Blame it on our DNA!!

A recent trip to Sri Lanka turned out to be a revelation for my wife in some respects, but there was a stand-out discovery.  Being a stickler for cleanliness everywhere, she squealed in delight and wonderment over the phone that `Sri Lankans are so clean and they keep public places spick-and-span'.  I have been through this routine so many times in different contexts and as a well-prepped and disciplined trooper, braced myself for what was coming.  The inevitable followup question, justifiably tinged with sadness and embarrassment, was `why cant we Indians do the same'?  Some patriotic Indians, bristling with injured pride, justify many unpleasant things in our country, citing its size.  `Come on, Sri Lanka is so tiny' would have been a typical response from such quarters - an attempt to simultaneously defend the indefensible and deny credit where it belongs.  As if a reasonably small unit, a lane with 10 houses in an Indian town or city, is unfailingly the glistening example of cleanliness, always.  The truth is that collectively we are so bereft of shame and so woefully short on pride in our surroundings that we willingly settle for our messed-up immediate neighbourhoods and this translates to even small areas being filled-to-the brim with garbage and filth dumped indiscriminately by residents.  Not talking of any slum here but of well-to-do middle class localities. If people carved out their own small spaces and diligently took care of cleanliness, any country, however big, can be clean; that is a no-brainer.  Let us admit it - we just dont have it in us to do this and that is the honest truth.  Why?  We are like that only!  Let us blame it on our DNA.  Would that explain why the shopping/eating areas owned and frequented primarily by Indians in Serangoon Road, Singapore and Edison, New Jersey, USA are dirtier?

One does not have to go too far to identify at least one major national characteristic which contributes significantly to the above state of affairs - our tendency to brazenly abandon individual responsibility completely and hope that `the authorities' will do `something' to fix the problem.  This, even when such authorities have seldom exhibited the desire or the willingness to show signs of stirring out of their permanent slumber and, to boot, when the problem is usually created wantonly by citizens going out of the way to be irresponsible.  As, when they willfully scatter garbage from their own houses on the roads or footpaths, just so that their interiors can be clean! When this garbage mound expands in size and threatens their own front door, people do mount a reluctant assault to push it back a wee bit. Then, with contented resignation, they rapidly relapse into their misplaced optimism in the ability of the authorities to perform, despite knowing that nothing is going to happen.  A lot of our public ills can be cured somewhat if only citizens contribute in small, meaningful ways, pro-active or reactive.  If we think about it, we are all ever so willing to bitch continuously about something and wait for some alien  to work an improbable miracle instead of taking a tiny individual or collective initiative for the first curative step.

The other predominant negative attribute that is a character flaw in Indians is that infinite capacity to roundly criticise everyone in and out of sight for some fault or lapse, which we ourselves are squarely guilty of.  Take, for example, the swelling number of cars on the roads; many people blame the car manufacturing companies and the government, with seriously righteous indignation, for flooding the place with new cars, when the infrastructure to support those is conspicuously absent.  The funny part is that most of these offended people can count at least two large cars and two SUVs in their stables, for various family members or pets and to suit different travel requirements!!  Another variant is when these enlightened people passionately damn others for being the sole occupant of a car on the road.  Without pausing to consider where others' journeys originated or ended to facilitate sharing rides, these critics go crimson in faces demanding why people cannot car-pool!  All this, while each such critic is sitting cozily in a five-seater car by himself/herself, driven by a chauffeur.  They forget that the driver does not meaningfully augment the count of occupants in cars and they are guilty of the same sin they are condemning others for or worse, because of the larger cars they use. 

Being sensitive about others, especially in public spaces and empathy stemming therefrom are qualities in which we have a chasm-like deficit. Think of all those people who thrive on high-decibel conversations in restaurants, as if their sole objective is to broadcast meaningless details of their lives to as many patrons as possible, regardless of the reaction of the audience; of those who conduct a robust and loud analysis of a movie even as they watch it, punctuated by deliberate and raucous laughter with the overt intent to disrupt and annoy - unmindful of the clucks and subtle admonishments of those sitting around them; or those who pull out their mobile phones with exceptional alacrity to have some inane conversation loudly, even as the movie screen beseeches the audience to switch off their mobiles and be considerate to others, as if that particular appeal was the stimulant they were waiting for.  We have been mute and helpless witnesses to and victims of such behaviour for years, hoping in vain that things would eventually improve in the distant future, while simultaneously suspecting that nothing will change.

It is galling that this inability to empathize pervades even 'service' industries.  Recently, sitting in USA,  I found out that my overseas travel insurance had to be extended for three days as I postponed my return flight.  I spent about 6 hours over the next two days on phone, trying to get through to the listed numbers - about ten of them, very helpfully plastered all over the brochure given to me - managing only to singe both my ears from the heat generated by my own phone in the process.  I had little else to show for my troubles, so sent email requests to three different addresses, followed up increasingly nasty reminders. Drawing not one but multiple blanks, I roped in my wife at this end to mount complementary efforts in India by calling the local numbers of the provider to escalate, since the expiry of my policy was imminent.  It was amazing that not one call or email elicited any response (the agents of the same company called me a dozen times in a day, to ensure that I purchased the same policy from them before leaving).  Call number 67 in our collective effort finally got us to some cog in the wheel, who sent me a form to sign which I did in two minutes flat and sent back.  By this time the policy had expired and I was desperate, since medical-insuranceless-existence in USA can be diabolically nightmarish, as you can vouch.  What if I needed some medical attention when the policy remained comfortably comatose, despite my best efforts? Mercifully I, almost sick from tension, returned to India without any hiccup , with my request for extension still dormant.  And pronto, I got a call from the provider, asking if I wanted extension for the policy - I am sure they just wanted to pocket that premium if possible. Finally I got hold of a senior officer of the provider through another friend and gave a lashing, berating him for his company's lack of empathy.  He coolly told me `Sir, we would have covered any medical emergency, taking into consideration your application for extension.  You should not have worried'.  It is all well for him to say that, knowing fully well that no claim would be forthcoming but I got put through a wringer for a few days - all because people just could not think of the state of the other guy!  I am sure this happens to everyone frequently.

