Time marches on!

" The hands of fate just won't wait as time marches on"! Thus go the words of an old song.
Well, 2009 has slid to an end and in retrospect,what do I remember the most from the happenings of the year?

Uppermost on my mind , of course, is the passing over of my sister in October. This was undeniably, the cruellest blow to me, quite devastating. However, since I have written about her earlier, let me move on. After all, time also marches on.

I had the opportunity to undergo the truly magnificent experience of a wedding on the beach during sunset in Goa. My school pal Amit's son decided to hitch his wagon to his star in this memorable way. As the bride and groom, dressesd in their resplendent wedding fineries, exchanged vows, the sun dipped low over the Arabian Sea to provide a perfect backdrop to a most romantic scenario. The soft breeze, the rhythmic chants of the priests, the fragrance of the twilight hours.........all seemed to mingle with one another to create an enchanting ambience. It was beautiful! The whole ceremony is firmly implanted in my mind. But trust me to mess up in some way! I forgot to carry my camera! Imagine! So, the only picture of that unforgettable experience is the one in my mind!

Another wonderful experience of 2009 was our holiday in Kasol. Of late, I had been carping about the fact that I had not been to the hills for a very long time. Well, here we were accompanying the Chaudhuris of Kolkata to this pristine pure hamlet nestled in the Parvati river valley in Himachal Pradesh. At an altitude of about 5000 ft Kasol was splendidly cool and a welcome escape from the muggy September days of Delhi.
The resort that we stayed in was built on a sort of promontory which overlooked a sheer drop to the gushing river down below. The living quarters were quite a bit set back from the edge, and therefore, they left a large open space for people to lounge in with only the hills and the constant roar of the river to keep them company.

It was on this open space that we had formed our favourite perch. Indeed, as I reflect on those days, we spent practically all the waking hours sitting on this deck and losing ourselves amidst the imposing, lofty green hills, the majestic snow-capped peaks, the songs of myriad birds frolicking in the woods and the constant soporfic call of the Parvati. We ate there al fresco, we drank there, we read books there and we regularly dozed there as well!
It really was a blissful hassle-free week that we spent. The only regeret is that the holiday could not be longer.Alas , how the good things in life are in perpetual short supply!

2009 was also the year when we lost a friend, a sister, a colleague's wife in Uma, Gautam Mitra's wife. To us, she was always Chhotu, never Uma. Kumi and I vividly remember the day when we were at a lunch hosted by Chhhordi at her East of Kailash house in the early eighties. It was during this lunch that the snap decision for Gautam to meet Chhotu was mooted. And it was from this lunch that the protagonists of this romantic liasion drove to my in-laws' house (they were firmly recognised as the real marriage brokers!) where Chhotu had been brought over to be "presented", so to say! So, that was where Swapan, Gautam's able deputy, stamped his seal of approval on the proposed wedding and, as they say, the rest is history!

Ironically, both Chhordi and Chhotu left this world in 2009! Over the years, the Mitras and us became really close friends which took us through almost 3 decades , including the carefree and eventful years in Faridabad between 1979 and 1986.

So, 2009 was really an year of mixed experiences for me. Naturally, at this juncture, I am hoping for a 2010 which will be loaded more in favour of the fortunate and less in favour of the unfortunate! But as the cliched phrase goes, man proposes and God disposes. So, I await my life's future experiences with open arms and an open mind. After all, que sera sera! Happy new Year!

Kid stuff!

What is the most shocking city? The answer is electricity! If you think that this is the mother of all PJs then think again. This gem came, not from me and neither from The King of PJs (my son-law!), but from Raghav, my grandson, all of 6 years of age!!! Imagine! I cannot but feel - a little grudgingly, to be honest - that today's kids are far more developed in their intellect than we were, or at least I was, at that age.

Take for instance the case of this hapless writer. At the age of six I remember asking my parents whether M/S Mukherjee and Mazumdar of the Imperial Bank were Indians! This was also the age when I stole four Black & White cigarettes from my father's case only to chew them thoroughly before being sick as a cat all over the drawing room carpet! Six was the age when I fought with my mother one day because she refused to allow me to use her make-up! And six was also my age when ,on another occasion, I bawled my lungs out at my first sight of snow, as it lay blanketing the entire landscape that was visible from my window!

Do you still feel that today's child is not smarter than his agemate of 50 years ago? Were you very smart?

