INDIA: PERSPECTIVES

Sitting on the 22nd floor of a building two blocks away from my office, I gazed at the plethora of lights shimmering on the Frankfurt skyline. The last ray of sunlight was being retracted away from this part of the world and yet I could not see the moon making its way upwards. The sky, now a hue between deep blue and black, arched over a maze of Victorian houses and modern commercial complexes - some of them towering higher than the one I was in.

I could hear soft music playing in the adjacent hall, sometimes punctuated by the clattering of glasses, or the sound of collective cheering and laughter. The air inside this segregated room at the corner of the floor smelled mildly of wine and cheese. A circular puff of smoke entered my line of sight from the right and slowly wiggled its way across. It collided with where the hauptbahnhof was plotted on the window pane and disappeared. I could feel someone touching my arm gently as I heard a question.

"Cigar?"

Maria enquired smilingly as she offered me the roll of tobacco, with her elbow resting on the large round beech table that occupied most of the room. A thick white smoke was oozing out from the left corner of her lips.

When you are in the company of people you have only recently met, it becomes difficult to judge what would be a good way to refuse a polite offering. The only person I knew in that group was Adam, a colleague from office, who had insisted I accompany him to a graduation dinner with a bunch of his friends.

"It will only take an hour", he had said, "and then you can go back to work. Besides, they need some advice and I think you are the right person. I already told them you are coming." And that is how I had met this motley group - Maria, Philip, Eric and Gabriele.

Not wanting to become one of those epidemiology data points I so often work with as part of my profession, I chose to decline the cigar humbly with a "No, thank you" and a smile in return.

"Are you sure? This is special. You should at least try it once. It's difficult to find otherwise."

"Actually, I don't smoke."

With a casual upward movement of her shoulders, she passed the roll to Philip, who gladly accepted and slowly took a puff.

"OK. What would you like then? How about a Martini? Or would you prefer a Heineken?"

"Well, I don't drink either."

As if taken aback by my response, she conjectured - "Really? You're from Delhi, right? Based on what I know, alcohol is quite popular in your country. In fact, I have a lot of Indian friends and my image of a typical Indian guy is one who drinks and smokes all kinds of stuff all night and then wakes up next morning with a lot of headache and a lot of regret."

"Well, then I guess I'm not your typical Indian guy. I'd rather have fun seeing a drunk Beercules than become one myself. And to be honest, I think you haven't met so many of us to have a substantial sample size for your hypothesis. Besides, there are states in the country where the government's attitude towards liquor is similar to its attitude towards the polio disease."

"Yeah, this guy is boring", Adam interrupted with a grin. "Except for his wicked sense of humour. And, as per internal company sources, his dancing skills."

"Oh, that is interesting!", Maria chuckled.

"Don't be surprised", Eric jumped in. "I recently spent two weeks traveling to various Indian cities; which, by the way, was super cheap. It seems the locals there have good dancing skills in general. Maybe they learn from their Bollywood movies where the music videos take up half of the run time. I once went to a discotheque in Bumbay. People there were dancing like crazy, throwing their arms and legs wildly in whatever space they could find in that packed hall. I think we Germans are more restrained when it comes to dancing, but the Indians like to go all out."

"Yes, I guess that is an innate talent we share, although I wouldn't speak so highly of me. Nevertheless, you should come to one of our marriage processions and see for yourself", I proffered to the rest of the group.

"I've been to one in Day-lee. That is quite a sight, with the horse and the dresses and the blaring 70's music." Adam winked his approval, and the others looked like he had piqued their interest.

Eric, although was unfazed. He looked at me and then continued, almost in an accusatory tone.
"I have a question for you though. Why do people in India rub their bellies against your back whenever you are standing in a queue or a crowd? And then they keep pushing you like a lawn mower. I found it everywhere - whether it be the discotheque, a cinema theatre, a railway station or a superstore. It is very annoying."

Treading carefully, I suggested:
"I don't think anyone would do that intentionally to get some depraved sense of pleasure, or you were living amongst some really plump people. Not that I agree it happens so often, but a rational answer would probably be 'due to space limitations'. India's population is 15 times that of Germany, whereas the land area is only 10 times. Also, the relative size of urban areas compared to total land is much lesser than in the developed countries, resulting in a high population density in the cities. Any small urban facility is therefore not large enough to accommodate so many people. The cities you have been to probably include metropolitans like Delhi or Mumbai, each of which are home to upwards of 10 million citizens and guests. And life in these cities is both difficult and busy; time is precious and patience costly. That explains the likely cause for your unpleasant predicaments."