You can add to this list and go on endlessly - the ability to talk tirelessly and listen much less or not at all (watch the TV news anchored by some of the best names in the industry!); being satisfied with mediocrity, when a little push would have yielded better results (as testified by unsightly holes drilled into the wall for some cable); the constant endeavour to leave a place, any place, messier than when we moved in (remember all the paper tumblers, polythene wrappers and pop corn strewn generously on and around the Gold Class seats in the multiplex?);  or when workmen summoned to repair something in your home complete the job and depart, leaving all the debris + some of the accumulated dust and dirt from their overalls as a bonus, for you to clean up?); an inborn proficiency in criticising people without too much provocation while never offering a word of appreciation when confronted by a good deed (sounds familiar?).

That reminds me - it is not that there is nothing redeeming about us Indians.  Plenty, I should say.  But then, I would rather reserve those positives for another exclusive piece.  I would like to assure all those hypersensitive, patriotic Indians that (a) `we' in the above paras includes `I', so this author is as guilty as anyone else (b) I do not derive any orgasmic pleasure from relentless self-flagellation and (c)  I don't want to be accused of being a harsh lout of a critic, who cannot see a virtue even if it rubs its nose with mine.  Till then!!

Investment advice we can do without!!

Last year, during one of our regular runs between Madras and Bangalore, we had stopped at a road-side tea stall for a cuppa, after my wife had completed the mandatory, thorough reconnoitering trip inside to ensure that things were clean.  While awaiting the arrival of the invigorating potion, we heard a group of three patrons -- they seemed regulars-- discussing about stock market and specific companies.  I was somewhat rattled when they left with this parting shot in Thamizh, to the lady making the tea: `Dont be stupid, don't sell ITC; get rid of Madras Cement instead'.  They did not turn to see me agape at hearing such sagely advice in the boondocks.  But the lady (owner of the tea stall) caught my astonished look and with a wry smile asked `why sir, can't we invest in shares'?  I had absolutely no problem with anyone dabbling in shares (and P.Chidambaram would probably wear an additional towel, swelling with pride at seeing `equity culture' seeping into countryside tea-stalls) but was aghast as to what kind of advice such people got and how they went about this rather intriguing business! More informed people, with an apparently better support system, do struggle with decisions to buy and sell and there we were, with a tea-stall owner in the middle of nowhere, mocking me at my surprised look!

Goaded into some discussion, the lady disclosed that she went by `recommendations' from a few regular customers (she did not clarify whether they got chai free in lieu), what she read in the newspapers and from English TV channels which pontificated on the subject, regardless of whether there was any audience.  In the process, she herself had become an `advisor' of sorts in her own community for those who had the flint and some surplus cash, to step into that minefield.  She was cagey about how much money she had made from trading in shares - as if we were income tax sleuths, pottering around the countryside looking for equity investors evading taxes on capital gains! But obviously she could not hide her pride and wanted us to know that she was successful in her endeavour, indicating clearly that her book was running `positive'.  Her husband, who seemed a truly subservient male under the thumb of the ruling deity, smiled broadly as much in agreement as in appreciative awe of the wily lady's acumen.  Ever since we made that trip, all the investment decisions I previously made unhindered, are  undergoing a newly-introduced in-house audit review by my wife, whose attitude is obviously `if she can, I can too'!

But then why should one be surprised?  Most Indians are Jekyll and Hyde characters, as we know; they are first and foremost either cricket pundits or investment specialists (many are staunchly both!) and then in the remainder of their time, they try to live the lives assigned to them.  There seems to be this unrelenting urge in everyone to be an equity dealer, a latent suicidal desire bursting at the seams to buy and sell at some opportunity and exploding frequently, resulting in losses.  When some such specimens find that their bets are going well 20% of the time, they magically accumulate a fan following via all possible routes including social media and investment-specific website fora.  Very soon they become 'thought leaders' in their own right and dole out advice non-stop, as if they had inside information that the share market is staring at permanent closure in a few months.  They are very soon further elevated by the sponsoring fora and ensconced as investment gurus to quickly develop a permanent and compulsive flow of opinions on all kinds of companies and situations, even in their sleep. Most established brokerage houses generally try to substantiate their conclusion on a stock by publishing well-researched analysis and rationale and they can probably boast of a 30% success rate after all that effort.  But these so-called-gurus have no such compulsion and never hesitate to anoint a stock as a buy or sell, splurging not more than 6 to 7 oft-repeated words on its merits or demerits, seemingly thriving on sheer guesswork.

Let us look at some of the typical Oracle-like pronouncements frequently made by such gurus. `Stock ABC may see higher levels' avers one advisor, being overly coy in not giving even a hint as to why he divines so and the approximate time-frame for this eventuality.  Somewhat akin to the meteorological department, with all its technogical contraptions and satellite support `predicting' rain sometime in the future.  In my opinion, the weatherman comes out distinctly ahead because he does not exhort you to gamble with your money, as he is gazing into his crystal glass; at the most it is a question of getting your hair a bit wet, if you are cussedly unlucky! The same stock advisor is uncharacteristically a bit more elucidating and over-committed by his usual standard of vagueness, when he says `AAA may possibly test 320 in the next 6 months', as the share is wallowing around at 330 that day!  Come on, give me a break; a pundit predicting a 10 rupee-band for possible, not even probable, movement in half year!!  `I prefer XYZ' says another, as if he is talking about dietary choices he is evaluating and has been forced to decide in favour of onion pakora rather than raj kachori! `Stay away from BBB stock' or `Avoid infra space' are familiar dictates from such advisors, again without any supporting argument as to why they say so, but then most of the regulars have already figured that out a couple of months earlier without any prompting! 

