Friday, August 14, 2009

Back to school



Its almost time when schools reopened and you got back to the grind for another year. This is also the time when you look forward to the routine, which would become disdainful by the time session got over. I guess, its the change that we constantly crave for. These are my memories of the beginning of a new session.

Each new session for us would mean new beginnings in many ways. Many a times it used to mean new school and therefore, new set of friends (have been to 7 different schools). It meant progress- probably grown taller, more difficult maths, more competition, longer school hours, more homework, lab work, and the list grew longer as one progressed in school.

I would totally look forward to it, as it meant vying for new set of responsibilities. So, the new year presented the opportunity of holding a 'class office'. In order of hierarchy, you could become class monitor, duster and chalk in charge, attendance in-charge, out pass, notebook, line, electricity,uniform monitor. The 'office' holders were important people and were generally seen with respect. I always had some portfolio and sometimes more than one under my belt. So, the beginning of session determined your status through the year.

What excited me most were the new set of books, which we would mostly buy from Arya Book Depot, Karol Bagh (the Delhi wallas would know this Mecca of CBSE books). The smell of the freshly bound books is still fresh in my memory. With this came the task of covering the books. A day would be spent covering all books with brown paper. All care would be taken to buy the most appealing name tag and pasting them right in the centre of countless H.W/C.W notebooks. The biggest challenge for a very long time was to write the name in a neat handwriting. My father or my sister would come to my rescue.

Apart from the books, a great deal of time was spent buying geometry boxes. The tin geometry boxes, mostly orange and yellow(camlin) or blue and red (Natraj), were quite another story. The symphony of opening and closing tin geometry boxes at the beginning of the class, conveyed the mood of the class. So, closing it with a loud clap would mean-confidence- you know the answer or the exercise is a cake walk, the soft opening would mean you are unsure. All heads would turn with the noise of a fallen box in an examination, eliciting different response from the examinees. Some would click tongues disapprovingly for disturbing them and breaking their flow,others would see it as an opportunity to take a break and asses how much the rest have finished. Then the music it made, when you wanted to show off your latest acquisition (Chinese pen), is inexplicable.

My mother was very particular and always bought us new bags, tiffin boxes, bottles (mostly Milton), shoes and uniform (white socks pulled till the knees were the most important). Voila! you are ready for the new year ahead.

Seriously, the preparation for the new session was always more interesting than the session itself.

A Tryst with Destiny

This is the full speech that was delivered to the Constituent Assembly of India in New Delhi on August 14 1947 by Pt. Jawaharlal Nehru.

Long years ago we made a tryst with destiny, and now the time comes when we shall redeem our pledge, not wholly or in full measure, but very substantially.

At the stroke of the midnight hour, when the world sleeps, India will awake to life and freedom. A moment comes, which comes but rarely in history, when we step out from the old to the new, when an age ends, and when the soul of a nation, long suppressed, finds utterance.

It is fitting that at this solemn moment we take the pledge of dedication to the service of India and her people and to the still larger cause of humanity.

At the dawn of history India started on her unending quest, and trackless centuries are filled with her striving and the grandeur of her success and her failures. Through good and ill fortune alike she has never lost sight of that quest or forgotten the ideals which gave her strength. We end today a period of ill fortune and India discovers herself again.

The achievement we celebrate today is but a step, an opening of opportunity, to the greater triumphs and achievements that await us. Are we brave enough and wise enough to grasp this opportunity and accept the challenge of the future?

Freedom and power bring responsibility. The responsibility rests upon this assembly, a sovereign body representing the sovereign people of India. Before the birth of freedom we have endured all the pains of labour and our hearts are heavy with the memory of this sorrow. Some of those pains continue even now. Nevertheless, the past is over and it is the future that beckons to us now.

That future is not one of ease or resting but of incessant striving so that we may fulfil the pledges we have so often taken and the one we shall take today. The service of India means the service of the millions who suffer. It means the ending of poverty and ignorance and disease and inequality of opportunity.

The ambition of the greatest man of our generation has been to wipe every tear from every eye. That may be beyond us, but as long as there are tears and suffering, so long our work will not be over.

And so we have to labour and to work, and work hard, to give reality to our dreams. Those dreams are for India, but they are also for the world, for all the nations and peoples are too closely knit together today for anyone of them to imagine that it can live apart.

Peace has been said to be indivisible; so is freedom, so is prosperity now, and so also is disaster in this one world that can no longer be split into isolated fragments.

To the people of India, whose representatives we are, we make an appeal to join us with faith and confidence in this great adventure. This is no time for petty and destructive criticism, no time for ill will or blaming others. We have to build the noble mansion of free India where all her children may dwell.

The appointed day has come - the day appointed by destiny - and India stands forth again, after long slumber and struggle, awake, vital, free and independent. The past clings on to us still in some measure and we have to do much before we redeem the pledges we have so often taken. Yet the turning point is past, and history begins anew for us, the history which we shall live and act and others will write about.

It is a fateful moment for us in India, for all Asia and for the world. A new star rises, the star of freedom in the east, a new hope comes into being, a vision long cherished materialises. May the star never set and that hope never be betrayed!