"I get it. But can't they just stand apart by an inch? Especially when the weather is so hot", Eric retorted.

Observing that the argument was not going in a favourable direction, Philip intervened, much to my relief. "Let's order", he proposed. "We can't talk for so long on an empty stomach. What would you like to have, Arnav?"

"Any good vegetarian food that you can recommend?" I acknowledged his timely intervention with a silent nod.

"Oh, I'm not the right person to answer that question. My only recommendation would be that you should start eating meat if you want to stay here for long."

"Nah, I'm fine with living on Italian and Mexican cuisines. Besides, I have figured out a few Indian places I can go to every now and then. I can suggest a few you guys might like as well."

"How can you eat that food every day? It's too spicy for my liking." It appeared Eric wasn't quite open to the idea.

"Spices and condiments are a part of our tradition. I grew up having salts and spices in my meals whereas you are probably accustomed to food with little or no flavour additions to the primary ingredients.  So I prefer some garlic or chillies in my food while you don't. It stems from a difference in culture."

"I personally like the Spaetzle with Asparagus", Gabriele spoke for the first time. "It's a local dish made from cheese, specially grated in the form of noodles. Pretty good. Wanna try? It's a little tricky to handle with the knife and fork, but I can teach you."

"Sure. Would love to." I thanked her for the gesture; kindness is a virtue I value highly.

She responded with a warm smile and went back to reading the menu. As the others discussed their own preferences for dinner and drinks, the language suddenly switched to Deutsch. I could only make out a few phrases in between the sentences.

Assuming that I could no longer contribute effectively due to my limited domain (and linguistic) knowledge, I diverted my attention towards the panoramic view from the window. Little white dots had started appearing in the sky; which was otherwise unchanged. The number of cars plying through Frankfurt's streets were now fewer in number. An occasional pedestrian walked though one of the many crossroads in this perennially illuminated city. A junkie tiptoed through a dark alley, swaying like Santa Claus dancing to the tune of 'Jingle Bells' at Christmas.

I have no idea how long I had been engrossed in studying the streets when Maria whispered into my ear, "Isn't this a nice view?"

A little startled by her presence, which I had forgotten for that period of solitary observation, I answered - "It is awesome! I always wanted to get a glimpse of the city from higher up".

"Do you see that elegant white building? That is the Old Opera. We also have a new opera. There it is, with the garden in front", she said, her finger pointing to a more contemporary structure about a kilometre away. I recalled 'Occupy Movement' activists protesting for days in the same lawn during one of my previous visits. "Adjacent to the Opera is the CommerzBank. Further in that direction is the Main river, where you can see those bridges. You should go there some time."

"Yes, I've been to the riverside once with a friend. Quite peaceful."

It seemed the rest of the group had noticed by this time that I had been left out of their conversation.

Philip was the first to apologize: "So sorry we started talking among ourselves in German. We were discussing a final case study assignment due for submission on Monday. Would you mind sharing your ideas on the case after dinner? We were hoping we could use a consultant's help - for free, obviously."

Flattered and amused, I assented with "I'll be glad to be of any help".

Gabriele was the second. "My apologies, Arnav. I should have known you don't speak Deutsch. Anyways, tell me a little more about yourself. Do you have a background in management?"

Feeling like an expert with no expertise, I truthfully answered with "No. I am an engineer."

"Which university did you go to?" Eric questioned with a curious look on his face.

"Indian Institute of Technology. I won't be surprised if you haven't heard of it."

"You mean IIT Chennai? We have an exchange program with that university", Gabriele asked enthusiastically. It was I who was taken aback this time.

"It's the same parent institution, but at a different location called Roorkee in northern India."

"I hear guys from IIT are smart. Why is that? I received my GMAT score yesterday, which is 600, and I was happy. But then Adam told me this morning his Indian colleague had a 760. Must be from an IIT, I think. Now I'm just hopeless about my own chances."

"IITs admit students through a tough nationwide exam after rigorous academic preparation, with about 200 thousand candidates competing for 3000 seats. And so these universities usually get the brightest students. Although I don't believe that graduates from other universities are not intelligent and cannot score a 760."