Take the case of Kabir, our other grandson, much the elder at the ripe old age of nine! At nine I used to wonder whether I could ever be clever enough to become an engine driver! Or a "bara babu" in my father's bank! Kabir has other ideas. Recently, he traumatised a cabbie in Sri lanka by asking him where did that country obtain their petroleum products from and whether it had its own power industry! See what I mean?

I remember that, when I was about nine years of age, I spent a lot of time trying to perfect the various techniques of spinning a top or swinging a yo-yo. At times I was better than the other boys and girls and at times I was not. It seemed to me at that time that to aquire the extreme skills needed to execute the more complicated manouvres was nothing short of a Herculean task.

Todays' children play video games. The games are actually very interesting and seem easy enough till such time I have a go! On several occasions, I have been bold enough to contest Kabir at various such games. And I must say that I did fairly well considering the initial trepidation that I had. Sadly my euphoria was always short-lived because the 200 or 300 points that I had managed to garner on these occasions did not at all appear as match-winning as I thought once Kabir had totted up the points in excess of 2000 or so!

Both Kabir and Raghav are adept at anything electronic - as I am sure are thousands of kids elsewhere. This generation's affinity for digital contraptions is amazing. May it gather more momentum to be able to cope with the marvels of technology that are sure to come in the future.

As for us grandfathers and grandmothers, may we continue to perpetuate all the nuances of Darwin's theory of evolution!!!

Remembering 26/11

A full year has gone by. Have things changed? I do not know. I only hope so for the sake of the world that we live in, for the sake of the millions of innocent people who inhabit that world, for the sake of India and Indians. I can only pray that no one has to stop doing things in order to live; lest he or she be in danger of being killed by unknown, unseen, uncompromising and unwanted sub-human beings who masquerade as "saviours" but are no less than the lowest of low terrorists.

So what can I say today - one year after the disaster of Mumbai 26/11/08? So much to say in so little space. It may be a good idea to recall the words that had come to my mind last year...during the actual trauma that India experienced. At that time I had addressed my piece to Mumbai and the indomitable Mumbaikars. A year later I rededicate it to all who were hurt and touched by the horrors which are , nodoubt, ingrained in the hearts and minds of every Indian and all good people, anywhere in the world. Do read on and relive the anguish we all shared last year.



MUMBAI!

I was born in Purnea, an obscure town in Bihar. I traveled with my parents to various places till I reached Kolkata at the age of seven. I lived in Kolkata for seventeen years before I shifted to the National Capital Region. It has been forty years since then that I have lived in North India. Yet, on the 26th and 27th of November ’08, I cried my heart out for Mumbai, a city where I have never lived, and its showpiece the Taj Mahal Hotel!

My relationship with Mumbai was initially restricted to a few business trips during my working days. Nowadays, ever since Rupa, our daughter, moved there along with her husband and children, my visits to the city of dreams have increased manifold. My wife Kumkum, however, is a frequent visitor, courtesy her job. She invariably stays at the The Trident, still popular under its former sobriquet of The Oberoi Towers. And thus it has come to be that there has been hardly a trip to Mumbai when Kumi or both of us have not taken a turn along the Apollo Bunder, taken a launch ride from the Gateway Of India, enjoyed a leisurely cup of coffee at the Sea Lounge, dined at the Kandahar, and invariably, gazed long at and photographed the magnificent façade of the Taj Mahal Hotel, either from the vicinity of the Gateway or from aboard some vessel out at sea. At every step I would recall a few words from my childhood, spoken by my father, that the Taj in “Bombay” is one of the most photographed buildings in India, because of its sheer immensity and grandeur.

What a sight the Taj hotel presents to any seafarer as he cruises the waters off the shores of Mumbai….an iconic beauty which proclaims to all the world that this is India; a modern face of an ancient civilization! So it must have been for the emperor of British India in 1911 and so it must be for any tourist coming into an independent India from distant shores, the Elephanta Caves, or for that matter from anywhere across the seas, near or far.

Was it any different for ten young men who set sail from Karachi on a fateful November night with black destruction in their hearts, destruction of the soul of humanity, yet again? Did they, even for a moment, pause to think in remorse that they were setting out to obliterate a magnificent symbol which has drawn millions of people from far and wide to embrace this enchantress of the east called India? Did they, on first gazing at the splendour of the Taj Mahal’s facade from the Arabian Sea, even for a minute feel the futility of violating this beautiful symbol of a vibrant nation?

Did they hold so much hatred for the people of India to be the agents of a massacre of such devastating proportions? Did they have no human compunctions about killing, killing, killing…..hundreds of innocent people who did not know them from Adam and who had harmed them in no way, ever?

