microMUSINGS

Aarakshan is caste neutral and is a 'must see' movie

2011-08-13T11:18:00.000-07:00

I saw Aarakshan on its opening day at Carnatic Theatre in Coimbatore. I was fifteen minutes ahead of the 6.30 pm show and I took my favourite last row centre seat. The seats got filled gradually and when the movie started 90% of the upper class seats were filled. It was heartening to see the enthusiasm in the crowd. I could see most of the Hindi speaking/understanding regulars and a good lot of college students with their back packs. Outside the theatre, we had a van and jeep load of police positioned around the place and it did not deter me and instead I felt gratifying seeing them. The local authorities have to be appreciated for the arrangement.

As a matter of sheer coincidence, I had to attend an induction function of the ‘quota’ stream of MBA freshers in a leading management school in Coimbatore where I am a Visiting Professor at 4.30 pm. The institute had already completed the process of selection of the management quota and today we had the induction ceremony for almost an equal number of students which was enabled through a transparent and meticulous process done by the Government after the TANCET exams. As part of the function a short film on the institution’s founders and the yeoman service carried on by the fourth generation of the family was shown. As I left the convention hall I felt elated to be a part of a great institution and thanked God for providing me this opportunity to teach at the fag end of my career. I slipped out of the hall at 5.45 pm and drove at neck breaking speed on my good old scooter to the theatre.

The film impressed me in the first few frames itself. The interviewers ask the candidate his name and he says, “Deepak Kumar”. They then ask his ‘full’ name. For a few nano seconds I went back to my college days at Banaras Hindu University in the seventies. I had to face a similar situation there too. When getting ragged the seniors were not at all convinced when I spelt out my name as ‘Uday Shankar’. Uday Shankar kyaa? Tera poora naam kya hai? (Is it just Uday Shankar? What is your full name? ). For a person going out of Tamilnadu, where the suffixes on names were knocked off as part of the most successful social revolution post-independence India has seen, I was intrigued at the first place. Jaise naam ke saat Tiwari, Choudary, Sen, Bhattacharya jodthen hain, thum logon ke naam ke saat kuch nahi hai kyaa? (Just as we have Tiwari, Choudary, Sen, Bhattacharya as suffixes for names, you guys do not have any suffixes?) During my four year stint in the university I had never taken the extra mile to explain the social revolution that took place in Tamilnadu for the simple reason that, as years rolled on, I started to understand the local social nuances better and was astonished how feudal the UP society was with casteism deeply engrained in the psyche.

Saif has done full justice to his role. Hats of the costume designer for choosing the apt dresses and the dialogue writer for chiseling the right nuances into Deepak’s dialogue- straight, simplistic but hard hitting. The Hindi in the whole film is of good quality. No wonder Koel of CNN IBN made a frank comment about the Hindi on 12^th August and said that ‘the Hindi in the film was far beyond her comprehension’. I was just wondering why then she was reviewing the film at all. I enjoyed every bit of all the dialogues. Hats off to Jha for paying attention on the language of the film.

The way the poor Brahmin student sticks on religiously to his chaste Hindi, come what may, like most others of his ilk in the country could be looked at from two angles. The casteist moorings of the boy and the deeply embedded psyche would be preventing him from talking the language, the masses understand. He may think, ‘why should I change?’ He may be right from a birth right point of view. But then ‘why not?’ is the other thinking. I often used to wonder about the ability of people whose mother tongue used to be Telugu, Kannada and Malayalam and had settled in Tamilnadu for generations and the way they speak Tamil fluently. They may switch over to their tongue when with their ilk but when they talk Tamil, it is the Tamil which everyone speaks. That is not the case with the elite in the society. They deliberately desist from talking the language of the masses and blurt out their language even in the midst of a predominantly Tamil speaking crowd. This is not the case only in Tamilnadu but also in Karnataka. When working in Syndicate Bank and operating in Dakshina Kannada district, I had to move with Tulu speaking farmers. I picked up their lingo fast and one day when I was talking to my friend in the bank he wanted to test my Tulu speaking skill and asked me “Unus Aandda?” (Did you have food?). I replied, “Daala borchi” (Yes, I am through)) on which he immediately accosted me and said that it was the Tulu the lower caste people spoke and corrected me, “Daala Bothri” (Yes, I am through- the Brahmin version !). I was dazed and bewildered at the same time. ‘What difference does it make as long as I can communicate? Why this fetish for a so called refined language?’ I thought. Is it a ploy to identify their ilk in a crowd? Desmond Morris would have been the right person in such a situation to throw light on what he calls ‘the tribal behaviour of people’.

Amitabh Bachan’s role as a sincere educationist who is above all parochial behaviours and political decisions reminded me of my teachers those days. We did really have such good teachers. In fact, the character Prabhakar Anand is the cynosure of the whole movie. The selfless and secular approach of a true teacher may sound idealistic but then Jha has very nicely scripted the story to show how a true teacher has to be. After the first few frames, every other frame gave me a chance to relate it with my father who would fit in the role played by Bachanji. He was a rare breed from Tamilnadu. He had during the freedom struggle days learnt Hindi on his own and went on to do self study of Hindi at the bachelors as well as the post graduate levels and was employed by the Government of India as a Pradhayapak for central government employees. He was a very sincere teacher and had all the traits of Prabhakar Anand in the movie. He was also a strong antagonist of commercializing education- the central theme of the film. For Bachanji this film will remind him of his father too. I still remember how my father used to recite lines from Madhushala, Harvansh Rai Bachan’s magnum opus.

The film revolves around the family of Prabhakar most of the time. The reservation issue is only a spark that lights of a series of activities in the film which eventually fades into oblivion bringing in the issue of commercialization of education as the main theme for the rest of the movie. The film is caste-neutral and does not take any sides. All that it tries to send is a message that education should not become a money making commodity and that students of all caste, creed and religion have the right to get educated. The reservation issue also flares up an unwarranted rift between lovers Poorbi Anand and Deepak, between friends Sushanth, Poorbi Anand and Deepak, between Prabhakar and his protegee Deepak, the bright Dalit student. You feel bad when these bonds break and Prakash Jha keeps you wondering how all the mess is going to be set right. With this movie Jha has come a full round as a successful story teller based on contemporary issues. I saw Rajneeti and liked it too.

It was nice to see Tanwi Azmi as Prabhakar’s wife. It was a treat to see her back in such a good role. Deepika as Poorbi has also done well. She really does well in the situation where she questions her father and moves out. The most touching scene was of course the one in which she comes back and Prabhakar serves her favourite dish. I broke into tears as I have a daughter of that age. A lady next to me too broke into tears. On the whole the people around me seemed to enjoy the movie.

I also had the chance to watch the core team on TV in discussion with Rahul on Headlines Today. I was amazed by the home work Jha had done and the way he answered. It only showed the depth of interest he has in the theme of his films. I am happy that the AP government has cleared the movie for screening today. I hope that the two other state governments UP and Punjab too will follow suit immediately.

To conclude, we need more films of social themes in our country. Praksah Jha are you listening?

P.Uday Shankar

Coimbatore

13th Aug 2011.

If Mahatma Gandhi was alive and was an Indian Politician

2011-04-11T03:43:00.000-07:00

I was always of the strong view that Indian politics would never have been in this state of affairs if Mahatma Gandhi would have been alive today. We would have been the real example of democracy for new nations getting into democracy. For some time after we won independence, say for about two decades, we did have politicians of pristine qualities like Lal Bahadur Shastri, Kamaraj, C. Subramaniam, who had followed Gandhian principles in politics. Today there is so much of money in politics that it has become a lucrative career. Lal Bahadur, Atal Behari Vajpayee, and Kamaraj were in politics to serve the people and not to make money.

Thanks to Anna Hazare we have today an awakening in India on corruption. It is however unfortunate that when the heat on anti-corruption is just picking up we have this nasty comment from Kumaraswamy a politician from Karnataka. I heard it first on TV and then went to CNN-IBN's website to get this information:

'Corruption would have tainted Mahatma Gandhi'

CNN-IBN
Updated Apr 11, 2011 at 03:09pm IST

New Delhi: Janata Dal (Secular) Karnataka unit President and former state chief minister HD Kumaraswamy has kicked up a row by saying that the corruption rot runs so deep in India that even Mahatma Gandhi would have been corrupt if he had practiced politics in today's times.

"Today, politics and corruption are synonymous. If someone in politics says he is not corrupt, he must be lying. If Mahatma Gandhi was alive today, he would have had only two options: either stay in politics by becoming corrupt or to get out of politics and remain clean. It would take a greater movement than the country's Independence movement to stamp out corruption," Kumaraswamy told 'Bangalore Mirror'.

But Kumaraswamy's comments have not gone down well with Anna Hazare and his political opponents.

"If the leaders of our country are talking like this, then corruption can never be wiped out of the country," said Hazare, whose four-day long hunger strike in New Delhi for a stronger anti-corruption law forced the Government to form a commitee to re-draft the Lokpal Bill.

The Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP), too, slammed Kumaraswamy for his statement on Gandhiji

"What better can you expect from Mr Kumaraswamy? What is more important is that when we do politics for the country we need corrective measures. The entire country is suffering because of corruption and scams," said BJP leader Ravi Shankar Prasad.

