The sobbing coming from the veranda was getting audible. Irritated that the woman still hasn’t left, he gets up to confront the woman.

“What will happen to me, now that he died? Who will take care of me and my six months old daughter? She tries to build up a wail but her tired throat failed to match. “This rascal never learnt, he got crushed under a truck while returning drunk! Now what will happen to me?” She was cursing her dead husband and speaking to herself in a tired and broken voice.

“Why do you worry? You are young, someone will surely agree to keep you.” The keeper chooses to give his two pence. “But who will accept me with my child?” the woman speaks unconvinced.

“Check, what you can do with her, someone might want to take her or else …..” he turns back and starts heading towards his unfinished chore.

The woman raised her head from between her knees and looked at the far end of the campus; not askance anymore. 

A minute of life

Few year length of unspoken words,

A mountain of emotions to be shared.

A chasm of angst to be bridged,

But only a minute in hand.

Let's get Photographed

A Couple of days back while clearing my drawers of old and unwanted papers, I came across an old Driving License issued to me in the year 89. Safe in a transparent polyethene jacket frayed at the edges, its pages had yellowed and had turned brittle; long forgotten with the introduction of smart card ids. On turning the first page I discovered the old black and white photograph of mine smiling at me, almost telling me – Hi buddy, long time! You have grown old. Nostalgic, I chose to make it my DP in my Whatsapp account.  That picture took me down memory lane reminding me of many incidents relating to a major event known as ‘Getting Photographed’.  And I am sure each of you must have had such experiences also.

Till the advent of the digital camera and the ubiquitous phone camera, photography was essentially a rich man’s hobby. Very few had cameras or had relatives who had them. Few could afford to indulge themselves with the pride of dangling a hard leather cased boxy device around their neck during outdoor activities. Let’s not discuss that now. The other type of experience which almost each and every one of us must have had was getting photographed at ‘Studios’.

‘Studios’ were one of the standard fixtures of any urban habitation. Each bore similar look differentiated only by the type of photographs they displayed at their entrance. The older the Studio was, older were the photographs. The more pedigreed and accomplished the cameraman, more famous personalities adorned his walls. They were his diplomas on display. Studios like ‘Das & Das’ and Naidu’s in Cuttack were owners of such halls of fame. Their owners were well-known persons respected in the community because of their access to their skills and technology, few could understand. And maybe for their ability to freeze a moment for the posterity.

The studio photographs of that time were of certain fixed format depending on the person, time or event. If it’s a family photo, then you would find the wife sitting on a stool with one child on her lap and another by her side and her stunned husband standing behind both. If it’s the photo of your grandparents, then the husband would sit on an ornate chair with his wife behind him – shiny shoes and walking stick in place. If its friends, then both had to sit close by with the taller one putting his hand over the others shoulder. The most common of them was where the wife or husband would be made to sit together little staggered and look to the left or right looking at a far distant point in the horizon – as if looking at the sunset. More romantic couples could dare to take a photograph with the husband putting his hand on his wife’s shoulder.

The photographer had his standard syntax with regard to the position each hand has to take, the tilt of one’s head, the point to which the eyes have to be fixated, this not only instructed by the photographer but was sternly ensured. That perhaps says why there were very few photos where the objects smiled. Only in group photos of girls, where they were made to sit in formations you saw few smiling faces. Each studio had their standard background and props. “Ready One Two and” POP! The surrounding flashbulbs used to go off blinding the objects for few seconds and freezing the moment for posterity.  

Such photography was necessitated by life events. Older parents were taken to be photographed well before one of them kicked the bucket. Married couples took their photos almost after a month of their marriage when the new bride would be allowed to set her feet out of her home. She then would send a copy to her parents to let them know that everything is well. Family photos were taken after their offspring reached a certain age. In between, friends used to have their photo jaunts either on festivals or when they wore new clothes. The two most popular days on which girls made a beeline to the studios were Raja or Kumar Purnima. It was not unusual to see all friends wearing similar dresses, made out of one bale of cloth. Such display of friendship or solidarity would evoke mirth and ridicule among the present generation. But then those were the days of group fun and simplicity. Closeness with a friend was displayed by holding each other’s hand while walking.