Thousands of Indians who have never visited Mumbai conjure up pictures of the Taj in their minds when they think of the city. Children are taught to recognize photographs of the palatial building and told to identify it with the city of Mumbai. Every visitor poses in front of the imposing building to be captured in cameras by their loved ones. A trip to see the Gateway and the Taj is a “must do” on every itinerant traveller’s check-list.

For, the Taj Mahal hotel is not only a preserve of the lucky Mumbaikars who get the opportunity of frequent interface with it, but also a proud symbol of a proud nation which holds it as a symbol of India and its great Indianness. The Taj Mahal hotel is as much their own as it is for the Mumbaikars. The Mumbaikars are as much fellow-Indians as the people of the rest of the country. When Mumbai bleeds so does the rest of India. Mumbai’s miseries are also our miseries. That is why I cried my heart out this November.

I shall never know what compels a few human beings to feel and transmit such vitriolic hatred for other human beings. I shall never know what drives them to plunge their souls into such titanic depths of barbarism. I shall also never understand what motivates people who teach others to hate for hatred’s sake, to seek out and kill unknown people by the thousands, and who preach and glorify what resides in the darkest of dark recesses of the sub-human mind. If this means that I do not understand religion and the tenets of life, then so be it!

As Mumbai lies maimed and crippled, I grieve for the wonderful people who live in this wonderful city of ours. The oft-quoted “spirit of Mumbai” will no doubt rise in quick-time and help the city once again to stand up on its feet. The only dark cloud that hovers overhead is the cloud of politics and our politicians. For, who can forget that, heinous as it was, this attack managed to unite all Indians to the core like seldom before despite the best efforts of our politicians whose collective and myopic vision hardly ever extends beyond the lucre of the vote bank!

I reach out to Mumbaikars….I know that you will soon pick yourselves up and resume your separate journeys with little fuss, great fortitude and immense dignity….as usual. When you do that as indeed now, we, the rest of India, shall be with you, right alongside.

The Riddle of Politics

I never got attracted to politics. In fact, I do not understand what politics is all about. After all, what in heaven's name is politics? To seek an answer I turned to the trusted friend...the O.E.D. According to it politics "is the art and science of government; political affairs or life; (as pl.) political principles." Well, clear as mud-water, isn't it! Nevertheless one can safely conclude that politics does have something to do with government, and hence, governance as well.

If that be so, then what kind of art prompted some wise men of Norway to bestow the Nobel Peace Prize on Barack Obama, the still-wet-behind-the-ears President of the USA who was practically unheard of before his nomination for the big job came by? This gesture does smack strongly of politics since it defies any logic, rhyme or reason. Unless of course it was not politics but economics! Or was this no piece of art at all? Was it the enunciation of some esoteric theory of modern science?

Take the case of our home-grown Manu Sharma. He shot and killed a young lady in a night club in full public because she refused to serve him yet another drink. He was convicted with great difficulty and sentenced to life imprisonment after initially having been aquitted by the law courts. (For God's sake!) It was outraged public opinion that forced the justice system to have a re-look at the case and bring about the conviction. But the coup-de-grace is that, after all this, Sharma was let out on parole for two months ostensibly to attend to his ailing mother who was found busy campaigning for her husband's election! No prizes for guessing that Sharma Snr belongs to the ruling party! Manu Sharma was also to perform the last rites of his grandmother who had passed away months previously! And the piece-de-resistance, as it were, is that the criminal had the temerity to also request for parole in order to attend to his business! And we are talking about a criminal convicted for cold-blooded murder! What kind of subtle art or science was being indulged in by the goverment in providing this out-of-turn parole to a vicious killer?

Our Union Cabinet Ministers choose not to operate from the seat of the nation's government, i.e. the capital, but rather from the state which returned them to the parliament, with both eyes firmly fixed on the Chief Minister's chair. They ignore cabinet meetings with disdain. They oppose moves of their own government. They do not even look towards the Centre, where they belong in the first place, when things go grossly wrong in their own ministries. But they thrive they prosper in the nation's Council of Ministry, since "politics" does not permit anything otherwise.