The Congress declined to comment on the issue saying that Gandhiji was too big an institution.

"We will not comment on one-liners passed in public life. Gandhiji is too big an institution. He has given us the way to good life and I hope all of us could walk in that direction," said Congress MP and Water Resources Minister Salman Khurshid."

It is sad to hear such statements. This only shows how dirty the situation is in Indian politics. My message to such the tainted politicians and corrupt bureaucrats is that the game is over. Indians have woken up. We need to cleanse the system immediately. The rot has set in deep but we cannot wait any longer. My children and your children are frustrated too. Their future has to be good and we are the ones who should show the way. Let this fight against corruption create another history for a successful Gandhian Movement.

P.Uday Shankar

India Census 2011

2011-03-31T04:36:00.000-07:00

The results of the India Census 2011 are just out this afternoon.

The Ministry of Home Affairs and the whole team at the Registrar General’s Office have to be commended for the swiftness in completion of the job. It looks like as if the enumerator had visited me only a few weeks back and presto here are the results. As a responsible citizen it is also my duty to congratulate the thousands who had walked from door to door to do the enumeration work and the back-office staff for the speed in collation of the data. It is always easy to say that we are in a world where technology comes in handy for such great works but we should not forget the men and women behind such monumental works.

The great Tamil poet Bharathiar’s poems remind us of a 30 crore population during the freedom struggle. My God where is 30 crores and where are we now- 121 crores. The first Census in 1951 after Independence shows a population of 36. 11 crores. From 36.11 crores in 1951, 43.92 in 1961, 54.82 crores in 1971, 68.33 crores in 1981, 84.64 crores in 1991, 102.87 crores in 2001- we have now come to 121,01,93,422 today.

Uttar Pradesh remains to be the most populous state. It had a population of 6.03 crores and now has a population of 19.96 crores. My state Tamilnadu had a population of 3.01 crores in 1951 and today we have 7.21 crores. You can compare the growth rate of these two states.

The highlights of the census show that child sex ratio in 2011 is 914 female against 1,000 male - the lowest since Independence. Literacy has gained over the years and we now have 74% of the population (age seven and above) as literates and the remaining 26% illiterates.

For a detailed information on the highlights please visit the following sites:

1) http://www.ndtv.com/article/india/census-2011-indian-population-increased-by-181-million-95387

2) http://www.thehindu.com/news/national/article1587153.ece

It feels nice when I think that I am one among 121 crores (1.21 billion) of people. It is now time to prove the world that we are not a big country but a great country. We have a lot of work to do to achieve that greatness. If each one of us puts his/her best for the country we would be soon the greatest. A big country of great people.

P.Uday Shankar.

Curry Leaves of Microfinance

2011-03-09T21:58:00.000-08:00

The Curry Leaf is a very important ingredient of South Indian cuisine so much so that some preparations bereft of Curry leaves are just not relished. Though the Curry Leaf is so important it is picked from the food and thrown away after cooking, ensuring that the essence of the leaves has been fully extracted. This method of discarding the most important ingredient after it is cooked has been idiomatically used in South Indian vernacular. If some one is shown the door after his "essence" has been fully used by an organisation we relate it to the Curry Leaf Syndrome. With the advent of the globalisation and the entry of the so called corporate culture this Syndrome has come to stay. The Curry Leaf Syndrome had its toll in Microfinance too. Institutions which were planning to move fast from a social mode to the new bandwagon had to pave way for 'new blood' to be infused and had to cull out people of the old school of thought and fill the gap with aspirants from the corporate world. It is today happening to Prof Yunus and the whole Microfinance fraternity (except those who were waiting in the wings for his exit) is shell shocked.

It happened to many others too in the sector during the transition from the social microfinance to commercial microfinance. Today this is noticed because Prof Yunus is known internationally and a recipient of the coveted Nobel prize. It is sad to know that the Government and the judiciary in Bangladesh has failed to see what the Professor has gifted to the world. On the 7th March, on the eve of the International Women's Day I was pleased to see the following statement from the Microcredit Summit Campaign:

"WASHINGTON, DC - More than 128 million of the world's poorest families received a microloan in 2009--an all-time high, according to a report released today by the Microcredit Summit Campaign. Assuming an average of five persons per family, this means that loans to 128 million poorest clients affected some 641 million family members, which is greater than the combined population of the European Union and Russia. Microloans are used to help people living in poverty start or expand a range of small businesses, such as selling basic staples, producing handicrafts, and delivering cell phone services to remote villages."

For more information please visit: http://www.microcreditsummit.org/news

This could not have been possible without the path breaking experiment of Prof. Yunus. I am a great admirer of the professor and was expecting him to get the Nobel in 1995 itself for Economics. Nevertheless, I was gung-ho when he received the Nobel for Peace in 2006. I still remember the day when it was announced and I had a call from a correspondent from BBC Radio's Tamil Service asking my opinion. It was a short interview but reached as far as Sri Lanka from where I received appreciation.

I have a gut feeling that the establishment in Bangladesh has been watching the Egypt Crisis too closely and having seen the emergence of leaders like Mohammed ElBaradei, the former head of IAEA, it has got into a fear psychosis seeing a potential leader in the making in Bangladesh. The recent happenings in Bangladesh are indicative of such a move against a person who is now a global figure. I wish the professor all the strength and resilience to face the crisis and come out successful.

P.Uday Shankar

From loose fitting half-trousers to flying a Piper Cub

2010-07-21T11:34:00.000-07:00

12-07/10

Having born in a Military Hospital (1955) in Aravankadu, a small town on the way to Ooty, and brought up in an army environment, the olive green shade got stuck in my memory once for all. The tapping of the boots and shrieking commands still reverberate in my ears. My grand-mother was a long time employee of the Cordite Factory in Aravankadu and my father was a Hindi Teacher in the factory high school. We lived inside the sprawling premises of the factory in the then newly built Kal Quarters (granite houses). The screeching periodical sirens of the factory were typical of an army environment measurable in decibels. The olive green Jeeps and Shaktimans are now part of my much cherished childhood memories. The occasional wailing sirens indicating accidents inside the factory and speeding Shaktiman ambulances with the Red Cross painted inside huge white circles on the top and sides of the canopy were a part of my childhood nightmares.

When my father moved to Thiruvananthapuram (then known as Trivandrum), my olive green memories started waning away. Luckily for me during the last leg of our stay in that city (1965-66), I got a chance to join the Auxiliary Cadet Corps (ACC), the Junior Wing of NCC. I was extremely lucky to have been in the last batch of ACC as it was disbanded in the year 1967. The uniform was Khaki half trousers and shirt. As I was puny looking, the trousers and shirt were always fitting loose on my body. The beret was a woollen-felt soft round cap, with a flat crown and was supposed to be worn with one side sliding down. Of the five pieces I had worn, the trousers, shirt, stockings, loose fitting shoes and the beret, it was only the beret which fitted snugly around my head! There used to be a cap badge and a red woollen ball adorning the front side of the beret. I took lot of pride in wearing the uniform of a para-military wing at that age (ten years). Walking on the streets wearing the uniform I always felt that I was the cynosure of all gazing eyes on the street. The Khaki uniforms were always conspicuous on the streets.

Then when we moved on to Coimbatore in 1967, I joined the Junior Wing NCC-Air in Shri Baldevdas Kikani Vidyamandir. During the three years I excelled in Aero Modeling as I was good in carpentry (we had in those days a period every week for craft- carpentry). Among my seniors it was my friend Saravannan who motivated me a lot. He was a sterling example of a senior and fortunately for me we still continue our relationship to date. The uniform was of light blue shade (often called the air force blue). It was during that time that I learnt the techniques of polishing my shoes, belt and the brass appendages on the cap and belt. As we had very strict senior officers, every parade was as good as the ones I had seen in the parade grounds of Aravankadu. The only thing I hated was the switching over to English commands in Tamilnadu. Having got used to ‘Saawdhaan’ and ‘Vishram’ during my ACC days, the way ‘Attention’ and ‘Stand at Ease’ commands in English were bellowed at me, made me feel most of the time uncomfortable. “Am I part of an Indian para-military corps or am I part of a vestige British para-military corps?” I used to seriously contemplate. Unmindful of the linguistic imbroglio, I went on attending the aero-modeling sessions religiously, getting a pat on the back now and then from my instructors. The aero-modeling helped me thoroughly in understanding the basics of flight. Concepts like the parts of the aircraft, the aero dynamic shape of the wings and the fuselage, and also difficult concepts like thrust and lift were all clear in my mind every time when I sat to sand paper the fresh balsa wood.

As a cadet in the Junior NCC Air Wing while in Kikani High School, Coimbatore.