If these open-mouthed (only because they ceaselessly suffer from verbal diarrhoea) predictors are outstanding in their vagueness and lack of specificity, they cannot be faulted for not measuring up in terms of quantity.  Two such predictors had some 42 opinions on stocks in very diversified industries, all within a period of 2-3 days.  There is absolutely no pretense of specialization in any industry.  What is the need? After all, balance sheets, profit and loss accounts and numbers are the same, industry characteristics be damned! I decided to keep track of some of the `predictions' and as can be expected from mass producers of stock recommendations, some 4-5% of the recommendations were right over a period of time.  I am sure the tea-stall lady, with her three magi as fleeting advisors, did better without making so much noise, simply because she was forking out real money, her own, in the process!  I am so sure of the quality of some advisors that I constantly play the contrarian for the heck of it and can assure you of having done reasonably well overall.  So, one might say there is some use for such advisors, after all??

I jumped out of my skin one day, some years back, when I saw my father watching NDTV Profit and intently following the ticker tape running at the bottom of the screen.  He has never gone anywhere near the stock market ever and had no reason to be glued to that screen.  But he was and when I asked him why, his answer was a simple `just like that'!  I think many of these advisors have taken this a few drastic steps ahead and are into advising `just like that'.  There is no need to pity the followers because they happily `created'  this tribe of advisors in the first place!!  They deserve what they get.

The I, Me, Myself Generation

In a May 13 article in Time titled `The Me Me Me Generation', Joel Stein lambasted those youngsters born in the USA between 1980 and 2000 for their overwhelming self-absorption.  For some inexplicable reason his title sounds even more damning than what I have chosen! The sum and substance of that article is that those youngsters are so narcissistic that they cannot see beyond their own noses (assuming they wanted to do that, in the first place) and cannot think of anything other than themselves.  Self-centred is an epithet that just seems a woefully inadequate under-statement to describe them, Joel Stein avers, armed with streams of analysis and statistics.  I have neither the depth of understanding of the American society nor the analytical ammunition to agree or disagree with him, but what I read certainly set me thinking as to what is the scenario in a more conservative society like the Indian middle class.  The single major difference is that in the US, the succeeding generation is not expected to financially support the previous one as a pay-back, just as the latter is not expected to foot the bill for the youngster beyond his school days! In such situations, the quintessentially US tradition of DIY culture kicks in!  In view of this, I guess the accusation of self absorption has more to do with the younger generation's desire to cocoon itself with its own preoccupations than with its closed fist when it comes to financial support.

Let us look at this issue in three parts - selfishness in financial matters, self-absorption to the detriment of family bonding and the consequent lack of emotion or feeling for others.  For the purpose of brevity let us call the Grandparents' generation GPG, Parents' generation PG and the young generation YG. The disclaimer here is, all statements made are to be seen more in the generational perspective than as referring to a single family unit.  And, remember we are talking of the middle class here and let us not focus on standard deviations!

Is YG financially more selfish in India? Whichever way we cut the pie, the answer is not clear.  GPG probably had to toil harder to feed many more mouths in a joint family, including distant kith and kin who gravitated towards the sole educated and employed member of the extended family in a town or city for succour. Uninvited they came and latched on, as they struggled out of the morass of poverty and the GPG had that much more heart to oblige.  This also meant abysmally low or no savings at all at the time of retirement for GPG, which in turn meant heavy reliance on PG for monetary support in old age.

With gradually increasing access to education as we celebrate it in India - however imperfect it is - as well as to employment opportunities, the overall financial burden on PG has been diluted somewhat. Higher disposable income and reduced demand from sponging relatives due to the gradual disintegration of the joint family system meant PG is not in the same dire financial position as GPG was at a similar juncture in life.   While YG recognizes and acknowledges the fact that PG has invested resources in its own upbringing, it does not find anything extraordinary to crow about that.  After all, what kind of parents would breed and then dump the children to fend for themselves?  So, this argument, touted by GPG as a great virtue because of the more adverse circumstances then prevailing, turns out to be a whole lot of hot air for PG!

In defence, YG insists it gets out of PG's hair at the earliest - it willingly becomes a borrower (YG is definitely more of a risk-taker than prior generations, for the sake of good standard of living!) at an early stage in life to get higher education or car or house.  Providing financial support to get girls married off is less of an issue, since girls are given similar education as boys and get similar jobs too.  As such, the girls' ability to manage their own lives has increased. Anyway YG perceives the savings of PG as a reasonable reservoir for many eventualities.  The clincher is this - GPG typically had no savings at the time of retirement; so PG was obliged to step in, otherwise who will do that?  But PG saves enough and plans for retirement meticulously, so why expect financial help from YG?   YG is clear that it will gladly support the family when in need.  Very logical, one should admit and an incisive case against YG for financial selfishness is not made out.   We do read about parents being left in the lurch, but then historically we have always had such cases and all generations should collectively hang their heads in shame for such despicable treatment of progenitors.  But then, are parents always reasonable and is the YG always guilty in such cirumstances - who is to pass judgement on that?

Question: Is Y generally devoid of the ability to connect emotionally with others inside and outside the family?

There is clearly a problem here. There seems to be a gradual deterioration of the emotional bond between the generations.  The environment in schools and homes are no longer what they were twenty years ago.  Both parents of PG probably worked or were busy with their own inerests, resulting in lesser attention being given to YG.  Availability of separate bed rooms with TVs, mobile phones and gaming for children ensured that YG spent their free time (may be, most of their time) cocooned in their own small world, cut off from the extensive human contact the earlier generations enjoyed in joint families and with the outside world.  The downward spiral in terms of emotional bonding had begun and YG connected better with a few friends, that too through social media than with family members.  Later, when youngsters saw some moolah without too much pain or struggle and realised that they need no longer be under the thumbs of their elders for survival, the tenor of their interactions with the elders changed.  What aided in this process is the enormous influence of higher education, media and travel, which exposed the youngsters to wider horizons in all directions, desirable or otherwise.  They started questioning beliefs and expectations, which were dictated by societal norms of yore, while purposefully moving away from the submissive tone adopted in their interactions with elders.  Things tended to become matter-of-fact, more pragmatic than emotional. These features ended up being interpreted as disrespectful and offensive behaviour by GPG and PG, while YG continued its merry ride on its own revolutionary road, which became the new-normal!  When you look from this angle, yes, YG does come through as less emotionally giving and more selfish than the earlier generations.  This is evidenced by the plethora of troubles marriages go through nowadays and the phenomenal rise in suicides and divorces - some of them for the flimsiest reasons.  These things do point to an inherent inability to deal with other people with tolerance and the desire for quick retreat into one's own personal space for security, regardless of the damaging fall-out all around.