"Have you been to Chennai then?" she inquired, changing the topic a little abruptly.

"No, although I want to. It's in the southern part of the country, which I haven't explored so much."

"OK. I've watched 'Chennai Express', the movie. That's how I remembered the name. Can you remind me who the main actor was? I kind of like him."
This was my second surprise of the night.

"You mean Shahrukh Khan? I didn't know you watch Bollywood movies."

"Oh, yes. Is he popular among girls in India?"

"I think so. Although some new actors are now starting to steal the limelight."

"Do people in Chennai also speak Hindi?"

"Not many of them. Chennai is largely influenced by its own regional language. Hindi is spoken mainly in the northern states. India is otherwise a multilingual country with more than 20 officially recognized languages."

"Wow! So many? Can you speak Hindi? Is it popular in Delhi?"

"I can. And yes, it is spoken by the majority of Delhi's population."

"One of my Indian friends was telling me Delhi is not safe for girls. I also recently read an article which indicated that the country has a very high crime rate against women. Is that true?" Maria touched on a subject that I had been dreading.

"Sadly, that is true. Although the crime rate is lower in southern parts of the country."

"Why is it so bad?"

"Honestly I don't have a right answer. I think it is because our society is largely patriarchal and also very orthodox. Throughout our long history, women have not been treated as equal to men, a notion I strictly denounce. Their responsibilities have been curtailed to tending to the family and performing household chores. This has led to a false impression of their place in society, especially among men who are rarely taught the virtue of respecting the fairer sex. This is more so in the North. However, this perception is slowly changing, at least in urban India."

Philip came to my rescue again. "What is one thing you like about India?", he asked.

"A rather unique trait that characterizes our culture is the importance of family. We try not to drift away from our parents and siblings once we start a career or get married. I like the fact that young Indian boys and girls are still unabashed living with their parents while they are studying, or even working at a job."

"Hmm. Living with one's parents here after a certain age casts doubts on the person's ability. So it's not very common."

"One more question from me", Gabriele demanded politely, with a funny look on her face. She probably had had too much apfelwine. I hoped it was the last.

"If you were asked to choose between Delhi and Frankfurt for spending the rest of your life, which one would it be?"

This one was easy.
"Delhi, definitely. I like traveling and can probably even stay away from home for a year or two, but I'm too Indian to be able to permanently live anywhere else."

RED SIGNAL

Gurgaon traffic slowly made its way through the city's dusty roads as morning commuters patiently crawled inch by inch on the uneven asphalt. The sun shone radiantly from above, its heat permeating through the atmosphere and settling as little drops of sweat on drivers' foreheads. It was only 10 am in early April, but it appeared as if the summer peak had already arrived, as if the climbing sun was mocking at the futility of an air conditioner against its mildest flares. Amid the honking of automobile horns and the revving of engines but to no avail, my Innova jerked to a halt. The colour on the approaching traffic signal had turned to red just as the car had reached the intersection.  "Damn !", I muttered to myself as the prospect of another forfeited breakfast in the office seemed to materialize. "This is not turning out to be a very good beginning to the day."

As the digital countdown until the next one minute started, I looked out the window to my left. There was the usual mix of autorickshaws, motorbikes, schoolbuses, cars and the occasional lorry or tractor eagerly awaiting the green light. To my right, I could see a steady stream of morning traffic shunting off in the direction of Sohna road. But what I saw next was hugely discomforting, for it questioned my very belief in the innocence of children and in the bond between siblings.

A little girl was resting on the sidewalk, siting cross-legged. She probably resided in one of the neighbouring slums that dotted the surrounding area. She was wearing a dull green salwar kameez; a thin layer of rubbery worn out slippers separated her feet from the burning ground. Wrapped in her red dupatta was a toddler, barefoot and covered only in a ragged old white t-shirt. The girl would not have been more than twelve, and her baby brother (or was it her brother?) not more than two. As soon as the signal turned to red, she leapt up and set the toddler on his feet. Out of the blue, a hard slap landed on the little boy's cheek from her elder sister, as I watched with eyes wide open. Then another, and then another. This continued until the baby was crying uncontrollably, until his eyes profusely spewed out tears which refused to dry even in the parching heat.