The first thing I did, when I joined Banaras Hindu University for my graduation in Agriculture in 1973, was to find out if they had a Senior Air Division NCC in my faculty. The sprawling university campus had its own Squadron within the campus! I paid a visit to the Squadron office just to find out how good the aero-modeling sessions were going on. To my surprise I found that it was one of the best Squadrons in the region. I also learnt that the university had its own airstrip with a flying club inside the campus and the Squadron was also using it to train its cadets. For me, the uniform was a sort of a freedom from wearing half trousers which were so wide at the bottom that they virtually acted as air coolers in summer! The full length trouser in air force blue was a grace to look at. Another freedom was from English to Hindi commands. For the first time I had a feel that the uniform sets fitted me snugly. I had a dhobi in the hostel for whom I did not have to give instructions to wash and press the uniform. He simply did it. The starch and the creases would remain till the end of every rigorous parade. I always got a pat for the best turn out. My only concern was my pair of spectacles. My hostel mates used to call me Netaji (after Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose) if I wore the uniform. A small solace for a bespectacled para-military enthusiast, I always thought so.

I was religiously present on every Wednesday and Saturday afternoon for the drills. As days passed on I took a special interest in aero-modeling again. Unlike my school days, I had a chance to make bigger models which could be flown with a wire attached to ones hands. On completion of my two years, the Squadron commandant Sqn. Leader Pradhan invited me to his office and expressed his appreciation of my aero-models and said that I should appear for an examination for selection of cadet trainees to fly an engine aircraft. I had sincerely never expected this as I had always known my setbacks of average height and my damned spectacles. The exam was rather easy for me but what came next was a nightmare. I was supposed to present myself for a thorough medical check up and the worst part was to get a letter of undertaking from the parents. The undertaking had lines about any possible death during the training and which parent would sign the dotted lines? I expected my father to reprimand me by asking whether he had sent me to BHU to study or fly aircrafts. But to my surprise he sent it signed and with my parents blessings! In the medical test I had surprisingly got through the eye test and it was no more a hurdle for me in getting selected for flight training! But then came the bolt from the blue. The medical report had measured my leg length as 109 cms and I was falling short of one cm! The leg length was important as the person flying the aircraft had to reach out to the rudder pedal comfortably. The medical report was to be sent to the the Director General of Health Services (DGHS) for clearance. Sqn. Ldr. Pradhan was furious seeing the report. I had my leg length measured again correctly and thank God I was now fit. After a few weeks came the good news that I was one of the cadets selected for flight training. The trainings were in the early mornings and they clashed with my lab/classes in the morning. Though attendance was not a problem, I personally had to cope up with lot of back log of studies.

On the first day of my training I was asked to report at 6.30 am at the airstrip. The flying club had one Piper Cub and there were many other local trainees who were paying on their own for the training. When my turn came the instructor asked me if had any air experience earlier. The answer was an obvious ‘No, Sir’. “In that case do you have a fear of heights?” he asked. It would not have taken much time to tell him that I am from the hills of Nilgiris but that would prove to be too audacious and I controlled my excitement and said again, “No, Sir”. “In that case jump in and let’s go for a ride” he said. I had come with a list of pre-flight checks to be done before getting into the aircraft. He did them all himself and told me to keep the check ups for the next day.

Picture of a Piper Cub aircraft.

I took the rear seat and he was on the front. I strapped on the seat belts. I felt great just sitting there. Something which I had never dreamt of was happening to me that day. For the time being I threw away the guilt of missing the classes and concentrated on the dash board. I could see an altimeter, air pressure gauge, air speed meter, tachometer and the liquid compass. The instructor asked me to not bother about anything and comforted me to just sit and relax. He taxied the aircraft to the end of the airstrip. I noticed the windsock and identified the direction of the wind. Once positioned, he gave full throttle, a nice take off and soon we were air borne. I peeped outside and saw the whole sprawling BHU campus in one go and next I was able to see the Ganges. By the time we crossed 2250 ft the instructor slowly turned and gave a deep look at me. The look was quite obvious. It was to test if I was comfortable and not feeling uneasy. “What are we doing now?” he shouted at me over the sound of the engine. “We are now on a straight and level flight, Sir” I said, thinking that he would turn around again to appreciate my prompt answer. Instead, he pushed his joy stick forward and suddenly the aircraft dived down loosing height steadily. He turned back and gave a naughty look. “How do you feel?” he asked. “Fine, Sir” I said in the affirmative gulping the spit down my throat. After a sortie or two he then turned the aircraft towards the airstrip and prepared for the landing. The landing was smooth. He then taxied the aircraft to the apron. As I jumped out he again watched me closely to find out if everything was fine. He asked me to go with him till the office entrance and asked me to stand in the front till he completed his work inside. I stood there for ten full minutes. He then came and asked me if I was feeling fine. “Yes, Sir”, I beamed with a small smile of gratification. “Report for training tomorrow at 6.30 am sharp” he said and dismissed me for the day. It was one of the happiest days in my life. I also thanked within my heart the Sqn.Ldr. who recognised my earnest efforts and provided me that opportunity and of course, my parents who permitted me to learn flying. As I left the apron I again gazed at the Piper Cub with a sense of having achieved a chance to move from table top airplane models to something real!

Side view of a Piper Cub aircraft.

(Have a look at the twin seats. Also take a look at the tiny rear wheel !)

The Piper Cub is a cute little aircraft mostly found in flying clubs and used for training pilots. Lets see what the Wikipedia has to say about the Piper. “The Piper J-3 Cub is a small, simple, light aircraft that was built between 1937 and 1947 by Piper Aircraft. With tandem (fore and aft) seating, it was intended for flight training but became one of the most popular and best-known light aircraft of all time. The Cub's simplicity, affordability and popularity invoke comparisons to the Ford Model T automobile. The aircraft's standard yellow paint has come to be known as “Cub Yellow” or "Lock Haven Yellow".

The next day I was there on the dot. Though I had gone through all the regular pre-flight check ups to be done, the instructor had his own way. I stood in front of the aircraft. He first asked me to check the propellers for any cracks or dents. I was also asked to check for any loose bolts. He then asked me to go around the plane and feel the belly and the fuselage fabric for any possible wear and tear. Next were the wing strut attachments, landing gear attachments, brake disc functionality, and had to look out for the right level of inflation of the tyres. Further one had to check out for any possible leak of hydraulic fluid, check if the ailerons were free and the condition of the cables. Then came the hind part- the tail. One had to check if the rudder was alright by moving it slowly. The tail wheel had to be checked for its sturdiness. I was always surprised by the size of the tail wheel. Then came the check up for oil leaks, fuel leaks, if cowling pins were in tact, fuel level etc. Being the first time he asked me to go around once again and ensure that nothing has been left out. Once the pre-flight checking procedure was over outside, I was asked to take the hind seat or the aft seat. Once inside I had to again continue the pre-flight check ups like the rudder pedals, aileron movements, reading the dash board instruments... Then I had to check out for the wind direction looking at the windsock on the side of the air strip. In the days that followed I these check ups became a routine.

The dash board of the Piper Cub.

(From left- Airspeed meter, Tachometer, Liquid Compass, Altimeter, Oil Temperature & Pressure Gauge.)

In a few days I was able to smoothly taxi the aircraft and could take off almost smoothly. Landing remained always a problem for me. I had to first learn the art of stalling the aircraft by pulling the joystick back to push the nose of the craft up in order to cut airspeed. This exercise had to be mastered if one had to learn landing properly. By the time I had logged about 30 hours of flight training the confidence level was high for the next step- solo. To do this I had to spend over two months sacrificing my morning lab sessions. The back log was mounting day by day. After introspection, I quit the flight training. It was a sad day for me and the Sqn. Ldr.. He coaxed me to continue the training till I could try out a cross-country flight to Allahabad and back and then obtain my Commercial Piloting Licence. But that seemed like a far cry for me at that stage.

At BHU air strip with NCC cadets after 28 years.

(A wing of a glider partly visible in the hangar.)

After about 28 years I had a chance to visit Varanasi again in 2006. I took some time and went down the road of nostalgia. Surprisingly, the city Varanasi and BHU had not changed much and for me it was like getting into a time machine back to 1977! I made it a point to visit the air strip. I could see a glider and an aircraft in the hanger. There were a couple of Air Wing NCC cadets on the spot. I spent some time talking to them and took a snap sitting along with them. As I left the airstrip I looked out for the windsock. The wind was fast enough. “Many more lucky ones like me would soon be taking off”, I thought as I left the place. It was indeed a pretty long way from wearing loose fitting half trousers to flying a Piper Cub aircraft.

Today I consider being one among the most fortunate citizens of India who were in ALL THREE CORPS- ACC, NCC Junior Wing and NCC Senior Wing and were able to learn flying an aircraft.

P.Uday Shankar

My NCC details:
Cadet No: 80732/1969-71. Unit No: 2 (Tamilnadu) Air Squadron (Flying). Passed Junior Air Certificate II. Grade –C (50% to 64%).
Cadet No: UPSA/74/283271. Unit No 4 Uttar Pradesh Air Squadron (Flying). Passed Senior Air Certificate B. Grade B (65% to 79%).

Reducing the Mahatma to an acronym

2010-07-13T09:13:00.000-07:00

11-07/10

I was surprised to read the following news item in the Times of India dtd. 07 July 2010.

Green Dandi project to be launched today-
Times of India
Himanshu Kaushik, TNN, Jul 7, 2010, 01.28am IST.

AHMEDABAD: The Centre has embarked on yet another ambitious project to build a green memorial at Dandi to immortalise the salt march by Gandhi in 1930.