But, let us temper that observation a bit.  We see more youngsters seriously involved today in all sorts of attempts to teach/educate the poor and readily helping with other social causes - be it cleaning a neighbourhood or fighting the mafia to save a water-body in a city.  They are much more politically and socially aware (I am not talking about discussing political issues threadbare from arm-chairs!), thanks to the media in general and to being part of the social media networks, making them willing participants in political and other rallies demanding changes for the better.  I have personally known many young men and women who have ventured into disaster-hit places far away, to bravely put up with dismal conditions and help the affected people.   All these are definitely not the signals a completely selfish brat-pack would send out.  So, YG is not without its redeeming features here too.

What is happening is, overall, financial independence has given youngsters the ability to operate independently outside the influence of elders who are anchored in their conventional wisdom.  Enormous amounts of time and money is spent by YG in what the elders see as trivial pursuits, primarily to pamper its own superficial cravings and to satisfy its urge to be abreast of peers in such material endeavours.  While GPG and PG may have watered down their expectations from YG, based on experience, the chasm between what they want and what they get from YG is too big to bridge.  And, I see no reason to hope for a change in YG's ways - it is probably far too enamoured of its new-found ways and more importantly, has neither the desire nor willingness to change!

Hoarders and Discarders!

When our housekeeper materialised from nowhere and announced that my wife desires urgent conversation with me, he was trying hard to suppress a gleeful smile.  That was a dead give-away, since that specific signal emanates from him only when his antenna picks up an `exciting' situation, with immense potential for entertaining fireworks, culminating in some form of discomfiture to me. You see, he is firmly plonked on my wife's corner for the past 25 years and I would be an imbecile to expect that status to change, ever.  To his credit, his judgement is generally sound on these matters, since he would have already had an advance exchange with Memsaheb on the emergent inquisition and would have helpfully organised the stake for the forthcoming scalding, if not burning!  I found the presiding deity, arms akimbo, face creased into a furrow, intently scrutinizing the contents of the cupboard, which is the repository of old magazines, newspapers, and the like.  The housekeeper followed me and as is his wont in such situations, took a comfortable position at a distance, from where he can jump in to add fuel to the raging fire as and when such intervention is required or even if it is superfluous.

My wife hissed to me `How many times should I tell you to leave my papers alone????', even though it would be well nigh impossible to hiss a whole sentence without too many sibilants in it.  But I swear she hissed and very well, too! Ah, now that the portends had appeared on the horizon and the tone was obviously ominous , I found myself already on the defensive, even before the arguments were presented and the judgement pronounced.  For, I was on familiar ground and knew from experience that even without any paraphernalia, the prosecutor-cum-judge (convenient, isn't it?) would find me guilty as charged. `What seems to be the problem' was my brave rejoinder, under the circumstances.  She dispensed with preliminaries and just summarily apportioned guilt without any fuss - `Yesterday you threw some old magazines that I had `preserved' for a long time for eventual use'?  `I did remind him, madam,' interjected the housekeeper very helpfully. He did and I did discard a load, because how was I to know that the day after disposal, the time for such `eventual use' would arrive?  And that she would barge in seeking a 3 year old magazine, which she has never so much looked at again after the initial browsing; how uncanny would that be? But, there I was, in the dock for having committed the heinous crime.  I did all the usual fidgeting the underdog does in the presence of a powerful judge - sucked my breath in soundlessly, mumbled meaninglessly, shuffled my feet a few times, wrung my hands continuously and finally confessed to my sin! Which was throwing away loads of stuff, residing in a whole cabinet for a few years, without anyone seemingly opening it except for adding more junk  to the pile.  This had happened to me earlier, simply because I am a `discarder' and my wife is a `hoarder'.

If you are an avid and shrewd observer of life, as this scribe is, you will see many kids showing precocious signs of compulsive accumulation of anything - chocolates, toys, hairpins, bangles, marbles, stunted pencils, whatever. If you fancy yourself as a genuine well-wisher of those `gifted' children and their parents, you should alert the latter to channelize the energies of such kids into an activity which legitimizes accumulation and hoarding.  Like, stamp collection, coin collection, card collection, book collection etc, which can be pursued as grown-ups also, without causing damage to the environment and people in some way.  This is a monumental task, which requires sustained and committed efforts from all around.  Otherwise, even if parents and teachers combine their efforts and manage to lull this hoarding instinct somewhat (that is, if such parents and teachers themselves are free from the virus of `hoarding') in growing children, the remedy is just temporary.  The somewhat stifled fervour resurfaces, pretty much like chicken pox not dealt with properly in childhood. With a vengeance, when such children are adults and are no longer parentable or teachable (true, many reach this stage quite early in their lives, well before adulthood for sure)  and they promptly start hoarding all sorts of undesirable things, causing tremendous grief to others around them.  The resultant problem is multi-dimensional - one, someone, who is usually a pathetic victim, has to find the space for such hoarding because hoarders themselves do not care for such niceties and living space gets encroached and eventually taken over; two, since the rule of limitation is not enforceable here and there is no oracle to say when someone would find the courage to discard the stuff, if ever, the demand for expansion of space is perennial and it is impossible to satiate that kind of hunger.  