Those days as soon as one passed his school finals, he was expected to take out his passport-sized photo and get wads of it attested by a gazetted officers. Achievements like winning a trophy were diligently saved for posterity by being photographed with the trophy put on the prop by one's side. The importance of studio used to became more when the daughter reached the marriageable age, she would get dressed in a saree and a hill (to compensate her lack of height) and get chaperoned into a studio for what is now called Matrimonial Photo. Many marriages couldn’t materialise because of the photographer’s lack of skill and many grooms silently cursed the photographer for misleading them into agreeing for a face to face interview.

The narrative on studio photography will not be complete without mentioning the role of the touch-up artist whose job was to cover the flaws of the photography or the person. His job was to redraw the eyebrows and moustache to perfection and replant the missed Bindi and effect such many changes. His act can be best termed as the present day photo-shopping. Repeating the same act overall the number of prints ordered required enormous talent and patience. He also was the cause of many hilarious experiences. One of my friend who had a patchy pair of moustache was taken aback on discovering his well-grown pair in a matter of days since he got photographed. His adolescent profile couldn’t carry the weight of his military whiskers. Another who had a sty in his left eyes had to have another implanted on his right for symmetry. And a very modern short haired 'midi' wearing friend of mine was startled on seeing a Bindi wearing-avatar of her own self, shattering her own self-perception. But such was the magnitude of investment of effort behind each such photo event, that none had the courage to return back the photographs citing dissatisfaction.

The present day generation can’t fathom the effort and time which went into executing such event. Starting from turning out in your best clothes to matching it on the right event used get meticulously planned. A trip to the studio was coordinated and cost shared. The meticulous cost sharing on the basis of - equally dividing the cost of the shoot and individually paying on the basis of the number of copies ordered, would put the present day accountant to shame.

The selfie shooting youngsters don’t remember how many photos get shot and how many gets deleted, wilfully or accidently. The life of each digital snap ends when people stops ‘Liking’ it on their fb wall but these black and white photographs still adorn our walls and albums and continue to live on. Maybe the artistry of the photographer has succeeded in capturing that experience so well that it has turned that moment into a ‘Milestone’ in our lives. 

It saddens me when I realised that we are never going to hear one wide-eyed and excited girl suggesting to her group “This Raja, all of us, let’s get photographed”.

The Babas, Media and Us

[We as a society show extreme reactions while dealing with matters concerning religion. Demonstrate extreme flexibility from bending backwards the rules and conventions to bending forward to flung oneself at someone’s feet - surrendering our dignity. And then at the news of someone’s lapses we turn back on the same person at whose feet we had flung ourselves few days back.

Neither do we know why we were doing that or now this........ are we a society of men or a herd of zombies or a frenzied mob?]

Odisha witnessed a charade in the name of Banajaga Yatra when the timber for the deities were scouted down and transported to its final destination. For the first time in the history of Nabakalebara this trip was turned into a relay of Olympian Torch proportions. Millions lined up to pay their respect to and shoot selfies with the wood which was to be formed into Gods. And on the side millions were earned by the main actors and the trade it spewed. This yatra kicked up it’s share of controversies till the Brahma was transferred.

Barely had the dust settled on that controversy, news of alleged vast financial empire and private lives of the self styled god men and women deluged us. Last evening, we were treated to one such fare through Sura Baba of Jhinti Sasana. TV screens were filled with the images of angry public and disgruntled faithfuls vandalising the ashram complex and police swooping in to rescue the said Baba by arresting him.

This morning I was asked by an excited friend of mine whether I knew what was happening there or not. I couldn’t disappoint him by saying that neither was I one of such followers who would mob for a darshan or be a part of a mob to pull anyone down. I don’t know what great good did these god men do for their followers, but I am sure of one thing that, they have served the public with authoring salacious stories of their kinky sex lives and the tabloid media doing their part of dishing out such stories to feed the insatiable thirst for voyeurism and gossips of the public and helping themselves with TRPs.

The behaviour of these three sets of people namely, the godmen and their followers, the public in general and the media are not only interesting but calls for a detail study.