With an aim to rejuvenating Gandhi principles, a Rs 25-crore green project will be launched at Dandi on Wednesday to transform the area into an eco-friendly tourist destination.

Society of Integrated Coastal Management (SICOM), along with Gujarat Vidyapith and Gujarat Ecology Commission (GEC), will implement the unique project aimed at overall development and conservation of the environment of Dandi and its surrounding villages.

To celebrate 75 years of the Dandi march, the UPA government had announced a project to develop the 376-km Ahmedabad-Dandi route into the 'Heritage Road and Corridor' in 2005, work for which is on. The Centre allocated Rs 10 crore as corpus fund for this project.

The green project for Dandi called Green Action for National Dandi Heritage Initiative (GANDHI) will be executed by SICOM, an agency working under the Union ministry of environment and forests, in two years.

The project will be implemented by applying Gandhian principles for environment conservation and village development. Union minister of environment and forest Jairam Ramesh and Gopal Krishna Gandhi, chairman, Dandi Memorial Committee, will inaugurate it on Wednesday

E Balagurusamy, IFS, member secretary, GEC, said, "Various activities to be undertaken as part of the project include mangrove afforestation and bio-shield development, beach nourishment, conservation of coastal features and wetlands, harnessing and encouraging use of renewable energy sources such as solar and wind, conservation of water, waste management, transformation of target villages into carbon neutral areas, improvement in source of livelihood among others" (Courtesy TOI).

My comment:

The project would sound like a lofty idea for anyone, as there is a lot of green concept involved in it. I am not delving deep into the project.

What irked me was the naming of the project as GANDHI (Green Action for National Dandi Heritage Initiative). I was just wondering how a teacher would be teaching this to his/her students. She would be treating the GANDHI as an acronym and would be compelled to ask the students questions like "What is GANDHI?". A diametric deviation from what should be asked as "Who is Gandhi?” This is what happens when you reduce a great person's name to a mere combination of pronounceable acronyms.

The Government that voiced its opinion against Mont Blanc for using the name Gandhi should have refrained from using the name GANDHI as an acronym for a Government project. A simple Mahatma Gandhi Green Action Project would have been a better way of naming the project. In a land of Gandhis it is always important to mention the the word "Mahatma" also with Gandhi to do away with any lingering confusion in gullible minds.

There is a strong case for scrapping the acronym.

I have also conveyed my resentment in a network Gandhi Topia.

Uday Shankar

Rendezvous- Going the Extra Mile

2010-06-12T23:24:00.000-07:00

10-06/10

This happened when I was the Rural Development Officer (RDO) in Syndicate Bank, Kotagiri, Nilgiri District. The job of the RDO was not only assisting the bank in appraising loan applications of farmers and planters but also in having an equal footing in canvassing deposits, follow-up of customers, recovering loans, agricultural extension activities and development of adopted villages. Recovery work was more of rigmarole – meeting the same customers again and again and looking forward to trickles of amount coming back in instalments.

It was some day in 1987- 88. Armed with a list of loan default customers I planned to cover the area from Aravenu to Tuttapullum. After completing Aravenu, I reached Gottacombai, a locality predominantly occupied by households of plantation workers. I was in search of a lady by name Ms Kamala (name changed) who had availed a business loan way back in 1982 and had not repaid for quite a long period. Earlier, a scrutiny of the account in the ledger at the branch had shown regular payments from the next month of availing the loan but had stopped abruptly after about 8-9 months of regular payment and her individual file showed that no one from the bank had approached her after the loan repayment was defaulted.

A person at the roadside petty shop guided me to the path leading to the lady’s house. Climbing a few crudely placed steps on a steep gradient, panting for breadth I reached the portal of the defaulter’s house. The house looked bigger than most other houses of the plantation workers in the vicinity. There was no kennel or a bark of any dog- that was one important deterrent for loan officers like me in most houses in Nilgiris. With an air of safety assured, I stepped forward to tap the door. There was absolute silence all around. With no response coming in I tapped again. This time the door opened and there was this lady Ms. Kamala with more of salt and less of pepper hair in an unkempt cotton saree. She should have been in her late sixties, I guessed. She invited me with a gracious smile – a smile which would have been probably different if I had disclosed that I was a recovery officer of a bank. Without even asking me who I was, she asked me very politely to take a seat, as she was briskly wiping her wet hands with the pallu (free end of the Indian saree). “I was washing my dishes” she said as she rushed back to the kitchen. I gazed around the room and found many photos framed and hanging on the walls. Most of them were in sepia tone. She came back with a glass of lukewarm water which I accepted immediately. My panting was put to rest. I introduced myself and surprisingly there was no reaction from the lady whatsoever. I was put off for I had expected a sense of fear on her face. Instead the same smile continued. “Who else stays here with you?” I asked inquisitively, realizing the silence prevalent around the house. “I am alone here, my son” she said and looked at me with a tinge of tear wetted eyes. The serene smile was lost. The ‘my son’ inclusion in her reply and the sudden change in her mood touched me. The next lines of her conversation put me at ease as my job was made easier. “I know that I had availed a loan. It was availed for my son and he had been paying it regularly as long as he was with me. Ever since he got married to that girl he has probably stopped paying the loan” she said with an air of remorse in her voice. “Please let me know the balance and I shall clear the entire loan next week” she said. At this stage my job was over and I could have exited like most other officers of the bank. I stay put.

Somewhere in my conscience I felt that she was going to pay for someone else’s mistake. Curious to know if she had a source of income to pay her dues, I asked her, “How are you going to pay this amount?” She started weeping and started wiping her eyes with the pallu. I felt embarrassed. What a fool was I to ask this question, I thought. She got up from her seat and drew my attention to a photo. “This is my husband’s photo” she said as she was wiping the tears and squeezing her nose. “Our family is a huge one. After successively having six daughters we had a son. We were one of the early planters in this area and owned many acres of estates in Tuttapullum. By Gods grace my husband and I had married away all our daughters before his death. I live here alone”.

I was just wondering what had happened to her son when she opened up the next part of the conversation on her own. “My son was taking care of me and our estates for sometime till he married that girl” she uttered with the same remorse in her voice. “My son Rajagopal (name changed) fell in love with an Anglo-Indian girl and is living with her family” she said sporting a sheepish small smile. This smile was not the same as the earlier ones. I understood her grief. The conversation continued. No where did she seem to be angry with her son or ‘the girl’. “We both had never met since his marriage” she continued her angst on the turn of events and blamed the local community for not initiating any reconciliation process. I saw signs of anger on her face for the first time when she cursed her fate and criticized all those who were known to both her and her son for not trying to patch up the differences. She broke down again and this time I could see tears dripping incessantly. Every drop spoke volumes of her love for her son. Her only cherished son who was gifted by God after successive birth of daughters. “Forget about his friends, my friends, her friends for none had thought of the love for my son. What prevented my son from meeting me? I came to know that they have a baby too” she questioned and seemed to end her conversation. By that time I understood that she was venting her intense love for her only son and was not able to digest the fact that though she and her son were near but yet too far.

The name of her son Rajagopal rang a bell in my mind. The name and the mention about her son’s coffee estate in Tuttapullum struck a chord. I asked her to show me her son in one of the photos adorning the walls. My God, it was the same person I had in mind. I got goose pimples seeing the photo. I refrained from showing any excitement in recognising her son. I went into an instant flashback and recollected how this character had approached me a couple of months back for a loan. The Rajagopal I knew was a sober looking soft spoken gentleman. He came to me with a proposal for conversion of his coffee estate into a tea estate. He had got swayed away by the attractive prices tea was fetching then and like many others in Nilgiris he also got carried away by the fast buck from tea and had decided to join the band wagon of the quick-buck tea planters. As a strong adversary of the monoculture in Nilgiris, I remembered having given Rajagopal a brainstorming session on the need to have multiple crops in ones land and had vehemently criticized the mad monoculture of tea spreading throughout Nilgiris. I remembered him telling me that he had about 40 acres of coffee, cardamom and pepper in his estate. I had successfully convinced him in not going for a fresh loan for tea. The lady’s voice interrupted my flashback, “You might have seen him in the town.” I did not react. It was when she then asked me if she could come the following Monday that a great idea popped in my head. I told her to come to the bank at exactly 10.30 am on Monday. As I bid farewell to Rajagopal’s mother I could see the relief on her face. She seemed to thank me for my patient listening.

The same day I contacted Rajagopal and concocted a situation. I told him that he and his wife may have to come to the bank to sign some documents pertaining to their savings account. I expected them to come with the kid as both had to come. I fixed the time as 10.30 am on Monday and asked him to be punctual.

On Monday at the fixed time Ms Kamala walked in first. She was given a seat in front of my table. Her back was facing the entrance of the bank and she could not see who was entering in. In a few minutes Rajagopal, his wife and their kid walked straight to my table. The mother and son were surprised and hugged each other. Tears of happiness rolled from both the mother and the son. Ms Kamala exchanged pleasantries with her daughter-in-law and lifted the kid from her and started fondling the baby. All three of them realised that I had arranged this meeting and thanked me profusely.