I know of male friends who have hoarded every marble they have used as a kid.  One has accumulated thousands of discarded movie film rolls, with his favourite actor in diverse striking poses, singing various popular songs or in different stages of delivering declamatory dialogue.  One guy has got copies of all the `letters to the editor' he had written over 20 years. He uses the rationale that since no editor was good enough to publish any letter, his copies are the only ones left for posterity and so deserve the honour of being hoarded.  One friend has a few thousand cassette tapes of old, pre-CD songs (which are coated with dust and grime, from disuse) stored in various nooks and crannies in his house, even though he has graduated to other media for listening to music long back. None of these people is known to go back to their collections for any purpose, but would not dream of cleaning up! As for females, without being pilloried, one can safely say, hoarding begins with clothes and footwear and never ends; not even when the hoarded clothes and sandals are quarter the sizes they fit into currently.  Even the incentive of being able to buy fresh ones to fill up the space occupied by old stuff is not attractive enough for them to begin discarding.  They want to do both, hoard and buy new ones!!

On the other side, is the true-blue discarder! He just revels in tearing up everything he fancies; the sooner, the better, even if common sense dictates that a piece of paper may  be retained for a while and is going to be pertinent to his life in the next fortnight.  I know of people who destroy bank statements received two days back, after a cursory look and then go running for duplicate copies one week later from the bank because they cannot identify one transaction!  These specimens are more likely to discard stuff first and find themselves short of socks or underwear, because they have not had time to replenish! Many times they destroy photocopies of papers just in time; two days later they find that they need those photocopies again but unfortunately they had already disposed of the originals much earlier because they had photocopies!  They will gleefully tear up the boarding passes immediately after landing and wonder where they can get copies from, when they find that miles have not been credited to the frequent flyer account!  They would vigorously advocate throwing away yesterday's newspaper and run around like headless chicken to find the same newspaper two days later, when someone points out to them that they missed something interesting or important!

Interestingly, all hoarders are not savers of money and accumulators of wealth; and there are a number of discarders I know, who are very serious about savings to the point of being stingy! Such empirical evidence just baffles me.

And it gets livelier and entertaining when a discarder is juxtaposed to a hoarder through marriage or otherwise.  Clashes of interest are intense and objectives are diametrically opposite; the scene is set for frequent flare-ups and fierce arguments, if both parties are likely to dig in their heels.  Mercifully, if one is weaker, things subside pretty quickly and normalcy is restored.  More often than not, the discarder gets away with bouts of quiet  spring-cleaning; only because invariably the hoarder never seeks to retrieve anything from the hoard and derives satisfaction from the `idea' of hoarding.  There is absolutely no need for a 'touch and feel' kind of experience.  That would complicate things, as explained in the first two paras of this script and then all one party can say is `I am guilty' and hope to get away with that.  Because, this scene will play out again and again and again!! Neither party learns, let me assure you.

Questions and counter-questions; no answers!!

Even if you are an occasional watcher of that abomination called news hour on prime-time TV, like this scribe, you don't have to be very perceptive to figure out something rather ridiculous is going on. This tactic all mediocre politicians (mostly that is what we can boast of) use, when they are painted into a corner by a disturbing query from the opposite number or the anchor about some misdeed of their tribe.  They try dexterously to dance around the periphery and stonewall (for exactly these skills they are the anointed spokespersons of their respective parties) because the answer is something which will show them in unflattering light.  When they realize their plight, they use the final asthra in their armour in order to wriggle out of the tight corner - they effortlessly slide back to the oft-used tactic of delving into their archives and posing a counter question in the same domain, which shames the opposition .  No answer is provided, but the problem is solved.  While the younger generation of politicians attempts to provide some answer, however weak, the old bandicoots are shameless experts in exploiting this strategy.


The 1965 Thamizh movie `Thiruvilayadal' is about how Lord Shiva physically comes to the rescue of serious devotees in times of trouble.  One episode shows Shiva trying to help a small-time struggler of a  poet compete in the king's court, in a contest of verses to answer a question giving the King sleepless nights.  Shiva descends to earth, commiserates with the poet, who is desperately trying to compose the verse for the contest and without disclosing his own identity, offers to provide the verse, encouraging the poet to plagiarize - not the right role model for kids,  but then Gods can do what they please, right?   The poet bristles at having to borrow the verse of the stranger and pooh-poohs the idea, expressing doubts about the capability of Shiva.  So, Shiva wants to settle the matter through a session of catechism between the two and asks the poet `do you want to ask the questions or do I ask them'?  The answer from the poet - and he says this without even pausing for breath or batting an eye-lid - is etched in the memory of all Thamizh moviegoers for life - `No, No, I will ask the questions and you answer; because I only know the questions, never the answers'.  This classic line repeatedly plays in the absurd theatre of contemporary Indian politicians, whenever they are asked an inconvenient question.  In response, they go through plain evasion, then switch to equivocation and finally, when they see no way out, they raise a counter-question, knowing fully well that an answer will not be forthcoming.

Take the latest example of this worthy from Congress, who will remain unnamed (a clue: he is highly prone to this foot-in-the-mouth disease, his first name begins with D and ends with Y and  is a shameless practitioner of sycophancy) and who had this laughable poser in the context of the Supreme Court saying that the Central Bureau of Investigation (CBI) is a `caged parrot, with many masters'.  Not a single person with even a modicum of intelligence and understanding of ground realities of Indian politics, would have a problem with that super-accurate statement of the court, since CBI has long become subservient to the government of the day and has been a tool to beat its opponents with.  Obviously this individual does not measure up to the parameters specified above and fails to comprehend why the court said what it said.  He wants to play holier than thou and develops a sudden love for our institutions overnight.  So, instead of providing a rational answer to the court and public to rebut or explain as to how the government can improve things with reference to CBI, he has the temerity to ask his own question: `Are we not belittling our institutions by calling them parrots etc'? What an astounding level of brazenness in one who is a seasoned politician? Or is this so only because he is a seasoned politician? If anyone has unabashedly belittled our institutions day in and day out, there should be absolutely no doubt that it is our politicians of all hues.  Just look at our parliament and assemblies when they are in session and the charades that go on in the name of democracy, if you need proof.  And here is D......Y saheb, shedding tears even the crocodiles would find hard to match!