The phenomenon of godmen started gaining momentum post 1990 in Odisha. The memory of miracles happening at Jhinti and the chief priest getting political patronage from the highest office has not faded from the memory of the people of Bhubaneswar. The roads leading to that sleepy village and infrastructure surrounding that place suddenly burst in magnitude to accommodate the rich and faithful follower of that place.  Sarathi Baba also burst in the scene from nowhere, thrusting his cherubic self onto the populace from the back of buses to from the inside of TV boxes. I at times get bewildered as to how people discover divinity in such sub human specimen. As follower grew, Babas grew in their girth both influentially, physically and financially. Usually power and money makes even the ugliest the most attractive. Hoards of ladies, some alone and some escorted by their husbands chose to take the ‘Exclusive’ queue for their priority access to God. With the crowd came many people who had many interests. And plots and sub plots were played out. All were witness to this accumulation of wealth and sin but chose to remain faithful. The behaviour of the crowd which swarms around these Babas beats the understanding of any rational mind.

Same media, which buoyed this Banajaga Yatra into a mega event for a fortnight, with its live telecast and by organising special programmes, partook what they like best – TRP and revenue, his time around had the same benefit by exposing the Babas and feeding people with semi-porn. Both the time benefiting by doing two contradicting things and feeding peoples baser instincts.

'Baba' in its connotation of spiritual leadership has always existed in its various forms in all religions, faith, sect or order since time immemorial. That individual or institution in any of the above names is desired to provide the common man and the society in general, the necessary guidance to steer through the challenges of his everyday living and spiritual thoughts. They are expected to do that through their conducts primarily and teachings through discourses and practices.

The definition of, a Baba, a Mullah or a Priest has been undergoing changes in the minds of the people in context of their immediate and historical deeds. They have historically been the reasons for providing the philosophical underpinnings to a faith the society needed at that time to bringing infamy to a faith necessitating radical reforms.

Keeping the long term interest of us in sustaining and nurturing a society based on eternal values of humanity in mind, the role of a spiritual guide can’t be done away with. We need someone who we respect collectively for his rational mind, good conduct and deed who as a spiritual leader needs to stand for humanity, rising above his faith and sect. In my opinion in our frenzied state, let’s neither generalise and burn all the gurus at the stake nor rush to them as mindless lambs cross the road.

Let us not forget the role of us and the general public to separate our selfish interests and earthly expectations and pressure from corrupting such institutions. Generalising all the gurus as bad is as wrong as terming them as Gods. If we expect our leadership to behave in certain ways the onus is on us to ensure that they do. Why we turn spiritual leaders into agents of Gods or God incarnate in something we owe and answer to the posterity and our children is it fear or greed? Let’s not blindly surrender our judgement only to be led by the unknown rather develop the faculties to discern.

The Tale of Lassi and Mango Lassi

[“Favouritism, cronyism, and nepotism all interfere with fairness because they give undue advantage to someone who does not necessarily merit this treatment. In the public sphere, favouritism, cronyism, and nepotism also undermine the common good.” But do we feel so or use the same unethical tools to get advantage over others.......]

Last few days, Google has been in the news. Larry Page casually tweeted about forming an umbrella company ‘Alphabet’ and appointing Indian Sundar Pichai as the Google CEO triggering a tsunami of discussions in the social media. Don’t know about other places, but surely in our subcontinent.

After Microsoft’s nomination of Satya Nadella as its head, Sundar’s nomination was seen as an emphatic reassertion of India’s’ dominance over the present knowledge industry of the US.

Coinciding with this, Google announced the release of the newest version of Android named Marshmallow (Android 6.0) – in their tradition of naming each version after some sweet, in alphabetical order.

Interestingly, here in India, as if a sideshow, with such release, a vociferous campaign has been raging since 2013 on the social media to urge Google to name the earlier version as ‘Lassi’ which they eventually named ‘Lollipop’. The argument - with so many Indians working in Google, and huge consumer base, this would have been an acknowledgement of India’s role in the success of this company.

And this time also in 2015, with Sundar as the ‘Maibaap’ of Google, Indians staked their claim over the next nomenclature with turbocharged ammunition – ‘Mango Lassi’.

This time the campaign was just not riding merit; it was backed by our ‘Contact and Connection’ with ‘the boss’. The Indians with their unshakeable faith on favouritism were sure that the boss would grant this favour at least. After all it was for a national cause.