As I saw the united family walking out of the portals of the bank I heaved a sigh of relief. My friend Ravichandran who was close to me was a witness to this real life drama. He was all praise for my effort. Choked with emotion he said, “Sir, you have today done a great service and this mother’s blessings will always be with you.”

For the bank an old irregular loan got closed. For me, I had the satisfaction of having gone the extra mile in understanding human relationships, going beyond the call of the regular duty to arrange a rendezvous of an affectionate mother and a craving son.

P.Uday Shankar

Planters’ Plight

2010-04-11T08:43:00.000-07:00

09-04/10

When working in Syndicate Bank in the year 1991-93, I was posted in a branch in Kollur, in Karnataka state where I had to learn Kannada, yet another new language for me. Kollur has a predominant Hindu population around a famous temple. Soon after taking charge as Rural Development Officer, I came to know that a majority of the farmer-customers were Christian settlers from the neighbouring state of Kerala and were rubber planters. They had come to Kollur on the recommendation of the Rubber Board which had identified that part of the Western Ghats (a mountain range along the western coast of India) as a non-traditional area for rubber. Despite the tough terrain, encouraged by the Board, the settlers made it their home and planted rubber after availing long term loans from Syndicate bank’s Kollur branch.

When I joined the branch the relationship between the planter-customers and the bank’s staff was at the lowest ebb. The bank’s ire was mainly due to the fact that despite being the seventh/eighth year of the loan tenure, none of the planters had started paying back the loan. The accrued interest and principal were due from the sixth year onwards. The customers and the staff were virtually at loggerheads and were at the verge of turning it into a religious cold war.

The first decision that I took was to bring in a ‘cease fire’ with an assurance to both the sides that the problem would be solved in a month’s time. Both heeded to it, though an uneasy calm still prevailed whenever the customers visited the branch. In the meantime, I took time for conducting a reconnaissance survey of the planters’ settlements and their plantations and came to know that the real culprit was the climate! After a thorough study of the situation I came to know that the Rubber Board had in fact taken a hasty decision to declare the entire area ‘fit’ for Rubber Cultivation. Despite being on the windward side of the south-west monsoon and having received sufficient rainfall year-in and year-out, the other agro-climatic factors like elevation of the place, humidity levels and the soil status were probably undermined at the time of identifying the area. Having coming to know this as the reason for the non-attainment of the required girth of the trees for starting tapping of the rubber sap, I kept it under wraps.

In the meantime the settlers who had become rough and tough had to be calmed down. I came to know that most of the settlers owed allegiance to the Catholic faith and were members of two churches in their areas. On a Sunday morning I met the parish priests of both the churches and explained the matter in Malayalam. I told them that I have been purposely posted in that area as I knew Malayalam, the language of the settlers and because of my track record as a tough officer for recovery of irregular loans and it would be in the best interest of the settlers to change their behaviour and attitude against the bank’s staff. Both of them were at the first place, impressed by my approach and were very supportive and surprisingly they mentored their members on the same day soon after the Sunday Mass and this worked as a miracle. Soon a meeting of the planters’ representatives and the staff was arranged and the real fact of agro-climatic mis-match was disclosed. The loans were all rescheduled, after the planters came forward to clear the entire accrued interest portion, and within a few months many of the loans came out of the non-performing asset category.

The next year the branch received the best branch award. Although the management had taken notice of the situation, the frustrating part was that I did not even receive a letter of appreciation from the management. All that remains now is the pleasant thought of my effort to bring back the lost smile on the face of the poor planter.

P.Uday Shankar

Coimbatore.

Corruption- The Good, the Bad and the Ugly

2010-03-07T04:10:00.000-08:00

08-03/10

The biggest legacy the English rule has left behind for my country, India, is the bureaucracy. The babus (clerks) and the chaprasis (peons/office attendant) at the lower end, business class aristocracy at the upper end, the red taped file-pads and the green ink signatures, the wooden rulers and the writing pads so on and so forth. Visit any office of the state or the central government and just watch the infrastructure, or just observe what is going on in these places and you will be in for the surprise of your life. I have always got a feeling of getting into a time machine whenever I visited the nearby Tahsildar’s office. It may be the Tahsildar’s office, Collector’s office, the Regional Transport Officer’s office, the Commercial Tax office, the court office, the Post Office or the Education Officer’s office; they are all the same. The sight of cluttered files, dumped records gathering dust on shaky shelves, vintage wooden tables covered with faded green table clothes, Turkey towels covering back rests on vintage chairs, ceiling fans doing their rounds religiously on worn out ball bearings giving the office-room the typical audio-ambience of a screechy rhythmic noise without which the description of an office would be one notch less, piles of files page-marked and waiting to be attended with the page marks looking like popping tongues of dead bodies hung on the noose. The best of all the reminiscences is the iconic chaprasi/peon/attender, which is the first hurdle you come across in a series of stumbling blocks, in a stereotyped setting, successfully passed on from the British Raj days. The fetish for the colonial inheritance is so much ingrained in our offices and its systems that most of the state governments still follow the rotten Tottenham system of office noting and drafting. Not much seems to have changed despite all efforts to computerize government offices.

One attribute that would be conspicuously missing in a typical government office is the smile on the face of the employee. This is one virtue that has been thrown to the winds, as the employee has been, over years, successfully indoctrinated by his/her own environment to frown and scowl at the visitor. When you visit a government office the first thing one should consciously do is to save your precious smile for some other responsive social setting. In offices where there is a huge scope for interface with citizens of the country, government employees have been over years systematically transformed themselves into brash morons and even a few friendly faces would have eventually morphed into sullen ones over years of indoctrination .

Having started my career in State Government Agriculture Department, the first stint gave me a chance for an introspection and in the next two years I moved on to a public sector institution and then a private sector company before finally settling on doing something of my own for my livelihood. Based on my observation, I can now say that the incidence of corruption was always at its high in the government departments and I also understand the reason why archaic systems were still being followed in the government offices. A total revamping of the office procedures and systems would deplete the chances of corruption and perhaps that is the reason why we still stick on to an archaic globally forgotten Tottenham system, or for that matter, any other obsolete systems and procedures. More than the office procedures and systems, it is the complete erosion of ethics, by the all time greed to make easy money right from the level of chaprasi to the top echelons that has led to this deep rooted rot in the country.

With corruption having set its tap roots so deep and with adventitious roots and prop roots down there supporting the tap root, it has grown like a gargantuan Banyan Tree. Corruption, symbolically, is not only deep rooted but also wide-spread. If the sub-terrain roots depict the corruption perpetrated by the people within the various departments, the terrestrial prop roots that support the tree can be compared to the outside patronage received by politicians and political parties for permanent perpetration of this practice. Among the various departments there is a scramble for the ‘best ones’ as soon as a new government is formed or whenever a Minister is appointed for the particular department. In the State Government the Transport, Commercial Tax, and Public Works Department are the hot ones as there exists well built concealed conduits in all these departments for transfer of money to the top. As fighting elections has become a heavy investment for political parties almost all of them eye for this opportunity and no body would never ever cut this golden goose. In the name of replenishing the drained out coffers of party funds, the top echelon indulges in this act as a matter of right and in the process siphons off some for his use too (just enough to buy a Porsche, Hummer or BMW for his kids as toys!!) and after a stage continues doing it under the pretext of raising funds for the next election. For the links in the conduit, irrespective of who is the top echelon the foraging process just goes on religiously with a work ethic and dharma that is virtually skirmish free and smooth.
There are departments, like the education and agriculture departments, which are ‘dry’ and do not provide scope for the creation of concealed corruption conduits. It is when the employees of such dry departments indulge in corrupt practices, due to momentary impulses to make a quick buck or two that they get caught in the act by the target-happy vigilance department and news is flashed in the media. These small fries may not be doing the act with the dexterity and knack of the rampant ones in the established conduits and therefore would easily become a prey to these hotly published vigilance raids. A sensible citizen will know that these are the small fries in a rotten system where well established syndicates operate and transact huge sums of money day in and day out.

History of corruption traces the practice to the days of the British Raj when British officers had set the practice of taking small favours/tips from contractors, suppliers and other stakeholders. Post independence, the precedence of the practice was reason enough to continue it. As years passed on, typical conduits of corruption have been devised with well laid down rules of the game which each human link in the conduit will have to religiously follow. Post sixties ministers and local politicians became crucial links in the conduits, so much so, that they have now become the high end terminuses in the conduits.

When in the early seventies politics became a ‘profession’ I still remember an incident which gave a chance for my father to explain the situation. My mother had gone to fetch water from the road side tap in our colony that day. We were living in a housing unit, having ninety houses, where mostly government employees were allotted houses in turns. A new lady had come to fetch water that day and my mother got acquainted to her. In the course of the conversation she informed that her husband’s profession was politics. I still vividly remember the day when my mother, rather innocently and inquisitively, asked my father, “Is politics a profession?” My father explained with a sense of shame and remorse in his deliberately used low voice, “Politics was not a noble social work anymore and the days of great politicians like Lal Bahadur Shastri, Kamaraj and C. Subramaniam are out. Politics has come to stay as a profession as there is money in politics.” He further lowered his voice and said, “Yes. It is now a livelihood and only God knows how they earn their money. They should be powerful too. Just look at the way they have managed to get their flat allotted to them out of turn.” These were words of my father, a teacher since his first day of service, and every word was indicative of the typical middle class moral thinking of that time.