And the people, poor us, the bulwark of a democracy that India is, is powerless to do anything about this"art and science of government". We vote but we do not choose our government nor the way we want to be governed. This is politics. This is what I do not understand. No wonder a great man had said that"democracy is the worst form of government, except for the others!" But does it mean that we the people have to unendingly resign ourselves to suffer under undesirable governance just becaus of the so-called "compulsions of politics?" Will the good people in government continue to be arm-twisted by the bad ones, not in the interest of the nation and its populace, but in the dubious interest of politics? There is obvious truth in the belief that good people have just to do nothing to enable evil to take root.

Because of this and much more, I do not understand politics, O.E.D.'s contribution notwithstanding. The persisting fear is....what other acts of horror are in store for us in its name or in its compulsions?

The Chhordi she was

She left quietly for eternal peace, from a non-descriptive hospital room. But she had arrived in this world amid the noisy bombing of Calcutta by the Japanese. It was the 2nd World War. The city was dark then, under black-out. It was the 8th of November exactly 67 years ago, to the day.
I wonder if she realised, that till the last active moments of her life she was destined to always arrive with a bang, wherever she went. Nobody was ever left in doubt of the fact that she was around. Always bursting with the joys of life, as it were. Fun and laughter formed a vibrant leit motif of her life.
Since, I was only 2 years younger than her - the three other siblings are at least nine years older than me! - we spent the maximum number of years together till she married and left the Chatterjee home in 1968.
When I recall the days of Chittagong, (yes I do remember bits and pieces of our stay there!) , of Darjeeling, of our years in Kolkata spent with gusto in Lake View Road, Mahanirvan Road, Ballygunge Place and Lake Gardens, what stands out is that Chhordi and I were the only siblings together throughout those memorable two and a half action-packed decades. Naturally, we were the best of friends, even till her very last days. We shared a lot of our joys, miseries and secrets that nobody else knew of. However, the one thing that remained the common denominator through all those years and decades was the inevitability of laughter and more laughter!
She even laughed when she realised that the pony I was riding on died shortly after choosing to suddenly sit down, with me precariously hanging from the saddle! This was in Darjeeling during those heady childhood years of carefree abandon, when we went through time playing, riding and exploring the beauteous wonders of the Himalayan town, often with Bapi(our dad) as our guide and mentor. Bapi had taken some wonderful photograhs of the two of us during those excursions. In fact, two of them, taken on the lawns of Government House and on the famous promenade around the Observatory HIll, used to adorn the walls of Chhordi's home, wherever she lived.
Calcutta, where both of us lived from 1951 to 1968, was to be the place where we spent time growing up, through school, college, university, et al. Those were truly fun years because, no matter what she was engaged in or I was busy with, we would have plenty of time for each other, more often than not, to laugh together. This included some common parties we would attend. She would come to watch a few of the cricket matches I played in, never failing to create a ruckus from the boundary line, often resulting in my embarrassing misses on the field!. I reciprocated the compliments by attending her college exhibitions (she was qualified in Fine Arts from the Govt. College of Arts & Crafts, Calcutta) although, I must confess, I was more partial to visiting her in college when she was in her 3rd year when the nudes would be posing for the students!! It was fun to watch her trying to shoo me and my friends away, no doubt wishing every moment that the earth would open up and swallow her!
The mid-sixties saw Chhordi and I spending a lot of time with the Cosmopolitan Club, a club founded by our parents together with several other original residents of Lake Gardens. This was a club which subsisted on the spirit of the members more than anything else. It had no premises.The objective was for the members to have a lot of wholesome fun amongst themselves, through weekly tea meetings and monthly dinner meetings at their residences by turns.
This is the forum in which the two of us were given the unenviable task of teaching some leaden-footed enthusiasts, by far our seniors, the rudiments of ballroom dancing!Needless to say that this endeavour was soon abandoned, not so much for the lack of aptitude on the part of the
participants, which was considerable, but more for the fact that Chhordi, the chief instructor, was apt to spend the time rolling with laughter at the antics of the amply-proportioned learners!! Invariably, the sessions would end up in a riot!
I shall never forget the fancy dress party that the Cosmopolitan Club organised. Chhordi and I appeared as a newly married couple with she being the groom and me the coy bride! This, I am sure, is the only "case of the giggling groom" on record!!