How about the Gujarat riots of 2002, consequent to that horrendous incident at Godhra?  Nearly 1100 people perished and the arson scarred the Indian psyche for good in the aftermath.  Various inquisitions might have been held and the inconclusive verdicts issued, deliberately or otherwise.  But, there is no doubt that ultimately the government of the day should bear at least moral responsibility if not more.  Congress never tires of raising the uncomfortable question of the government's and Chief Minister's culpability for the pogrom, especially when they find themselves mired in more than the usual quota of scams.  Tired of squeamishly providing unconvincing responses for over a decade, of late BJP has started countering with their own question: `What happened in 1984 after the anti-Sikh riots? Did the government and the Prime Minister (since this happened in Delhi) accept accountability and resign or what?'.  Now, between the two parties, they probably think the matter is settled and they can move on to the next phase of their diabolical existence. But the general populace, the most affected party, is left in the lurch, still looking for some kind of closure with judgements from the courts delayed for almost one generation in one case.

Thanks to the devious practices of the political bigwigs, even common men, who are sympathizers of these parties, resort to similar tactics, when confronted with uncomfortable questions.  Recently, during a heated discussion involving a mixed group of people owing allegiance to different parties, a rabid BJP follower wondered why our External Affairs Minister should visit China and kow-tow there when the Chinese army had ingressed into Indian territory in Ladakh, obviously with the approval of the government.  He averred that Salman Kurshid's visit as well as the visit of the Chinese Prime Minister to India should be summarily cancelled by India, until China restores status-quo-ante.  There are a hundred diplomatic nuances surrounding such visits, which could have been the basis for a smart, well thought-out response from the Congress member in the group.  But his retort was typically shallow -`Aha, what was the venerable BJP Prime Minister doing, fiddling with his Pakistani counterpart, when that country was setting Kargil on fire'? This is what happens when leaders do not display the maturity and political savvy to provide reasoned responses to questions; how would the tiniest cogs in the wheel and minions behave differently?

When the 2G scam was raging and the details were being discussed threadbare everywhere, fortunately for the ruling party, the mining and land allotment scams surfaced almost simultaneously in Karnataka as minor reprieves, even though the numbers involved were nowhere comparable.  The demand of the opposition for the resignation of the Prime Minister was met with a cool `Why is not the Karnataka Chief Minister resigning, even after having been indicted by the court for corruption in land allotment?' was the answering question from the ruling party.  This did puncture a hole in the wheel of the opposition, regardless of its hoarse protests that the situations were not comparable (are they not?).  But once again, instead of a question and an answer, we ended up with two questions and nowhere to go.

This pitiful game will continue until our political culture changes and for that we need a good crop of genuine leaders with loads of maturity and willingness to accept their mistakes.  That is not going to happen in a hurry because as my wife usually says, one can wake somebody who is actually sleeping; how do you wake up someone who is pretending to be asleep?  Yes, our politicians have to crawl out of their own self-inflicted coma first, for things to show semblance of transformation.  Until then, we can only dumbly watch the flow of counter questions!!



 

Awkward Memory Outages

Recently, a good friend was explaining to me how acutely stricken he was when he suddenly blanked out on the name of the wife of his closest friend and neighbour for fifteen years.  The fact that my friend turned beet-red in the face even as he was describing this to me a few months later, told me something should have been seriously out of kilter with him.  The neighbour had come asking my friend, who was trying to fix something in his car, where Sunita was.  Half concentrating on what he was doing, my friend turned and looked at the neighbour blankly, not comprehending why he was being asked the question, since he just did not `recognize' the name in that context.  He must have been gaping pretty stupidly for the neighbour to repeat the question irritably before moving away in his quest of a more responsive audience! For the next half an hour the witless man had ignored his car and struggled to retrieve that single nugget from his memory bank - who was Sunita and why was he being questioned about her?  Since the thorough internal search did not yield any dividend, he had to seek enlightenment from known external founts of knowledge; without losing time he turned to the one he had close at home. He explained the context to his own wife and asked her, knowing vaguely that he was well on the way to making an ass of himself and providing fodder to his wife for the next millennium to tease him. When his wife gave him that especially odd look (which translated into `why are you being more of a mutt today than usual'?) and exclaimed that the neighbour was indeed looking for his spouse, my friend soundlessly dissolved into a heap of embarrassment.  Deservedly so.  And he avoided crossing the path of his neighbour or his wife for the next few weeks (he would  have gladly avoided his own wife too, if he knew how), until he was certain  they had forgotten the rather humiliating affair.  His wife, however, ruthlessly and unabashedly uses that episode as an `asthra' to ensure that the friend maintains the desired degree of malleability and ductility at all times.

You say this happens to everyone?  Probably.  I see brain's memory bank as a whole lot of pigeon holes into which things are archived.  And the holes are all brightly lit, so that one can identify the contents during searches.  What happens when there is a momentary power outage, impeding retrieval of the desired information at a given moment?  Well, one struggles and turns beet-red, as my friend did.  One does not have to be with one leg in the grave or within striking distance of amnesia or Alzheimers to fall a victim to this pestilence.  This happens to healthy people in their prime routinely, so nothing to worry about except the immediate discomfiture.  There may be a thousand unconvincing explanations as to why this happens, but that is neither here nor there.

