India's Unending Journey (Mark Tully )
India's Unending Journey is Mark Tully's latest among his other works on India. A BBC Journalist, and also, a product of India's British Raj upbringing, Mark Tully has explored India's search for balance and moderation in all aspects from the fast emerging Global India to the more personal and charged area of sex.
The author's experiences from childhood to his adult life are used as examples in various contexts. But all the same, the author has maintained a precarious balance and has not allowed the book to slip away into self confessional autobiographical mode. The references to his life end as just that, references and do not stretch beyond a certain point.
The book begins in Puri, one of India's many temple towns and celebrations of a festival there. This sets the mood for the book, a rambling, introspective style which shifts effortlessly from India to Britain to Ireland in various chapters. Even though the shifting is effortless and smooth, the transition will be noticed in the stark comparisons used by the author to emphasise the oppression and repression which is rampant in both, unchecked liberalism as well as fettered constriction. The ancient Indian culture of debates, discussions and openness, especially in terms of religion, wherein the author observes, that no one truth is treated as the absolute truth, is brought out well in all the chapters, but again, the author guards himself from using too eulogising a tone. The Indian tendency of not swerving towards any extreme, in the past, and which sadly, is taken as a weakness in today's globalised Indian society, is the underlying point that the author probably wishes to score with this work.
One of the chapters also touches the delicate issue of Hindu nationalism which has reared an ugly head in India in the past decade. How this fervor goes against the very essence of India as a peace loving culture since many many millenia, is one of the best points illustrated in this book. India is applauded, as being able to sustain herself even now in the face of so many emerging religious passions, but the loss of that all-encompassing moderation and balance is bemoaned, though not directly.
Though the tone of the book and some of the content may seem superficially so, the book is not an Ode to India of the present. It illustrates some good things, and in the same vein, some bad things about India and Indians in comparison to the West, and how aimlessly aping the West is not going to serve any purpose. One brilliant fact which the author conveys is that global and material progress is not the panacea for all ills and the Indian economy is not actually going places with its burgeoning Gurgaon skyscrapers.Until cycle rickshaw pullers like Budh Ram (a case study in the book) get two square meals a day, India can never really shine.
The narrative ends in Varanasi, another of the temple towns of India, and once again, the author returns to the issue of religious tolerance. Varanasi's Hanuman temple bomb blasts are a backdrop this time, and the author has interviewed the religious heads of both volatile communities. Both sides are more motivated toward pouring oil on troubled waters, exhibiting extreme self restraint instead of any provocative actions....and the author once more, in closing, makes his point clear that the only way India can go ahead is by reviving its pluralist tolerance and steering clear of direction-less rigidity.
At times, the narrative tends to get a little slow moving and drab due to the innumerable examples used. In the fear of appearing opinionated, the author sometimes appears a little unconvincing and muddled, especially in the chapters concerning religion. It looks like the author has taken the application of moderation a little to far, and this might leave the reader a little confused about what exactly is the point being made.
All in all, a good read, and a good book for an evening debate. Also, a good source for people wishing to know about the good points that Indians have and need to appreciate in themselves, and where to draw the line during these times of change. Most importantly, a good guide to realising that the search for balance is, after all, a never ending journey, which India undertook years ago, and that this journey is in danger of termination, by India's own people, now.
Louis Vuitton and Pink eye-shadow
"Don't get fooled by the pink eye-shadow" ,wrote Shobhaa De, about airhostesses in an article in the newspaper...so here are some lessons for the brave people who are attempting a journey to Bangalore by flight:
Warning: Avoid travelling by flight to Bengaluru. Roads in our country are really nice. Besides, you will save on money, and now, on time too.
If you cannot avoid air travel or have a taste for adventures of a different kind, pay careful attention to the safety announcement below.
1. The new international airport in Bangalore is equidistant from Hyderabad and Bombay, between both the cities, and subsequently, away from Bangalore.
2. Cab travel from the airport can cost more than the flight if you are not careful.
3. Please get used to signs saying "Bengaluru airport: 30 kms" or "Bengaluru City: 30 kms." and try not to get traumatised.
4. Carry a good stock of finger food, and a good music player for your ride to and from the airport. There will be no other entertainment available on this journey which is probably going to take more time than your flight.