Hilarious as it may sound, but this is indicative of a deeper psyche of us, call it - gullibility or complacence; we draw huge amount of strength to back our cause, once we establish some commonality with the person we are going to engage with. Like, we suddenly discover that the present minister is our old school mate, doesn’t matter even if we haven’t met once even in the last two decades; or may be an IAS officer with whom the only connection in the past was that his elder brother used to borrow books from us, or as peripheral as, “he is from our own area or same district” we don’t shy away from making our bid leveraging that connection.

Such is the confidence over building our bridge with a person, based on these considerations, that we completely forget the perspective or position or inability of the party with whom we are building the bridge with. This invariably results in disappointments many a times. For we turn blind to the other persons logic or situation or intent to make a common cause of the issue we are advocating.

People familiar to the power corridors must be familiar with such campaigns - hoards of people having no particular personal interest camping at the capital to submit memorandum to the politically powerful, over inanities like naming a road connecting their village or getting a particular institution established in their area.

I saw this as a disruptive act by a section of people who instead of looking at the logic and rational of a decision, put pressure on the government staking their ego while making such demands. These, mostly are driven by its regional and political interests.

I once narrated this particular trait in us to a friend, she responded by telling that world over people network with the other by discovering such similarities or issues which are mutual. The whole placement of through candidates passing from professional colleges rides on the contacts their alumni. That’s the reason people queue up at exclusive clubs to have access to other members and leverage their contacts. And why see it as just an Indian phenomenon?

This made me think if the people in power or position take decisions solely on the basis of merit or regionalism, caste, language, fellow feelings influence it too?

In the past, if the major project location, new trains, budgetary provisions, establishment of major industries, were not driven by some other considerations than its right rationale. Whether Laloo was the minister of the union looking after the interest of the railways or he was out to please his constituency and state where his own political interests are staked? A trip across India will expose one to such trophies which stand as a proof to favouritism and regionalism and have served its partial purpose too; doesn’t matter if the rationale of the decision was tweaked to favour a section of people and their interest.

So, when were favouritism, cronyism and nepotism was considered unethical? It’s not only accepted but respected as the biggest display of one’s manhood.

Realising this, I from being a critic of the campaign to name the latest version of android as ‘Mango Lassi’ have plans to start a campaign to name the next one as 'Nimbu Pani'.

Untrained Professionals

[The word ‘professional’ has formal connotations of education/ training, skill, position; attitude and a range of other characteristics. It also is a very loosely used everyday word, used in its various work and behavioural contexts. While dealing with various people, when we see something strikingly different in their attitude towards work; we invariably mutter this word, to positively describe them for their service standard. But then what goes into making a common worker a professional.....]

The sky outside was still dark. In the dimly lit corridors facing the ICU, the mixed sound of voices and various activities made me aware that the hospital was waking up for the next day.

Their scheduled cleaning and sanitizing of the floor and the adjacent walls had started. I saw a lanky and sprightly man cleaning the space right in front of the sitting area. He was one of the janitors, uniform, gloves protecting his hand and with his moppers and dusters in his hand, he was going about cleaning the floor, shifting chairs and pulling it back to the positions once he was done. He went about cleaning the continuous surface and vanished into the other end. I went and checked my patient’s status from the doctor on duty and upon knowing that things were fine, thought of having a cup of coffee at the cafeteria downstairs.

When I returned to my seat, I saw him again with a different set of tools and tackles and this time cleaning the windows and the sill. He cleaned one window and went to the next and then to the next. And not a single time breaking the sequence of his actions and almost repeating the motion mechanically. By then I had developed a strange curiosity to watch him work almost in rhythm and to know him more.

There was a strange air about that person quite unlike his co-workers. He was quite robot-like and had not paused even once to look at the people by his side or to talk to someone or most unusually to receive a call from the ubiquitous cell phone. Appreciatively I looked at him and turned towards my co-attendant who hadn’t recovered from his sleeplessness and muttered “He is a thorough professional’ under my breath. My neighbour alerted from his stupor, looked at me bleary-eyed and then to both sides of the corridor to see that ‘Professional’ whom I had commented about a few seconds back. On seeing the janitor only, and not the typical ‘Professional’ he had pictured in his mind, he chose to go back to his stupor. I chose to walk up to the janitor to talk to him.