We rejoice in that freedom, even though clouds surround us, and many of our people are sorrow-stricken and difficult problems encompass us. But freedom brings responsibilities and burdens and we have to face them in the spirit of a free and disciplined people.

On this day our first thoughts go to the architect of this freedom, the father of our nation, who, embodying the old spirit of India, held aloft the torch of freedom and lighted up the darkness that surrounded us.

We have often been unworthy followers of his and have strayed from his message, but not only we but succeeding generations will remember this message and bear the imprint in their hearts of this great son of India, magnificent in his faith and strength and courage and humility. We shall never allow that torch of freedom to be blown out, however high the wind or stormy the tempest.

Our next thoughts must be of the unknown volunteers and soldiers of freedom who, without praise or reward, have served India even unto death.

We think also of our brothers and sisters who have been cut off from us by political boundaries and who unhappily cannot share at present in the freedom that has come. They are of us and will remain of us whatever may happen, and we shall be sharers in their good and ill fortune alike.

The future beckons to us. Whither do we go and what shall be our endeavour? To bring freedom and opportunity to the common man, to the peasants and workers of India; to fight and end poverty and ignorance and disease; to build up a prosperous, democratic and progressive nation, and to create social, economic and political institutions which will ensure justice and fullness of life to every man and woman.

We have hard work ahead. There is no resting for any one of us till we redeem our pledge in full, till we make all the people of India what destiny intended them to be.

We are citizens of a great country, on the verge of bold advance, and we have to live up to that high standard. All of us, to whatever religion we may belong, are equally the children of India with equal rights, privileges and obligations. We cannot encourage communalism or narrow-mindedness, for no nation can be great whose people are narrow in thought or in action.

To the nations and peoples of the world we send greetings and pledge ourselves to cooperate with them in furthering peace, freedom and democracy.

And to India, our much-loved motherland, the ancient, the eternal and the ever-new, we pay our reverent homage and we bind ourselves afresh to her service. Jai Hind [Victory to India].

Thursday, August 13, 2009

Death of a fountain pen


When I started schooling, all I carried with me of importance (to me) was a colorful tiffin box and a matching tiny water bottle, with my name tag on the strap somewhere. Ofcourse, those were the days when even I wore a tag, giving my name and the folks I belonged to; on the right pocket, and a hanky with some cartoon on it, folded in a neat triangle pinned to my left pocket. First few years were spent playing with putty and drawing mountain kind of structure with a pencil-the most important tool for the next five years. I remember the journey from holding a pencil straight (and my mother's struggle in the initial years, in making me do so),to growing up to be old enough to use a fountain pen.
A pencil was a very simple and unglamorous tool. Besides, it never seemed to get over . Those white camllin pencils with pink flowers and green leaves were just as innocent and cute as the years of primary schooling. However, they didn't seem to bring with them any adventure, risk (for long we were forbidden from using a blade for sharpening them) or repsponsiblity. So, the realtionship with pretty pencils by the time one reached fourth grade got itchier than the "seven year itch". The fourth grade was spent waiting to bid farewell to the pencils, forever. The prospect of a dallaince with the ink pen was too exciting. The longing to hold, use and rightfully possess an ink pen, would be better understood by people who had older siblings already using them. Finally, in a years time, you would be at the same pedestal as them.
The fifth grade is an important milestone in the student life. You are considered mature and responsible enough to handle a fountain pen. Also, the teachers back then insisted on using an ink pen, some even refused to correct the work done in ball pen. Apparently, the handwriting using an ink pen is neater than the ball point. A typical fountain pen requires little or no pressure to write. The ink lubricates the nib and helps in gliding over the paper. Thus, making writing smooth with a greater grip. Suddenly, your handwriting started to appear better. You tried to do all the written work before time, surprising not just your parents but also yourself. All for the love of the writing instrument. So much so that you even did rough work with an ink pen.
The whole idea of buying a new ink pen was exciting, because it meant you got to carry whole lot of papraphernalia with it. So, you not only shopped for a pen but also the ink (mostly camel -royal blue, chelpark- blue balck). You inevitably bought the plastic ink dropper and an ink rubber. The ugly looking, devoid of any fragrance, mostlly pink, blue or buff colored, ink rubber, meant business. Typically, they almost always had to be made a little wet (mostly tip of the tongue lent the moisture) before use and would almost always end up tearing the paper. Also, another thing that came in handy in case of an emergency was a piece of chalk, to blot ink or leaking ink pens. Later, towards the close of the fountain pen era, the chalk was replced by absorbent tissue papers. Apart from these, another important tool in the geometry box of the cleanliness freaks was a blade. That completed the geometry box.
However, the most important purchase till the teenage years, before getting bitten by the fashion bug, was that of a fountain pen. Specailly a day before the exam was legitimate entitlement. That was one day when you did not have to say what you wanted, but your father enquired if you wanted something for the exam. Naturally, that was one opportunity I never let go off. This was one preparation, which was to me, more important than actual preparation for the exam. So, the trip to the local stationery shop, trying out different pens, scribbling some gibberish on a peice of paper, practsing your ever changing ssignature resembling a swatteredd fly, provided a good respite from all the cramming.
My experience began with an ugly looking, fat, green ink pen, with a big nib. Getting used to the ink pen took a while. Holding the pen too close to the nib would not only leave a stain on the phalange of the middle fingure, but also leave a dent on that part from holding it too tight. The stain and the dent was an evidence of all the work you did in the school. So, nobody seemed to mind it much. Filling up my first ink pen was a messy job. In the absence of a dropper, I had to use the ink cap to fill the reservoir, mostly spilling some on my skirt.
Then came the era of Chinese pens. Their short hooded nib made it easier to use. But the problem was that they were very expensive and you had to prove worthy of possesing one. They came in charcteristic three colors maroon / black/ green bordering towards blue with golden cap. That golden cap lent it a certain class and style.. It was more like a BMW in the days of fiat.What also set it apart was the squiggly rubber sac/pipe would suck the ink in. Totally cutting the mess out. Though most unreliable as it hardly carried any ink, just enough to run out in an exam. Still to posses one meant being cut above the rest. The air with which you pulled out the Chinese pen, uncapped it, and wiped the leaking drops of ink on your head, whiffed of superiority
Then came the era of cartridge pens. These used pre-filled ink cartridges, totally cutting out the fun of filling n spilling the ink. All you needed was to load a new cartridge each time and you were ready to fire. The action of loading a cartridgre gave me the feeling of preparing for a battle/loading a gun. It was too masculine for my taste. Besides, it came in very regular colors and was expensive. Their cheap imitation was soon in market which used piston type filling mechanism. So, you dipped the pen in the ink pot and pulled decent amount of ink with the piston. Almost like filling a syringe. Eachtime I refilled made me feel like a doctor- with a difference- wielding the syringe and not taking it. Besides, they came in the most outrageous colors and combinations. Hot pink, purple, yellow and what not. I liked them.
Finally, things revolutionised with the coming of Reynolds ball pen. The characteristic blue cap and white body, with a fine tip undermined the importance of an ink pen. All this while, the famous "pilot pen" co-existed with the ink pen , but was more for the use of signing dossuments. My father always used it and forbade us from having it. He would carefully refill it with the tiniest ink bottle with nozzle on it.
However, the final blow to the ink pen was the roller gel pen.The ink pens have died a silent death. Unfortuantely, the new generation would never get to use it in schhool. Its considered uncool to use a messy ink pen. As a teacher, I never saw anyone use ink pen that I so proudly used as a student. Probably, just as my mother tells us about the 'takhti' (slate), I would tell my children about fountain pen.