When the baby could look no more pitiable, she took him in her arms again and carried the poor little urchin into the stationary traffic. Moving from one vehicle to another, she begged for alms, often pointing to the bawling toddler and pleading how he hadn't been fed for so long. The trick didn't seem to work - it's very difficult to find true empathy, or for that matter, any form of emotion nowadays. People tend to conserve it as a precious resource - unless, of course, it can fetch them something in return. The bystanders had probably already witnessed her clever device and were therefore not falling for her miserable attempts at convincing them for money. If they indeed had, nobody bothered to ask what she was doing on the road on a Monday morning when other children were going to school; why she was abusing her own little brother when other siblings were happily playing pithu together with their friends. Just as the girl knocked on my window, the signal turned green and the needle on the car's speedometer swung to the right. With an air of business, as if accustomed to this routine, she strolled back to her station on the sidewalk while a fleet of automobiles flowed past her through the crossroads. This one hadn't been a very good exploit. She should probably hit her brother harder next time.

While this scene was enough to ruin my Monday morning, a similar event transpired the next day. When I reached office, Shruti was fixed to her laptop screen, searching desperately for something. Jai and Deepak were standing to her either side, staring as she typed away on her internet browser. I gave her an inquisitive look, wondering this was too early in the day to be worried over work. She rolled her eyes as she looked up.

"Aapko pata hai?"

"What?"

"A woman approached my cab at a traffic signal, begging for money. She was carrying an infant - numb and still as a statue made of stone. I'm sure the baby was drugged. I've read about this on Quora but I never believed it, until today. I asked the cabbie to halt so that I could ask her about the infant, but the stupid driver didn't stop the car."

"You might be wrong. The baby might just have been sleeping, or sick."

"No, this is not unusual. These things happen", Jai interjected.

"I'm searching for an authority to whom I can report this", she continued. "Is there one?"

"You can dial 100"

"Oh, no. They would dismiss it as irrelevant. Isn't there a dedicated helpline for such matters?"

"I don't know", I answered honestly.

"There should be one. They have a helpline for reporting frivolous complaints. This is a much bigger issue. How can these children survive for long! Kids in orphanages would have a much better life."

"Not necessarily", I suggested, although not confidently.

"Well, my mom visited an orphanage once. From what she told me, the kids were at least well fed and educated. They didn't have to spend their childhood by the roadside, serving as props for this heinous business, or begging for alms so that their lunatic father could get his daily dose of daaru."

I could not dispute her premise. She was right.

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At a time when 27 crore Indians live below the poverty line, we have come to accept the fact that economic disparity is inevitable. There will always be that huge band separating the uber-rich and the famished poor. But we can still try to somehow reduce the gradient of that band. We can try to ensure that poverty does not thrive as a business where young innocent children are employees without pay. Perhaps the best means to this motive is through education.

“Education is the most powerful weapon which you can use to change the world.” 

― Nelson Mandela

“Education is essential to change, for education creates both new wants and the ability to satisfy them.” 

– Henry Steele Commager

The first step would be to draw these kids out of the shadows. I shudder at the thought of how their lives might turn out if they also spend the rest of their childhood on the roadside, and maybe coax their own younger siblings, future sons and daughters to follow their lead. The malaise of poverty can never be cured from the country if we allow this practice to persist unchecked; if we continue to be ignorant of its marginalizing effect on the lives it controls.

“Children must be taught how to think, not what to think.” ― Margaret Mead

Can each one of us not collectively sponsor a child's education, at least at the primary level? Can this not slowly, but surely, reduce the number of kids who are made to squander their days on a traffic signal hoping for trinkets from a merciful, maybe even gullible, stranger? When these educated kids grow up, do they not add to the "productive" workforce? And once they are themselves out of the darkness, would they ever want to send their progeny back in? Would this not solve to an extent a problem that the country has been grappling with since the time of its independence?

It doesn't take much effort on our part. There already exist organizations like the Smile foundation and World Vision India that have long started working towards this cause. All we need to do is just spend 5 minutes on their website every few months purchasing a book, a school uniform or part of the tuition fee for an aspiring young kid. Is that too much to demand from ourselves?

If yes, this begs the question:
As a nation, are we really committed to 'Vision 2020'?