He was quite taken aback by being complimented for his work; his poker face gave way to an embarrassed smile. He could just tell me “I like doing my job”. What I could gather from him was that he was from one of the coastal districts, hadn’t had much formal education beyond primary level and his exposure to this work is from of the initial training he had here as a part of the SOP. I asked him how did he do it so well when others didn’t? He was at a loss of words for, he perhaps realised for the first time that he was good. Without taking much of his time, I went back to my seat and started musing over this experience.

Business Dictionary describes the Professional as,

"A person formally certified by a professional body or belonging to a specific profession by virtue of having completed a required course of studies and/or practice. And whose competence can usually be measured against an established set of standards. And, a person who has achieved an acclaimed level of proficiency in a calling or trade".

Did he fit into the above description? No formal education. No certification of his skill from any school or body. No one to provide oversight for his work or no one to measure his performance; I am sure there would be no reward for his better work or any prospect of promotion. Then what makes him give his best without waiting for any external motivation or reward?

In the course of our day's work we come across many people who depend on us for their needs and we on them for our specific work. He may be a doctor a gardener or a salesman on a shop floor. Overall it's the interdependency on one another that has developed an unwritten code of behaviour to ensure that the interests of both are protected. That is what is called as a ‘Professional Code of Conduct or Professionalism’. Typically we can’t see this code in action but can feel when it is. If we go back to our past experiences, while dealing with some people was a pleasure, with others it was a hair-raising experience. Unless you are left with no alternatives, you should try your best to avoid hiring them.

So, then what sets few apart? What are the behavioural characteristics that give you the desired comfort that you need after having entrusted the work? To anyone, it’s quite basic. It can range from honouring your commitment to start the work at a particular time, then covering the complete scope or work to the best of your ability, then signing off with the outputs neatly delivered and leaving the workplace clean.  

Sounds easy? If it were, then why the percentage of such people are so low? To me, it requires cultivating and nurturing a huge amount of positive attitude towards your own commitment which you have agreed to deliver. This attitude is something that separates one from the other. I feel the attitude lies hidden somewhere when the janitor says ‘I like my work’.

Unfortunately, our professional courses, which are designed more towards transferring knowledge and skill, never address this simple but important issue. For without the right attitude, skill is of no meaning. While we churn out thousands of skilled professionals through our educational system, it’s these invisible, untrained professionals operating at the fringe of economic marginality, who continue to amaze us and make us happy with their commitment to excellence in whatever they do.

Smart People and Un-Smart City

[How unscrupulous denizens and passive and toothless government agencies are slowly killing our urban habitations. And how just pumping money into developing infrastructure alone is not going to help the cities without addressing the core issue of enforcement of civic laws]

Barely had the dust of the location of the IIM issue settled, last week, we woke up to the fresh controversy concerning the selection of SMART Cities in Odisha. As if we had fewer controversies on our table, Cuttack observed a spontaneous (sic) bandh and not to be left behind, Sambalpur and Berhampur showed their usual displeasure of being prevented from taking benefit of the largesse that is expected under the scheme - all voicing their anger over the unfair selection process and many other routine allegations.

To the uninitiated, it looked as if the central government had promised to change the city overnight by waving its magic wand. And as alleged, Bhubaneswar and Rourkela perhaps have walked away with the only two coupons the centre had given them, without considering worthier claimants. Was there any basis for such an allegation or it was just a local political issue? It left many confused.

Researching the scheme and what it promises, one would find that there is nothing magical that the scheme promises. Under this scheme, a few model cities would be developed across India as lighthouses for other cities to emulate. In the past, many such urban reconstruction missions have been initiated and implemented. This time it’s just that a few cities are going to get an additional few hundred crores every year for five years for specific initiatives. The guideline of the scheme enumerates the objectives and a few interventions. Whereas most of the interventions are suggestive in nature, the actual designing of the initiatives has been left to the urban local bodies, thus the people, in general, to decide what is good for them. That brings us to the core of the issue of looking at the history and role of people and government in making our urban habitations unliveable even after a massive infrastructure push in the last few years.