So who are the good ones in a typically corrupt office/department? In a typical office were a corruption conduit exists you would still find a few good ones carrying on their job throwing a cool Nelsons eye on the happenings around. This category of employees may be fully aware of the conduit and still would have opted to remain clean. Such people would not normally be coaxed by the conduit members to join them but in turn would be judiciously used in ‘non-committal’ positions. For example the good ones may end up as a record clerk in a Regional Transport Office, a reception-cum-writer in a police station, instructor in a training outfit of the department, so on and so forth. This person would never speak about the existence of a conduit in his/her office. The links in the conduits never fear this lot of their comrades as potential informers or whistle blowers as the good ones ‘behave’ oblivious of the happenings in the office for fear of reprisal.

The next category is the more good-less bad category. This is the category which cannot afford to be out of the conduit as their very existence in the department would be at stake if they do not do their bit in the conduit. The constant fear of being neglected and ostracized, fear of being transferred to difficult places/ hardship areas, denial of promotions, drive this category of employees to get into the conduit. Therefore, a conscience driven person would still join the conduit and opt to remain clean. Yes, it is a difficult proposition. Given the chance of a constant temptation of taking his/her legitimate share in the conduit, a person needs a conviction of Casablanca to stay put clean in the conduit. Many fickle minded ones would soon sway to the next category. One needs to have a high sense of conviction and a bit of chivalry too to be a part of the act of passing on the greased money to the top echelons without laying ones hands on it for their share or in other words without greasing ones own hands. The person opting to be a more good-less bad category needs a strong will power to desist from the perpetual temptation of taking a share of the booty.

The more good-less bad category may be sticking on to the conduit under the impression that they are only victims of a system and after all they do not take a share of the booty and therefore may be absolved from any attempt of framing them up as corrupt. They may be logical in assuming so. They go by the logic that giving bribe and taking bribe is a crime, and just passing on the money amount as not a crime. All said and done these guys would be in a safe haven till everything goes on smoothly. The fact however remains that if such conduits are sincerely busted all hell would break loose and each one of them would be accountable.

The next one is the less good-more bad category. Here the person sheds all his/her inhibitions and takes full participation in the conduit’s activities by not only enabling the smooth flow of the booty down the conduit but also takes a predetermined small share for being an active member of the conduit. These are the ones which can afford to lead a lavish life style, own cars, possess houses in almost all their household members’ names depending on how long they have been in the conduit. A few years back I had a chance to talk to a senior Central Government Officer in Chennai who had got transferred from another metro a few months back. He said that he wanted to get rid of the rut in that metro and had opted Chennai thinking that his department would be better in Chennai. He soon found out that his compatriots in Chennai were in no way better. Corruption was so rampant that many of the top officials in his office, where there were many parallel conduits working, had so much of their share that many were maintaining more than one ‘family’.

In offices where such corruption conduits work the crucial links in the conduits namely the more good-less bad category and less good-more bad category all work in unison and the whole conduit is safeguarded so securely that no watchdog can ever smell what is going on. No one would know when money comes, from where it comes, and where it goes except the conduit members. All members in the conduit work so religiously that no beans are spilled at any cost at any point of time.

All said and done there is a perpetual danger of a Damocles sword hanging on the heads of these persons. What if someone in the link unexpectedly goes berserk due to personal animosity or personal grudge or due to sheer jealousy? What if he turns out to be the whistle blower? A member of the conduit would indict his compatriot or a group of them by remaining incognito but he would also land up in trouble eventually.

The ultimate category is of the ugly ones. These are the impatient ones which jump the conduit’s rules, out of sheer greed, to make a fast buck. These are the underworld dons of the bureaucracy. These are the ones which own vast stretches of land in not only all names in their extended families but also in fictitious names. These are the ones which blatantly profess the religion of corruption with all impunity when in government service and later seek immunity in politics, religion or social service by starting trusts- a clever way of transition from impunity to immunity.

Corruption is a national sickness- an epidemic where middle class morality, value systems and lip sympathy are the only cheaply available prophylactic- an epidemic which affects all segments of the society, the worst being the poor and gullible- an epidemic for which the diagnosis, prognosis and remedy are all done by the public themselves since they themselves are the vectors (carriers) of the virus - an epidemic which is much loathed and despised but little effort has been put forth to prevent the spread- an epidemic which has penetrated into every nook and corner of the judiciary, police, military, central & state governments, public sector, private sector, and religious institutions. Corruption is an epidemic with which the people of the country have learnt to live with.

P.Uday Shankar

'Mahatma Gandhi is My Hero', says Obama

2009-09-09T03:11:00.000-07:00

07-09/09

As a child my father had bought me scores of books about Mahatma Gandhi, Nehru, Martin Luther King and John F Kennedy many of which I have lost on the way. My father and I were frequent visitors to Baskaran Nair’s kiosk in Pulimoodu Junction, Pai & Sons at Statue Junction and the famous Higginbothams in Thiruvananthapuram in the sixties.

The famous “I have a dream” speech of Martin Luther King made on the 28th August 1963 from the steps of the Lincoln Memorial had remained deeply embedded in my mind as much as the famous “Sisters and Brothers of America” speech of Swami Vivekananda who addressed the World Parliament of Religions in Chicago in the same country.

Later on, as I took interest in history I came to know that Mahatma Gandhi’s Principles of Non-violence have been a source of inspiration for many freedom movements across the globe. It is indeed a matter of great pride for Indians. Today yet again President Obama made me feel proud of our Father of Nation Mahatma Gandhi when he said that Gandhi was his hero. I am a great admirer of Obama and I felt elated to hear his opinion about Gandhiji.

The Hindustan Times carried a good piece of news about this matter and I thought of sharing with you all.

http://www.hindustantimes.com/Mahatma-Gandhi-is-my-hero-says-Obama/H1-Article1-451797.aspx#hide

'Mahatma Gandhi is my hero', says Obama
Lalit K Jha, Press Trust Of India
Washington, September 09, 2009
First Published: 10:33 IST(9/9/2009)
Last Updated: 10:52 IST(9/9/2009)

US President Barack Obama has said given a chance he would like to have dinner with Mahatma Gandhi, whom he considered a real hero.

Obama expressed his desire in response to a question from a student Lilly during his discussion with 9th graders at Wakefield High School in Arlington Virginia where he accompanied with the Education Secretary gave a national speech welcoming students back to school.
Obama called for students to take responsibility and to learn from their failures so that they succeed in the end.

"Hi. I'm Lilly. And if you could have dinner with anyone, dead or alive, who would it be?," Obama was asked by one of the students.

"Dinner with anyone dead or alive? Well, you know, dead or alive, that's a pretty big list," Obama responded amidst laughter. The next moment he was serious.

"You know, I think that it might be Gandhi, who is a real hero of mine," Obama said. "Now, it would probably be a really small meal because he didn't eat a lot," he said amidst laughter. But Mahatma Gandhi is someone who has inspired people across the world for the past several generations, he said.

Terming the iconic figure as the source of inspiration for many, Obama said "he (Mahatma Gandhi) is somebody whom I find a lot of inspiration in. He inspired Dr King (Martin Luther), so if it hadn't been for the non-violent movement in India, you might not have seen the same non-violent movement for civil rights here in the United States".

Tailpiece:

Till yesterday I had held Obama in high esteem for being the son of a Microfinance Practitioner (his mother) and for fulfilling the dreams of Martin Luther King. Today my opinion about Obama has gone further up with his opinion about Mahatma Gandhi.

P.Uday Shankar

Coimbatore

Working in a Jinxed Branch of a Bank

2009-08-08T21:14:00.000-07:00

6-08/09

In my earlier blog post of June ’09 titled Road to Manantoddy, (now renamed Mananthavady) I had written about my first trip to Wynaad District, Kerala state in India. Quitting from the Government service in 1982, I was on the way to Mananthavady to join as Rural Development Officer in a nationalised Bank.

The Bank had only one branch in Wynaad District and it was covering the whole district. The picture given to me about Wynaad was that it was a popular punishment placement for government officials and was a difficult place to live and work. Had it not been for the then Manager of the branch, I would have indeed got frustrated. From day one he took good care of me and guided me well. Incidentally he happened to be of my fraternity – a graduate in Agriculture and that was another reason for the proximity. He was the one who patiently taught me banking and initiated me into rural banking. A native of the Lakshadweep Islands, he was a devote Muslim, an altruistic person and big hearted when it came to helping poor customers of the bank. My seeds for Microfinance were in fact sown in this branch despite being plagued with incessant problems.

As days went on it became difficult to work in the branch although the agriculture loan portfolio was being taken care of very well by my team. The Mananthavady branch of the Bank was in a way a jinxed branch. On the first day of my joining the branch I was informed by the Manager about his predecessor’s corrupt practices. The former Manager had landed in jail for his nefarious activities and investigation of the case was still in vogue when I joined the branch.