5. Once you enter the airport, be prepared to donate useful body organs for food. I have new-found respect for the humble bread pakora after I saw how much it costed in the new international airport. Hunger suddenly was not that intense. Also, if body organs are too hard to part with, consider selling your latest model laptop or some of your clothes. That might buy you a decent meal.*
*Note: The taste of the meal is inversely proportional to the price you pay for it.
6. Please do not take people with Heart ailments and High blood pressure to the shopping arcade. The price tags can cause both respective ailments to skyrocket. On second thoughts, temporary insanity is a permanent danger. Kindly stay out in your best interest. If pink eyeshadow from Estee Lauder and Louis Vuitton bags are life saving commodities for you, then you are reading this by mistake.
7. Kindly bear with snooty kids and their snootier parents. If you are reading this, chances are you cannot afford to pay 150 bucks for a cappucino. Shame on you, and tolerate the condescending glances. Next time, please trade your capris and sneakers for Gucci and Jimmy Choo. Its not just an airport. Its the new Bengaluru International Airport.
7. Lastly, next time you are there, please ask the airport authorities to put up a signboard saying "ABANDON ALL HOPE YE WHO ENTER HERE". Nothing stops flights from getting delayed, even at the New International Airport.
I trust the above safety announcement has warned everyone sufficiently.
To all those who are intrepid enough to attempt air travel to Bengaluru anyway: Have a safe flight!
Of rains and autorickshaws...
The monsoon announced its arrival a couple of days back. Dark clouds crowding the horizon, the setting sun unhappily turning red for its days of shine were, well, over....and finally, we could sit in the local trains without tiny rivulets of sweat running down our backs, and our clothes could be taken off decently once we reached home, and did not need to be peeled off our sticky skin. Ah, yes, the rains were more than welcome.
But yes, flip sides do exist. Auto rickshaw drivers, for one, assumed self important nay-sayer status. I remember reading somewhere that a new born baby hears the word "No" about 30,000 times in twenty four hours. I am sure that if we were to leave our babies in the care of a rickshaw driver for a day, they would end up hearing the word at least three times more than that. Ok, that was just some psychological jargon. Let me simplify.
Scene 1: Seven in the evening. I am sittting smugly in the train, and approaching my home station. Having managed to wriggle out of office at an obscenely early hour, I am justifiably proud of reaching home well before time. Just as I am putting my novel inside my bag to disembark, the phone rings. It is my dentist. I wonder why he is calling, and then suddenly remember that I have fixed an appointment with him the next day. He mumbles a few pleasantries, and then places me in a fix by asking me to turn up for the appointment that evening itself. Since I have already committed the undignified act of revealing my location to him, I have no option but to say yes. But I am confident that I can still reach home before my normal time as the dentist is only a ten minute detour.
Scene 2: Seven fifteen in the evening. I am waiting outside the station in a light drizzle with gutter water running by my feet to presumably cleanse me of my intentions to reach home early. Rickshaws buzz past me like race cars. The few who stop, say the ubiquitous "No". I almost risk a lifetime phobia of the word when finally,one driver stops with the flourish of a formula one turn. I trick Schumacher into saying yes, by resorting to an unethical tactic of mentioning a location which is much farther off than where I wanted to go. When I get into the autorickshaw, I see the last of my plans of curling onto the couch with a glass of hot milk and my Erich Segal being washed away into the drain by the aforementioned sinful-thought-cleansing gutter water.
Scene 3: Eight fifteen in the evening. Uncanny deja vu seizes me as I am standing once again in a slight drizzle and waiting for you-know-what. Only, this time, I am standing outside the dentist's clinic and my mood is worse. You see, I have been scolded by my dentist for eating stuff that I should not be eating with braces on. (For those who came in late, yes, I have braces). This time, I try to make light of the situation by observing the various ways in which these Schumachers of the Station roads say "No". I identify at least six distinct ways....to the seventh driver, I do not give an opportunity to exhibit his skills. I am growling by this time, and with talons fully extended, I give him my location. Before he can shake his head, I growl again and give him the exact location with a glare for good effect. This frightens him into accepting my orders (I cannot call that a request) and I start on my way home.
Scene 4: Eight forty five in the evening. I reach home, worse for the wear and bedraggled. And I realise, that even on the days that I leave from office at my appropriate time , I reach earlier than this. With a start, I realise why. I normally walk home from the station. Schumachers, obviously, ain't doing me any good.
Labels: Musings