Let’s, for the time being, ignore all other factors that have contributed to forming the urban mess we live in. When we face the word ‘encroachment’ the picture of a boundary annexing land illegally, a structure built, a temporary cabin established and shanties and squalor put up, generally come to our mind. Let us again not discuss such encroachments which are a result of urban migration and lack of economic opportunities in our villages. So ingrained is this typical image of encroachment in people’s minds that someone who hasn’t done the above looks like a saint.

Below are a few examples that our smart denizens adopt to prevent being implicated under the prevailing provisions of law addressing encroachment but still manage to keep them under their de facto control by preventing others from using it.

Running a Commercial Establishment or a shop in a building meant for residential use.

Unauthorized cordoning off of the front area of a building in the name of the plantation. Planting trees without gaps or huge trees is inappropriate for avenues.

Building platforms around trees and planting Gods under them.

Erecting signboards by the side of the road

Building raised platforms in front of plots above the road level and building ramps or steps to plots on public land

Leaving high mounds of clay or building debris and abandoned vehicles on the road.

PHED building manholes and inspection chambers well above the road level.

Electricity utilities building space-consuming distribution transformer structures adjoining roads instead of using pole-mounted structures.

Practically, anyone who indirectly or directly prevents the government or general people from using the road and space adjoining it for commutation or such purposes amounts to encroachment. The above cases demonstrate how the enlightened citizens of our cities wilfully annex land abutting their houses for exclusive usage. One such occurrence on a road is enough to affect the general flow of traffic in the whole stretch. Here the administration takes an ostrich approach towards such events encouraging the number of such events to increase.

Proper buildings, un-encroached roads, vendors and squatters free roadside, and adherence to traffic rules and parking are a few of the predictors of the general attitude of the citizens towards their fellow citizens and the efficiency of the law-implementing authorities. Research shows that the more disciplined the city, the more liveable it is.

So, there is more smartness in being disciplined and enforcing discipline than waiting for the magician’s magic wand to turn our cities into a piece of heaven. Instead of blaming the centre and waiting for them to solve our self-created owes, or fighting amongst ourselves, shall we start the initiative of the good citizenry from our side first?

The Great Indian Debate Show

The last week of July 2015 was marked by two prominent deaths which got almost the whole nation united and divided. Like the proverbial blind men trying to feel and describe the elephant, many got into debating about various aspects of the two incidents, raising many questions that I doubt would ever get sensibly debated and resolved.

On July 27^th former President and Bharat Ratna, APJ Abdul Kalam died doing what he loved doing best – teaching young students of IIM, Shillong, stirring the collective emotion of the nation. The people’s President, who had made every Indian proud with his monk-like lifestyle and for giving the nation the technological edge as a deterrent against two of our potentially hostile neighbours; and the other Yakub Memon, acting as the stooge of the state-sponsored disruptive elements from our western neighbourhood, was instrumental in the killing and maiming close to thousand people in the 1993 Mumbai Serial Bomb Blast a few days later on July 30^th.

What made both these two deaths prominent are the similarities and the extreme dissimilarities of their deed and deaths. While both of them hailed from the minority community, the former while referred to as a pride, and the latter was a national shame. While the former died a sudden death while on the job the latter was executed by the state after a protracted investigative and legal process running into more than two decades. While the former’s death surprised everybody because of its suddenness the latter’s death hung by a thread even till the last few hours before his scheduled death early morning giving many a sitting on the edge of the seat experiences.

These two consecutive incidents got the whole nation reacting to it in a way, what the argumentative Indians do best turning it into ‘A Great Indian Debate Show’. The social media was fully engaged and the usual night vigil and protest marches added the necessary drama. Debates and comments expectedly turned into personal fights on communal lines many times questioning the debaters’ credentials and motives.

Before the passion subsides and the cacophony dies and the debating net warriors sharpen their logic and motives for the next debate; it’s necessary to document the various issues that came up for debate with regard to each incident.