The other day, I woke up in the morning with a bee in my bonnet, as it were.  There was an intrusive buzz, which I could not banish despite concerted efforts.  I ignored the distraction for a while, but during breakfast it dawned on me that the buzz was actually the tune of a Thamizh film song.  With some unifocal effort, I could decipher the contours of the tune but my success trailed off beyond that. I could not identify or recall anything else - not the lyrics, not the singer, not the movie, nothing else.  I went about my chores for half a day, (which included two seemingly important conference calls on earth-shaking subjects like Liquidity Risk, Capital Adequacy, Governance issues) like someone who had a distinctly alien substance stuck in his throat, neither to be swallowed nor to be spat out.  All the while, this intriguing tune was playing in my mind as if in a loop.  When someone was expressing a serious concern about the extant asset liability mismatch and liquidity problems , I was screwing up my face in agony, trying to remember at least a few words from the lyrics of the song, so that full identification became possible by googling.  Another participant in the call, seeing me overwrought, thought that I was being uncharacteristically and needlessly emotional about mundane corporate matters and wanted to pacify me, offering me a glass of cold water.  Lunch and tea came and went without any improvement in the situation and I was getting increasingly agitated by my failure to put the finger on the nub.  I shed all inhibition about my singing ability or the acute lack of it and actually hummed the tune over phone to a friend, who revels in Thamizh film songs.  Unfortunately, to him, my off-key humming sounded like twelve different songs and when I rejected all his suggestions,  he angrily retorted that I ought to provide a more decent clue.  My glum look during dinner prompted my worried wife to ask what was wrong. Unfortunately she was no pundit with Thamizh film songs, so I did not see even a remote chance of her solving the puzzle for me.  A little after 2 a.m next day, when I got up for water, just one sleepy sip proved so potent that I attained `realisation' - the song came to me in a flash.  `Vannam Konda Vennilave' from Sigaram, a 1991 movie.  I hastened to listen to the song on Youtube a couple of times and with a sense of elation, went back to sleep.  What I wonder about is why and how did that particular song worm into my consciousness like a `canker in the bud' as the bard put it and why the resolution finally appeared on the horizon at that specific juncture.  I will never find out, I guess.

The other phenomenon that always puzzles me is that one can vividly remember inane things from one's childhood (events like the wild fisticuffs after a not-so-neutral umpire sheepishly made a ridiculously late no-ball call off the last ball of the match, to artificially `set-up' victory for one team just to hurt his `enemy' who was the captain of the other team) whereas much more recent events and people involved therein have already been consigned to oblivion by the memory.  How do you explain the fact that I can recall the seating arrangement in my VI class from about 50 years ago, can reel off the names of all classmates while ticking off their faces in my memory, but when accosted by a colleague of recent vintage, I had to awkwardly wait for him to re-introduce himself so that I got his name.  It cannot be because we have lived with childhood memories longer - not all are rehashed frequently in later life.  Is it because childhood memories are far more pleasant for most of us and are therefore entrenched well for retrieval at will??

 May be the answer lies in what my senior colleague proved once with evidence.  He had bustled into the room and asked a bunch of us if we remembered what the bank's revenue numbers were in the year 1981-82 (this was in 1985) and most of us just shrugged him off instantly.  Who was interested in remembering a three-year-old statistic from the bank's performance, now that the bonus has been digested?  This senior colleague then recalled not only that but various other related numbers, much to our amusement.  A few days later, he again barged in and innocently asked a couple of us `do you know which two batsmen were at the crease when Wesley Hall began the last over in the tied test of 1960 between Australia and West Indies?'.  At least three people had the correct answer (Grout and Benaud).  The senior colleague cackled and pointed out that we could not remember revenue numbers from 3 years back , but the other vignette came back to us after 25 years.  His theory was that people remembered what they `wanted' to remember.  Is that it?  May be, but then, strangely even when you maniacally want to recall something, that something eludes you like a veritable eel.

You know what is funny about this whole post?  I have been chewing the cud on this for quite a bit of time and even had a title ready.  It is a phrase used to signify something that is nagging and elusive, remains stubbornly nebulous and perseveres in being unresolved - an answer you know but cannot just put your arms around.  The problem is I have got hit by `memory outage', cannot seem to recollect what that phrase is and have had to resort to a lesser alternative.  It is not one of those run-of-the-mill phrases but something very catchy, used rather selectively but has deserted me completely.   I have asked a few people but they just look at me as if I have grown horns overnight.  It is a pity I cannot give any other clue, because I have no idea.  Can you help??







   

A different kind of migration!

If the reader belongs to the generation which went to school in the 60s and 70s, he/she would recall all those clarion calls made by ancient emperors when their borders were assaulted and the army was short of brawn and bodies.  The king asked each household in the kingdom to volunteer at least one able-bodied man to the war-front.   People did realise that the king was being nice and that `volunteer' bit did not deceive them;  they understood  it was actually a camouflaged mandate to be obeyed by citizens without demur.   Those who were not propelled to comply by bubbling patriotic fervour, were coerced to do so by the stalking fear of humiliation and ostracism from their own folk and the society at large.  The King himself was not overly concerned about the exhortation being labelled `sexist' in calling only able-bodied 'men', because even if the female of the household was bigger in frame, she certainly preferred that the lesser body be always carted to face the poisoned arrows, boiling oil and inebriated elephants running amok.  And more often than not, the men plumped consciously and wisely for what they perceived as the lesser of two evils and were probably happier staring down the dangers of war, rather than live the life of the downtrodden at home, greatly disadvantaged by their own inferior physique! A situation my dear father describes pithily as `the shade of the street-side neem tree being infinitely better than the discomfort of home'!!

One wonders what the citizenry's response would be, if such a clarion call were to originate from our current-day government.  Don't get this scribe wrong, he does not even entertain the vaguest intention of willfully maligning his compatriots as lily-livered.  He is just being a pragmatist in taking cognizance of all the morbid fears and diurnal concerns associated with modern life smothering down the nobler, patriotic instincts somewhat.  While we are good at vociferously demonstrating our love for the country through tumultuous street corner jamborees and in cricket stadia, with pizzas and ice-creams for company, it seems unlikely that we will extend it any further towards to the war-front.  That is probably true of majority of the citizens, this author included.  The overwhelming decree would be that the armed forces are there, they are the specialists and they will get our full-throated support.