A YEAR OF LIBERATION

"And now, dear children, we present to you a wizard who will entertain you with his tricks and share his knowledge of magic. Let's hear some applause !", announced the host of the event as a bunch of primary and middle school kids looked on curiously at the table placed in the center of the stage for the upcoming performance. The firm's CSR team had helped the school establish its own library -  furnished with books and a desktop computer, a luxury most schools in rural India cannot easily afford. This small institution, a walled area of barren land in the village of Neev, a major detour from the city roads in Gurgaon, was among the few to have acquired these necessary school facilities. This was a day of celebration; the library had officially been launched.

As I walked up to the podium with a balloon in one hand and a soda bottle in the other, posing as a sorcerer to the innocuous and clueless group of little children gathered in the courtyard around a peepul tree planted in the middle of the small compound they call school, I decided I would tell them the truth. There is no such concept as magic; it is merely an art of playing with science. Magic lies in craftily deceiving your audience, cloaking their minds with the mist of fantasy that they cannot see through. My purpose today was quite the opposite - it was to make them aware of this mist and implore them to follow logic and reason so that they could someday conjure their own magic tricks.

I took my place in the center stage under the light of the morning sun. I looked directly at the crowd of little faces staring expectantly at me, and opened with a question that elicited a favourable response from the majority of children.

"How many of you would want to become magicians when you grow up?"

At once, scores of hands shot up in the air.

"Thank you dear children", I continued. "That is an encouraging sight to see. Now let me tell you something about magic."

By the end of the twenty minutes for which I occupied the podium, I had told them about the far-reaching possibilities of science. I had demonstrated experiments embodying various guiding principles of nature. I had encouraged the kids to think out loud, and maybe ignited a spark for inculcating scientific temperament. I had spoken to an aspiring girl pilot, listened to a young boy sing, and suggested drawing tips to a bunch of pre-school kids in the activities that followed. While doing so, I had spent my time on something I really liked, something that fetched a different kind of contentedness no amount of money can proffer - something I haven't been able to accomplish in the last few years.

That day, I finished my work efficiently and returned home from office earlier than my usual schedule. I logged on to youtube, looked up 'guitar lessons' and plucked at the strings of my Fender for the next hour. Music has a rejuvenating effect - it carries you away into another world, curing your fatigue and soothing your senses, making you forget the problems and miseries that daunt your mind. I closed my eyes, and after a while, the only sound reaching my ears was the cadence of notes bouncing off the soundboard, resonating in the closed room. I am not a seasoned musician, not even a dilettante, but the beauty of a guitar lies in its ability to read its master and play along. Those erratic, uneven chords gradually acquired rhythm as I strummed an unknown tune, played my own chords and hummed my own song.

That was perhaps one of the best days in the year gone by. A welcome deviation from normality. A day of realization - that there are things more meaningful and impactful than a routine corporate job, that you can find happiness in sources richer than money, that you are capable of magically changing lives, including your own. A day when I had acquired control.
A day of liberation.

2013 was crammed with work and travel and preparation for that coveted business school degree. Now that I don't have to bother about one of these anymore, I think I now know what my new year's resolution for 2014 is going to be.

A VISION

Waiting impatiently for his meal, Pranav picked up his spoon and started drumming on the edge of the porcelain plate that his mother had already arranged neatly on the dinner table. Mr. Mehta was busy scanning the pages of The Hindu and did not seem to notice. Encouraged by his father's nonchalance, Pranav increased his rhythm to test if he could play as fast as his music instructor in school.

"Don't do that ! It is irritating", his elder sister, Surbhi, suggested very calmly.

"Go to hell ! I'll do what I want", he snapped.

This seemed to have caught Mr. Mehta's attention, for he immediately lowered the newspaper.

"Pranav, that is not how you speak to your sister", he interrupted.

"OK, sorry", apologized the young boy as he turned to face the teenage girl.

"That's my boy. Just talk to your sister more politely from now on. In fact, do not be rude to any other girl."

"I will not be rude, Papa.", he exclaimed.

"Very good.", Mr. Mehta smiled at his son's obedience.

"Such sweet children. I'll also bring the rajma. Once you finish, we have icecream to celebrate Surbhi's academic result", Mrs. Mehta said as she entered from the kitchen carrying a bowl of vegetable pulao. The girl had achieved a ninety five percent aggregate score in her class 10 board exams, second in the entire district only to her friend Ritu who lived in the neighbouring slum.