APJ Abdul Kalam:

While mourning his death, his simple monk-like lifestyle, and his leadership quality were remembered; epithets like ‘ Bharat Ratna’, ‘Peoples’ President’, ‘Missile Man’, and ‘Rocketman’ were liberally used and the phrase RIP was turned into ‘Return if you Please’ by those who could not accept his sudden departure.

Many enjoyed the holiday declared when the news of his death spread, and few wanted to add an additional working day as he always desired others to do to commemorate his death.

Many saw him as the Nationalist face of Indian Muslims as the majority would like to see the members of the minority community as but few liberals saw him as the poster boy of NDA government who nominated him to this highest position to add credibility to their secular credentials.

Many saw him as a National pride for his contribution to nuclearizing India and the subsequent development of delivery vehicles. In contrast, few left-liberals saw him as a bloodthirsty mass murderer of humanity.

He was remembered for his opposition to the death penalty but few chose to bring out his hypocrisy when he hadn’t opposed Dhananjaya Chatterjee’s death penalty.

So heated was the debate that his tenure got compared with his successor's achievement in terms of ‘Issuing Presidential Pardons’.

There was a flurry of suggestions and announcements to rename institutions and flagship govt schemes, but few stirred the hornets’ nest by suggesting renaming Aurangzeb Marg in New Delhi after him.

Yakub Memon:

The sole trophy of the Indian Investigative agency’s fight against state-sponsored terror was awaiting justice for two decades and the Supreme Court's last-minute refusal to accept his mercy petition and his subsequent hanging kickstarted a tornado in the airwaves and social media.

People like Asaduddin Owaisi with their firm eye on wrenching out the Muslim votes prior to the SC judgment had made a public statement about the unfairness of executing Memon, even if his complicity in the crime was never denied. True to his statements many from the community pointed their finger at the Punjab and Tamil convicts who are enjoying the state support in delaying the penalty. But surprisingly Azam Khan of the Samajwadi party warned Muslims not to stand behind Yakub and not to communalise the incident.

Many legal and prominent personalities voiced their dissatisfaction over the highest court's judgment. Anticipating threat to the judges involved in the midnight hearing, security was increased for them reminiscent of a court compound scene in Pakistan.

Many saw the reasonability of the death penalty as it is within the constitutional framework, few humanists saw the futility of such a severe penalty in reducing crime and didn’t stop at describing the supporting group as a bloodthirsty crowd who preferred macabre and blood.

Some saw the long judicial procedure as akin to torture and inhuman as compared to quick summary trials or encounters (sic) and some saw it as the robustness of the Indian Judiciary in terms of its provisions to give fair trials to one and all.

Some saw Yakub as the effect of the tyranny of the majoritarian over the minorities in terms of fairness, many saw this as the progressive radicalisation which has reached Arabic proportions.

There is no denial of the fact that never in the history of Indian investigative and judiciary systems, such open challenges were thrown at them to prove the tenability of their adopted procedures and their impartiality. There were robust statistics to prove their point. This is a threat to the age-old holy cows which remained untouched by the stakeholders. So entrenched was their unassailability that mere criticism from people from across communities seemed like a mutiny.

But the state and the multi-cultural multi-lingual populace stand to gain if this development is seen as an opportunity by the government. There is a vast scope of opportunity to correct the deficiencies within the system to remove the biases if any and introduce modern scientific crime investigation procedures which would make the implication straight and not circumstantial.

The voice of perceived unfairness brewing within the minority community shouldn’t be ignored; care should be taken to bring them to the mainstream to renew their faith in the established systems. Alienation of that community will only support the recruitment drive of the likes of ISIS. 

The Fall of a Hero

It was one of those dark rainy evenings when you were fighting the road and trying to reach your destination on time so that your hungry children could have their dinner on time.

I had started very early in the morning to Sambalpur and Hirakud with my wife and two kids on a road trip to experience the natural beauty of our state. Spending time with children witnessing their sibling rivalry and remembering yours and realising how similar in spirit and yet so dissimilar in shape these events are with that of yours. As nature's canvas opened up through the windscreen of our car, the kids realised how many things they needed to know about and with that came thousands of questions. It was a rewarding experience.

By the time we started our return leg, my eldest daughter of fifteen years had forgotten the initial sadness of not having her friend come with us, opined that this was perhaps the best family outing she had ever had and what she learnt from this trip would be useful in doing her project for the School Science Exhibition. You feel good in spite of the pain you have undertaken.