What is this leading to, you wonder?? Against this background, think of the hordes of young men and women, voluntarily moving to USA at the mere beckoning, muted-squeak of the IT industry, forget clarion calls.  As a prologue to that, youngsters go by the planeloads thither, to equip themselves with higher education.  It would not be an exaggeration to say that many middle class households in the southern states (may be some other states too) have contributed at least one body to this cause or are in the process of getting that distinction - ah, finally I am relieved I got to the point this somewhat stretched analogy was building up to!  Easy to discern why, though - no danger of combat or bodily harm; on the contrary, the allure of a good life and shining future and why not!  Parents may even feel inadequate if their family is not represented in the USA - a reaction not very different from that of the the able-bodied man who had not gone to war at the king's behest in the old days.  But the `migration' in the title does not refer to the movement of youngsters for livelihood reasons, but what inevitably happens in the aftermath! This is about their parents flitting to and fro, for well-earned holidays and more likely, to provide the familial support that the youngsters desperately need overseas.

In any meeting of friends and families in Bangalore or Chennai or Hyderabad, conversation is not complete without parents exchanging their travel plans to be with the children in New Jersey or Bay Area or some other US city.  The party of the first part (Parents A) gleefully boasting of their forthcoming visit to the Bay Area in the summer months to the party of the second part (Parents B), in all probability means that retired parents are visiting, at a time of their own choice - summer, children who do not have the baggage of their own families to carry.  In response, the party of the second part mumbling something grudgingly about going to Chicago in November/December could mean only one thing -- that their married son or daughter had erred grievously in terms of timing the arrival of their next baby (who will not obviously tolerate the idea of being born outside of the US of A)  in the height of winter or some such similar unavoidable situation.   A typical Madrasi bone-structure (referring only to that which has truly thrived on the humidity and heat of the area for a few decades, has known no other clime and therefore is acutely allergic to anything alien) crackles and rebels at the very thought of being confronted by the icy cold winds of Lake Michigan.  Also, the concept of adding one or more layers of woolen clothing is anathema to a body, which is adept at shedding unwanted layers of clothing with alacrity.  Therefore, if  the party of the second part seems blatantly unhappy, even disconsolate in private, at the thought of having to visit USA in November/December, that indicates it is singularly bereft of options.  It is entirely another matter that what begins as enjoyable summer outings for the party of the first part could rapidly, meaning in a few years, degenerate into the nightmarish trips at inopportune times like the one the party of the second part is now faced with.  This transformation occurs expeditiously when the grown-up-kid in USA decides to get hitched, especially if the 'hitchee' is another kid from the same part of the world, in pretty much similar personal and professional situation as the 'hitcher'!!

For the parents, a trip to US always requires immense and careful psychological tuning, since it results in a temporary but significant life-style change; especially if the SOS arrives at an inconvenient time.  A lack of mental adjustment in the parents is made manifest in the way they diffidently approach the trip and stay there. When one is at the Chennai or Bangalore airport, waiting for the flight to New York or Chicago or elsewhere in the US, one cannot but marvel at the seasonal migration of older people to the US from this part of the world.  The stoic faces of the grey haired uncles and aunts usually give away very little about their state of mind. Some people just breeze through the journey and have a ball on the other side of the globe too.  But for many others, simple folks who have not travelled outside India much or have no craving for such expeditions, it is almost like they are waiting to be brutally launched into deep space without any protection or support. The glazed look screams that all is not well!  The 24-hour rigour of being boxed in an economy seat is sheer torture for most people.  Especially if some sensitive, arthritic limb also hears the pre-boarding announcements and commences those familiar but disconcerting, cracking noises in protest.  The anxiety of being deprived of the essence of life, curd rice, for the duration of the journey and the possibility of having to look at a neighbour tearing his chicken or fish with a fork, exacerbate the discomfort multi-fold for the staunch vegetarian.  If inability to sleep at home in the horizontal position was a minor bother for some, being vertical and sleepless during the journey becomes a major hazard.   If it is an auntie travelling alone, because the spineless uncle cried off and she happens to be parked next to a foreigner on board, the auntie's face remains furrowed into a crease and blanched for most of the journey - as if she has a ghost for company!  There is general trepidation whenever the foreigner tries communicating anything and the deer-in-the-headlights kind of reaction of the lady makes the former beat a hasty retreat, lest he is accused of trying something sinister.

The transit stop en route entails a veritable quest for the holy grail for some inasmuch as the routine chore of identifying the correct gate and flight in a German or French airport assumes gargantuan proportions. For no reason at all, it becomes an exercise of  repeated querying every second step without a clear understanding of the `faulty' pronunciation when the Europeans respond.  Visions of  the whole airport set up conspiring to detain them at the transit stop with some ulterior motive are conjured and the outcome is many more panic buttons are pressed and red lights flash for some time! Add to this, the prospect of facing the biometric ordeal at Immigration after a long wait, saving precious Paruppu Podi from being dumped by the suspicious customs guys with a lucid explanation, the loneliness of living without familiar neighbours, restricted mobility because of the dependency on someone else for movement, inability to go out and wander about in the neighbourhood as is one's wont - the list is unending, for some.

As my wife says every time we meet such parents when we travel, if, despite all this hardship, parents keep winging out to help their kids in the US during times of childbirth, illness, kids' own travels and all other assorted reasons, they deserve kudos for that.  That is the hallmark of that generation, generally speaking I guess - doing this for their children, despite their own apprehensions.  That is why this kind of migratory behaviour is special.  Birds and animals migrate because their current habitation cannot support them any longer with food or water or whatever. But this set of people migrate not necessarily always for fun or survival, but very often against their own volition because their current habitation is probably the best suited for them and they are forced to leave something they love - for the sake of others!!  I only wish they would learn to enjoy such trips.  And the hope is that the youngsters are gracious enough to do as much and more for their parents when the time comes and the need arises.  Actually, I know many who do.  Indeed, that is gratifying!!