"Chocolate?", asked Surbhi expectantly.

"Yes, dear", her mother affirmed. "Exactly what you asked for."

As the family sat down together on the dinner table, Mr. Bachchan posed the first question to his ecstatic participant on KBC. When the show had ended, the kids retired to their rooms. They had to wake up early next morning to catch the school bus in time for a trekking excursion.

"So, honey ! Anything worth noticing in the news today?", Mrs. Mehta asked her husband as she settled next to him on the sofa after a fulfilling dinner and rested her head on his firm shoulder.

"It is in the headlines. A bunch of youths gave a sound thrashing to some miscreants who were eve-teasing a 20 year old girl in New Delhi. Apparently, the girl raised an alarm and a few passers-by quickly came to her rescue. The culprits are now in jail facing an appropriate sentence dictated by the Nirbhaya law. This is one of those rare instances where people have stepped in to prevent a potential tragedy."

"Yes, that is indeed rare. There is not a lot of empathy found on the country's streets. But anyways, this is a relief. I think people have finally begun to realize change cannot happen unless they strive for it themselves; things can only get better if we start taking initiative and stop waiting for the government to swing into action."

"Hmm. We have waited for a long time. It has made us lethargic. After the series of crimes that have blotted the nation in past years, people probably cannot take it anymore."

"If only we could try to similarly stand up against other evils that plague our society."

"I think we have made a start. With the Jan-Lokpal bill being very likely to be passed in this parliamentary session, we might finally be able to force graft under control."

"That is debatable. Nevertheless, I was referring to issues that do not contain a large political association." 

"Well, even on that front, I heard Tushar who lives next door convinced his parents not to ask for dowry from the brides's family. When his parents cited financial stability as a motive, he declared that his qualifications provide him enough earning potential not to depend on any form of depraved assistance. Good lad, that one."

"Yes. You never asked for dowry, right?", Mrs. Mehta prodded him with a grin.

"Oh, no. I thought you would be enough", Mr. Mehta smiled, stroking his wife's silken hair.

"Good. Because I would have thrown you out of my house had you asked.", she giggled. 

"That would have been a sight", he laughed. "Speaking of being out of the house, I just remembered I have a business trip planned for the US next month. How much is the current exchange rate, by the way?"

"Fifty six."

"So the rupee is slowly recovering. Anyways, can you remind me to make travel reservations? If you are able to get a few days leave from work, you and the kids should come along too."

"I'll see. But first, I hope you recall you promised the kids we are going to Mussoorie this weekend."

"I remember, sweetheart. We most certainly are."

ONLY THE LORD SHALL TAKE AWAY

Question : Who decides when to end a life?

Answer : NOT the life-bearer

You, dear reader, might wonder what has suddenly sparked this subject. It is the shocking, self-inflicted demise of a person whom I considered to be a rational, jovial and ambitious human being. I do not know the reason for this extreme step, but I am unable to come to terms with the fact that such an individual can actually go through with such a preposterous and callous act.

There cannot be a greater gift to mankind than the ability to perform any action at will - the freedom to make a choice, to love and be loved, to travel this beautiful world, to embark on a passionate dream, or to do nothing at all. And there cannot be a more blatant disregard for that pristine gift than to throw it away in a mindless, impulsive error of thought.

Also, our life is not ours alone to give away. We are just the bearers of this asset; it is much more a property of everybody else who has a stake in our existence. And since we are not the complete, rightful owners, we have no right to discard it without consent.

Of course, life is not always the joyride that we wish for, but a wave of crests and troughs. While we enjoy the crests, we often tend to resign in the troughs. I have travelled through fairly deep trenches, and I am sure so have you. All it takes to make our way up is a little courage, and a little faith. It is the plethora of such high and low experiences that is the basis of life. There cannot be perfect order in anything worldly; if there is, we would cease to exist - that is a fundamental law of nature. 

The prolific inventor Edison had a series of failures - professional and personal, before he could finally invent the electric bulb. If he had given up because of any one of those failures and chosen the quick escape route of death, he could never have touched the billions of lives that thrive today on his inventions.

If you ever find yourself harboring the slightest "self-destruct" ideas, perhaps you can remember these words. And who knows, it might help save a million more lives someday in the future.