Wednesday, June 24, 2009

SEX, LIES ,AND REALITY!


Shiney Ahuja a star who appeared on the Bollywood circuit from almost nowhere, took the industry by storm with a string of hits such as, Hazaron khwaihishein Aisi, Gangster, Life in a Metro, Bhool Bhulaiyya, has again made news, but this time for the wrong reasons . He is in judicial custody for allegedly raping his maid servant. The onscreen “Hero” has been arrested for committing a “Villainous” act in reality. He has recently been jailed for not only raping his maid servant, possibly a minor (as the age hasn’t yet been established), but also threatening to kill her.

As is with all the cases involving celebrities in India, this case too, in just a few days witnessed many twists and turns. First, keeping with the media pattern, all that the news channels did was to show the report repeatedly, sensationalizing the crime with little facts, almost negligible footage, crazy background music and dizzying zooming in and out of stills (a trend birthed and nursed by Ekta Kapoor. What’s surprising is that the news channels have aped it too!!).

There are new reports everyday which clearly demonstrate the forces at work. So, one day there are reports of the girl being a minor, Ahuja being in his senses (established by a blood test), CM announcing compensation (as if there is one!), chairperson of National Commission of Women holding press conference and promising justice to the victim. All sympathies are naturally with the victim. The very next day a new angle is carefully thought and planted, the latest being, a case of blackmail gone sordidly wrong. The maid supposedly has a rogue, junky boyfriend, who tried to set Shiney up. Clearly, this is an example of use of character assassination of the victim as an easy ploy (as though the actor was able to stand the test!). Also, Shiney’s admittance to consensual sex, coupled with absence of signs of assault on the girl, and the wife’s claims of Shiney being innocent, leave one perplexed. The wave of empathy , as of now, vacillates between the wronged and the accused, till proven guilty.

Prima facie, crime has been committed. It’s now to be seen what happens with another high profile case in India. The precedence in such cases however, is not very encouraging. After all, Shakti Kapoor, Aman Verma, Madhur Bhandarkar, Salman Khan roam scot free. Sanjay Dutt went to jail, came out and gave super- duper hit Munnabhai MBBS. Salman was out (after rampaging the poor), and once again restored his superstardom with Tere Naam. After all, we are such forgiving, innocent, imbecile fools!

After much hype and brouhaha, the case would die its own death. Shiney Ahuja too would be walking out on bail (if convicted), doling out hits like before and minting money like never before. It seems, that the ‘road to superstardom’ in Bollywood, passes through the Arthur Road Jail.

The travesty of justice!

For once can justice be meted out without any prejudice?