Tired of driving for the last 16 hours, we crossed Badkera, just before Angul around 8.30 pm., quite aware that we were almost one and a half hours away from Dhenkanal and dinner at Dhenkanal would take one more hour; I was visualising reaching home well past midnight. I was in two minds about whether to continue my journey to Bhubaneswar or stop at Dhenkanal for the night. My confidence in doing close to 22 hours of driving on this kind of road was slowly waning.

The road scene slowly changed. From our solitary car tearing through into the darkness of the night to slowing down to the parked truck-lined roads in front of roadside hotels that had just started serving their customers early dinner in total darkness. Absolutely dark  - with few oncoming trucks and vehicles blinding you, you train and squint your tired eyes to see beyond the glistening water drops on your windshield to ensure that you don’t ram into the back of a parked truck whose driver hadn’t bothered to leave the hazard lights blinking.

Just ahead, you see the road suddenly getting wider and with no trees on the side, you are at a loss to assess the width of the road. You spot a row of trucks parked on the left of the road distinguishable only from their backlight and try to avoid brushing against them by maintaining a sufficient gap from them. As you move ahead you see a mound of broken and abandoned concrete structure and avoid that by steering further to your right. The oncoming small vehicles and median to your left make you realise that what you are standing on is the abandoned toll gate at the entrance of the Angul Township which you had crossed this morning and you are on the wrong lane with one brave auto auguring his solitary head beam into your car.

A few seconds of eye-ball-to-eye-ball later I regained my composure to realised that I was on the wrong side and needed to correct my course. Lost, whether to make it to the next available cut in the median and take a left turn or back off, I waived the driver to move to the side. The auto pulls up by the side of my right window to tell me something. I lowered my window to realise that the autowallah was ferrying some 5-6 people, mostly young men with their women folk back to their village and they were returning to after enjoying some fair at Angul- high in spirit.

The visibly angry autowallah with the air of a local community leader chose to castigate me by telling me in an admonishing tone why I couldn’t see the road and warned me that had I proceeded further, the police would have penalised me for the lapse. I told him that because of the dark night, I couldn’t see the road suddenly dividing into two and there were no road signs warning me of that. Suddenly the young, barely out of his teen passenger sitting at the back of the auto spotted my glasses perched on my head and snapped with a sarcastic tone ‘How will you see the road if you keep the glass above your head’ to this his newly wedded wife and other co passengers burst out into peals of laughter.

This language can’t capture the sarcasm and disrespect the sentence packed. Completely flustered and choosing not to react to this unprovoked abuse by a young fellow, I chose to reverse.

About ten minutes into the road I heard the sobbing tone of my son saying ‘Baje Loka’ meaning a bad person; my teenage daughter joined in in an equally disturbed tone and said had there been that so-and-s0 uncle he would have given this man two tight slaps. And I suddenly found myself drawn into the discussion even though I neither wanted my kids to witness the abuse meted out to me nor wanted to discuss it further. I reasoned what can we do if they are ill-mannered? We shouldn’t go down to their level and fight with them on the road? To that my son says but Papa he is so much younger than you. Why did he misbehave with you?

I could sense that their childhood hero had fallen before their eyes. The false sense of security and pride that my perceived invincibility had given them for years lay shattered on the ground and they are standing bare and shaken in that wet dark night. Shaken with disbelief as to how could their Papa instead of pulverizing a minor street loafer like a film hero, choose to take the indignity and walk away. They created a wall of silence between me and them, nursing their bruised and battered ego, all on their own. And we drove on. While driving, my mind was in turmoil -whether I did the right thing by leaving the place or I should not have let my children down.

Wish I could tell them that it's always not wise to jump at every challenge and provocation we face every day, sacrificing the larger goals of life – even if we are right. Couldn’t ask them that, would they have liked to see their papa mouthing the same bad words that hurt them and rolling on the road fighting loafers? What would have happened if this argument had led to a bigger fight involving many bystanders? What if someone had tried to hurt all of us in the car – just not me?

The kids had gone to sleep by then and moreover, I already had lost the right to explain being a fallen hero.