One year passed of and even before dust could gather on the files of the case, another case of embezzlement of bank’s money by a Senior Clerk came to the fore. This person had been discounting fictitious foreign instruments and had been siphoning off bank’s funds for over a year. The case was first detected by the bank’s inspectors during the regular annual inspection. But it was a bit too late as the culprit had bolted off into oblivion by that time. In a major set back to the branch, the second case was also handed over to the same central agency for investigation.

Two cases at the same time was a bit too much for my Manager to take it lying down. With little moral support and logistics coming in from the headquarters for the branch my friend started showing signs of a grind down of his spirits. As a person doing namaaz religiously five times a day and with an impeccable and unsullied sincerity he started showing signs of withdrawal. By this time a third case of embezzlement also surfaced wherein a Clerk had siphoned off an amount.
With all these three cases and a Nelson’s Eye treatment meted out on the branch by the headquarters forced my friend to take the extreme step of quitting from the position of Manager. It came as a bolt from the blue for most of us in the branch. For me it was a personal loss.

The onus of running the branch then fell on the Assistant Manager who had been desisting from taking up Manager’s position for quite sometime despite his seniority and experience. He took charge of the branch reluctantly with assurance coming from headquarters about immediate support from them. I had to take up the role of joint custodian as there were no officers between him and me. As days went by the assurance vanished in thin air and the Assistant Manager developed cold feet. The recalcitrant attitude of the head office about such a serious matter drew flak from all the staff of the branch. As an officer on probation I was under training and just learning general banking, although the rural finance portfolio was taken care of well by me and my team, I was piqued by the fact that a joint custodian’s responsibility was entrusted on me so early. Just as I was contemplating on the pros and cons of this additional responsibility rammed on me, the Assistant Manager “fell ill” and applied for a fifteen day leave. He handed over the responsibility of running the branch to me and went home.

Driven to the corner I had no other options but to take the responsibility. For a person who had always aspired to join the army, this was like a call to go to the war front ! I get goose pimples even now when I think of that bolt from the blue responsibility. It was the year 1984 and we did not have cell phones and computers. The first job I did was to shoot a one page hard hitting telegram to the head office informing them that a junior officer on probation had been entrusted with the work of running a branch, which had three cases being investigated, and needed new officers to be posted immediately. The Nelson’s Eye attitude of the headquarters seemed to go on undeterred with absolutely no response. I had to run the branch for three months before a Manager was posted. Despite the pressure on me I was able to run the branch without any major problems. The fact however remains that the bank took almost six months to find an alternate Manager for my good friend!

My friend’s predecessor, the former Manager, had a stint in jail and was dismissed from job. He is reported to have ruined his life after that. The Senior Clerk was reported to have been absconding for about two years and finally was caught one day. His life also got ruined after that. The Clerk who got involved in the third fraud case was given a reprieve and was transferred to Cannanore in Kerala. As committing fraud was probably in his DNA he was caught red handed when trying to cheat a lady customer of that branch and was summarily sacked from his job.

Those three fraud cases and the three month stint of running an ill fated branch still remain as a nightmare for me.

I had a chance to see where man’s greed and lust for money can lead to.

I worked in that ill fated branch for two more years before getting a transfer to yet another difficult place.

Twin surprise

2009-07-16T12:43:00.000-07:00

5-07/09

Two buds of Nishāgandhi

The two buds at night on 13.07.09

Just before blooming on the night of 16.07.09

In full bloom at 10.30 pm on 16.07.09

The twins in bloom
(all photographs were taken by my son Abhishek)

The Dutchman’s Pipe (Epiphyllum oxypetalum) is a cactus like plant grown in our small garden. Popularly known as Nishāgandhi, this plant blooms at night. It belongs to the cactus family and can be easily grown at home. The flower blooms at the end of a stalk that grows out of the leaf and therefore looks odd. In the stage of a bud the reddish tepals of the flower, which would measure up to 10 cm, give an eerie look to the bud. The bud blooms into a beautiful flower with a scent that is very pleasant. It is said that the aroma of the flower is similar to the smell of benzyl salicylate. The plants in my house have bloomed many times but this night we had a twin surprise. Two buds bloomed at the same time. Normally the flowers bloom between ten and eleven in the night and stay in the bloomed condition for around two hours before they slowly droop down and wither away the next day.

Moving Away from a Beaten Track

2009-07-16T08:40:00.000-07:00

4-07/09

My career started in March 1980 in the Indo German Project of the Horticulture Department in Ooty. My work was in the Vijayanagaram Farm and I stayed in the quarters near the farm (please see picture- courtesy Google Earth).

After this first stint of assignment I was shifted to the Collector’s office on deputation to the ARDC Scheme (ARDC- Agriculture Refinance Development Corporation is the old name of NABARD). The scheme office was a hotchpotch of people from different departments and functioned under the State Government.

The scheme office coordinated the work of the four Cooperative Land Development Banks (popularly called LD Banks) in the four Talukas of the Nilgiris District. ARDC refinanced loans to the LD Banks. I was entrusted with the work of inspecting farmers’ plantations before sanction of long term loans for planting tea, coffee, cocoa and pepper and also before release of annual loan instalments in the Coonoor and Kotagiri Talukas. The loans were long term mortgage loans with a major portion of it released in the first year for the purpose of clearing the land, landscaping & soil conservation measures, cost of planting material & planting expenses and maintenance cost for one year. Depending upon the crop three or four more annual instalments of the loan would be extended every year till the plantation is ready to yield.

Specific days were allotted for my visits to the two LD Banks. Farmers who were in need of loan instalments would visit the Bank and I would accompany them to their plantations. Nilgiris District had good roads and buses to almost all the villages and therefore I started insisting on traveling in public transport buses to save the farmers money spent on hiring a car or a Jeep. The practice followed earlier was to engage a car or a Jeep to visit the farms. However, in some cases we had to travel in a car or Jeep as the site would be in a very remote area not connected by buses.

Eventually during the visits I came across another practice which I had to stop with lot of resistance from many angles. There was a practice of tipping the inspecting officer with cash or kind (fruits, tea, coffee, cardamom, pepper etc.) soon after the inspection at the farmer’s plantation. I put a full stop to this system. The practice had been introduced by my predecessors and was then followed as a tradition for quite some time. The farmer who extended the tips seemed to be oblivious of the fact that he was in fact bribing or greasing the palm of the official for a smooth sanction of the loan amount. They were simply adding it to their cost of plantation.

Initially, I tried to educate the farmer that he was in fact committing a crime by extending such a “incentive” to the officer and later, went to the extent of counseling them that if they carried out the plantation work perfectly they had the right to get the next instalment of the loan and they need not waste their hard earned money on bribing officials.

This earnest effort of mine to educate the farmer sent ripples across the banks and the scheme office and I was looked as an intruder on a beaten track. Despite the estrangement I went on the path driven by my conscience. I had hardly worked for nine months and I was transferred to another new project in Kotagiri where my job was, as a Subject Matter Specialist, to train co-workers in methods of dissemination of technical knowledge to farmers under the Training and Visit System of the World Bank financed project.

The day I left the assignment I had a gratification that a new trend was introduced for my successors, if they are conscience driven, to emulate and pursue. As I took the bus to Kotagiri I thought that what I had done was right. If you are not able to make a sea change in a rotten system you can at least make a small difference by not taking the beaten path and by being different.

Road to Manantoddy

2009-06-20T07:21:00.000-07:00

3-06/09
In 1982 when I got my posting orders to work as Rural Development Officer in Syndicate Bank, Mananthavady in Wynaad District, (Kerala State-India), I was forewarned that it was a difficult area and was considered as a punishment area for the state government staff of Kerala. The general impression about Wynaad was that it was predominantly a tribal district and it used to be the home of militant Naxalbari activities in the late sixties. They also warned me of the incessant rains and the mosquito menace.

Despite all these impressions I fell in love with the place from day one. The winding uphill bus route from Calicut to Mananthavady (then known as Manantoddy- the anglicised version of Mananthavady), was so picturesque that I got spontaneously inspired to write a poem. I scribbled it on the back side of a cigarette packet while making my first trip to Mananthavady.

Ode to the October Breeze

The October breeze felt my skin that morning,
as I started for my first assignment,
“A ticket to Manantoddy, please”-
And the next second all eyes focussed on me.
I felt ecstatic to be the cynosure
as the October breeze felt my skin that morning.

The steadfast bus streaked through spiral roads
as I kept staring at the striking scenery
of the endless greenery and the morning skyline.
I felt levitating to the soaring Wynaad heights
as the October breeze felt my skin that morning.

Everything around seemed to be lively
as the October paddy with panicle heads
seemed to perform ballet in an open opera
to the tune of twittering early birds.
I was dumbfounded at nature’s choreography
as the October breeze felt my skin that morning.

(The poem was published in the June 1983 issue of Giant- Syndicate Bank’s House magazine.)

As days passed by I had already picked up a platter of spoken Malayalam and was out in the fields most of the time mingling with the tribal families and local settlers. In next four years of my stay from 1982, I got so much involved with the people that we were in jitters when we moved out in 1986. In the next few blog posts I would be writing interesting happenings in Wynaad.

Microfinance and Royal Enfield Bullet

2009-06-19T10:17:00.000-07:00

2-06/09

Royal Enfield BULLET 350 cc

It was in the late sixties. As a teenager the bicycle always fascinated me but it was difficult to get one with my parents having their moorings in the middle class. Dame luck however struck when I was in the eighth class. My friend Dilip Kumar’s family was shifting to Madras and they donated their cycle to me - an 18 inches Saibro Model. From then on I went to school driving the bicycle, running errands became easy for me and fetching Siruvani water in two heavy Kudams (water pots) became my daily morning routine.

After post graduating in agriculture and landing up in the villages of Nilgiris the Royal Enfield Bullet- the hefty 350CC motor bike, caught my attention and I started dreaming of riding it some day. Later when I joined the Syndicate Bank as Rural Development Officer at Mananthavady in Wynaad the pre-condition to join was to have a two-wheeler license The Manager politely said that the branch had a Bullet and I should get my license immediately. A local mechanic was engaged to teach me driving. I still vividly remember the way he gaped at my lean and puny physique with probably a question in his mind, “How is this 45 kg guy going to handle this 210 kg beast?”

The first day’s exercise was to push the vehicle manually up and down a road and to place it on its stand. It was like dragging a full grown stubborn horse. The next day when I was allowed to sit on the Bullet it was like placing me comfortably on the saddle of the tamed horse. The fear of weight was erased out of my mind and on the third day I was able to drive my dream vehicle on my own. The Manager, Mr PSM Koya was impressed and bought me a new vehicle.

Driving a Bullet in Wynaad was a real challenge due to the bad condition of the undulating roads and the hilly terrain. The worst part was driving on a rainy day and it used to rain for over eight months in Wynaad! Later, on transfer to Kotagiri in Nilgiris, I insisted on a Bullet and those were my best days. Since the vehicle was driven only by me and was serviced by a seasoned mechanic the unique thumping beat was well recognized from a far of distance.

The most risky stretches were however covered when I was attached to the Kollur branch in Karnataka where an old Bullet was used. My Manager Mr TS Bhat and I used to go to Mudoor village driving across a forest area. It was a virtual dirt track where the powder like red soil used to cover the entire vehicle and our dresses. Snakes, monkeys and hornbills were common sightings but the worst of all was the “close encounter of the furry kind”- a bear crossing the Bullet a few feet ahead! Incidentally all my postings were in difficult places along the Western Ghats mostly considered to be punishment areas. Had it not been for the Bullet these postings would have been a punishment for me as well. Thanks to the Bullet, on the contrary I could do my best in those 16 years in the Bank.

Later in 1998 when I quit the bank job to join as CEO of a start-up microfinance institution in Marthandam, the only facility I insisted on was to provide me with a Bullet. It was nice to be back on the Bullet and on the Western Ghats again. My friend, Mr. Jobins and I used to cover many areas every day and those were real hectic days. We used to spend our daytime in the field and spend late nights doing office work. Had it not been for the Bullet we both would have had recurring back pain.

Once a Bullet always a Bullet goes the famous adage among the Royal Enfield connoisseurs and true to it I could complete my silver jubilee having covered over two lakh kilometers on the Bullet. If microfinance is all about financing the poor, I have been practicing microfinance from 1982 onwards and apart from my personal dedication to the cause; it was the contribution of the Bullet in assisting me in reaching out to thousands of poor families.

I owned a Bullet for sometime but had to do a distress sale when constructing my house. Back to square one, I am again dreaming of a Bullet and this time maybe a Royal Enfield Bullet Thunderbird!

Paradigm of Loyalty

2009-05-26T00:16:00.000-07:00

01-05/09

We had crossed our third year of existence in 2001 and it was yet another of those hectic days at the microfinance institution (MFI). Perched on the second floor of a building we were managing with just four rooms and most of the time the hustle & bustle at my office would remain till late in the evening. Women customers would be flocking in to either remit their EMIs or to avail fresh loans. With a penchant for timely remittance all our customers were maintaining 100% repayment. Groups were in tact, unhindered by any external influences and were maintaining the peer pressure at the core of their activities and loyalty of the individual members towards their group, their NGO and the MFI was at its best at that point of time.

The first thing I did, when I transformed from a rural development banker to a CEO of a MFI, was to see that I was not cut off from my customers at any cost. I still do not remember having closed the door of my room for any matter. My customers had the freedom to walk in at any time to express their grievances or to exchange pleasantries.

It was around noon that day, when one of my team members came to me and informed that leaders of one of the groups in her area of operation wanted to meet me. This team member of mine was made of a sterner stuff and was known for her meticulous and tactful handling of any situation in the field or in the office. I had never seen her so gloomy and depressed as she guided the president, secretary and treasurer of the group to my room. All three of them also looked serious and the usual bountiful smile was missing.

The president started of with a question, “Do you remember Stella (name changed) the lady in our group who took a loan for her husband’s centering work?” (Centering work: wooden materials and bamboo shafts used at the time of RCC work on ceilings of buildings for retention of the ceiling). After hearing from me in the affirmative she continued, “She was admitted last week in the hospital for delivery of her baby when Stella had to receive the news of her husband’s death in a work related accident. Her husband had gone to the neighbouring state of Kerala for carrying out a centering work. When he was dismantling the bamboo shafts he got hit by one of them and had died of head injuries. Stella was still in the hospital when we went to see her.” She pulled the free end of her sari and wiped the tears while we all were looking at her stunned. How God could be so cruel, I thought.

The lady continued her narration, “As was our custom in the village we offered her some money which she asked us to keep it under her pillow. Consoling Stella, we were about to leave her when she asked us to wait for a minute. She rolled on to the other side of the bed and pulled out something from under the other side of the pillow and gave it to us. She gave us her monthly EMI and asked us to pay it for the month.” As she said this the other two ladies were already in tears and so also my colleague. I was upset too and my eyes got filled with tears. I consoled the ladies and assured them of our assistance to the bereaved member of their group. They left behind gloominess in my heart. Eventually we had assisted the member in settling an insurance claim. But the spontaneous act of loyalty by the lady despite her state of distress had shaken me and my colleagues for some days.

This is one episode that could shatter the views of people who still believe that the poor cannot repay loans. I had narrated this time and again at many trainings on Microfinance.

Welcome to microMUSINGS

2009-05-26T00:06:00.000-07:00

It has been a long felt dream of mine to contribute to an exclusive column in my favourite newspaper in my country- India and call the column ‘microMUSINGS’. I was at the verge of sending the content for publication when I decided to blog. My disillusionment is not only confined to my favourite newspaper but also to the entire Indian media on their inept handling of the Sri Lankan Tamil issue.

As a kid I had started reading my favourite newspaper for its daily dose of a comic strip of Tarzan and over the years adhered to the paper for its bold exposés and matured editorials. However, I was saddened by the fast deterioration of its quality and started reading blogs. Having discovered the blog it is now going to be exciting, I thought.

What am I going to write about?

A glance at my profile will let you know that I do not belong to the average age group of bloggers. As an urban bred person my career ambitions were to study agriculture and work in the villages of my country. After completion of my post graduation in Agricultural Economics in 1977 I started off my career in the Government sector where I had my first brush with the idiosyncrasies of the bureaucracy and the way they affected the poor gullible farmer slogging out in his fields oblivious of the happenings around him.

Thinking that the public sector would be a better place I moved to a nationalized bank in 1982 as a rural development banker. Although I could seek a space for myself in all my rural postings and could do my best in rural development and rural banking, various reasons drove me to look at the private sector as my next option. Callous treatment of a segment of sincere employees by the so-called nationalized bank, total apathy on the part of the management on various matters, the hegemony of the staff unions and the resulting sycophancy of the staff towards either the management or the union, deep rooted corruption and malpractices- are some of the reasons. Sincere employees who were not sycophants of either the management or the union were left high and dry. Caught between the devil and deep sea I landed up working only in difficult areas all the time. But I always took it in my stride and have left an indelible mark of path-breaking work in all the places I was posted.

In 1998 when the leading housing finance company in my country inserted an advertisement inviting applications for a CEO for its microfinance venture, I found the requirements and the responsibilities virtually tailor-made for me. For a person frustrated with the government sector & the quasi-government public sector and always seeking a bigger space to work the assignment was God-sent. The nine years from 1998 to 2007 were my career’s best period.

You may now wonder why I left the institution. When everything was going on fine, I was suddenly reminded of the dictum ‘familiarity breeds contempt’ and I took a conscience driven, thoroughly introspected decision to quit and go on my own.

During the course of my career I had wonderful experiences in the field which I thought of sharing with everyone. Coming from lower-middle class moorings, I had over the years developed a passion to work for the poor- in other words the small families out there. The word micro in microMUSINGS is symbolic of the small person out there. I am going to sing my song about the small woman/man out there for I know that I alone can play the best tune for my musings. I can assure you that my musings are going to be of great interest for people who share my concerns- some of them would be eye-openers, some nerve- shattering, some conscience-pricking, some tear-shedding, some touching the heart….My musings are not to be read as case studies but as random ramblings of a rural development worker.

Uday Shankar
Coimbatore-INDIA
26.05.2009