There used to be two pretty girls, sisters, living right across the road from our house. One night, three of my friends who were sleeping in for the night and I decided to have some fun by scaring the wits out of them. It was around 2.00a.m. We thought that hurling missiles against their bedroom door and windows would be the best ploy. Soon Chhordi was amongst us and was promptly roped in for our game. Lo and behold! Not only did she help us prepare the missiles with her used paint tubes, but also in no time she was busy hurling them with irrepressible glee alongside us!
Not that she was a tomboy. Oh no, not at all! During her college days, she was like a veritable moth to a flame, the way she drew attention from numerous male aspirers. In fact, several times she insisted that I accompany her to stave off the more dogged ones. This itself was a source of hilarity to her because, those days, I resembled a cadaver far more than a normal human with my miserable lack of the much needed avoir dupois!
My nephew Bunty has written about Tuku Shome (then Air Force officer) and how he would strike a pose and literally go cross-eyed while singing for Chhordi's benefit. He was not the only one. Kushal Singh Bisht was a sturdy, stocky Kumaoni tea-planter in the Terai during the 60s. He too would burst into song every time he saw Chhordi! I remember a scene where Bisht (my brother-in-law, a fellow planter, insisted on calling him Beast!) threw back his head and launched into "hey rajnigandh tumar gandh sudha dalo, chander hansir bandh bhengo che....!" while sitting, as we were, in the verandah overlooking the front lawns of Simulbari. Chhordi shot up like a jack-in-the-box, ran inside and laughed her guts out for about half an hour! Meanwhile, Bisht carried on singing! And believe me, this fact caused Chhordi to laugh even more!
Then there was Bonny, yet another planter aspiring to be her suitor. A product of North Calcutta, his upbringing had obviously not exposed him to smart young women of the "forward type". So Chhordi was like a bombshell in his life. Boy, was he smitten? After his efforts in or around Simulbari (we used to visit that place every year) he gathered up his courage and landed up in Lake Gardens to press his suit with my parents. Unfortunately for Bonny, at a rather early stage in the evening, he chose to comment on the mosquito menace of Lake Gardens to Chhordi, in his pronounced North Calcutta accent and remarked " ekhane bheeson mosa!" As a conversational gambit it was an abject failure. For, it only resulted in Chhordi beating a hasty retreat from the room in a paroxysm of laughter! Exit Bonny! (short for Bonnerjee)
And who can forget about her mimicries! She was par excellence! There was hardly anyone we knew who she, and I, did not imitate. Any such comic act was always there, delivery with or without demand!
Yet, this woman was not really without a care in the world, as it may seem from hearing or reading about her.
Life was not easy for her, right from her birth. She was borne with an unusual growth on her forehead, over one eye. This would, it seems, hang like a bunch of grapes and bleed buckets every now and then. Imagine the plight of a little girl bearing the pain and mortification of such a problem! After going through numerous forms of treatment, all to no avail, God smiled on her in the form of Dr. Subodh Mitra, a pioneer in radium therapy in those early years of the 40s. Chhordi was to become Dr. Mitra's first guinea pig in this experiment with radium. And she triumphed over the unknown with such completeness that, after a few years, anybody who cared to look closely at her would have been hard pressed to notice the faintest of scars over her right eyebrow, the only relic of her post-natal afliction.
After a relatively carefree life through school and college, Chhordi's marriage made things really tough for her. Hers was an arranged marriage to a chap with impeccable credentials. But he was an alcoholic and this fact ultimately, after several years, drove them to the inevitable divorce.
She never married again. Instead she worked herself silly trying to keep her daughter and herself in some degree of comfort. At the fag end of her life she did find someone, but, true to her wretched luck, did not live long enough to enjoy the relationship.
She worked in several companies, travelled abroad extensively and, all in all, enjoyed a relatively good corporate experience.....some were excellent, others were not.She saw the best of times and she saw the worst of times.
In the hospital I was privileged to meet her boss, colleagues and subordinates from her last job ... a few days before she passed away. I was privileged because it is not everyday that one hears such glowing 360 degrees tributes about the achievements of a person in an organisation. Her Big Boss's words still echo in my head..."the impact that Gopa made in 6 months had not happened in the entire two decades of the organisation's existence". At that moment I indeed felt privileged to have been the "kid" brother of such a person.
Chhordi was a magnificent human being. I can say with full confidence that nobody, but nobody knew her as much as I did. After all, right till her last month, we always talked to each other, if not face to face, definitely over the telephone, or as in recent times, through text messaging and email. There was never any secret between us...not when we were young, not when we were grown up.
Although she went through several bad patches in her life, she did not ever allow herself to wallow in self pity. If she appeared moody and sullen at times, she, more than anybody else, had the right to, for life had been often unfriendly to her. She did not deserve any of it. But like the person she was, she always stood up and fought. And what a heart she had! Always giving, always generous to a fault, totally unmindful of her circumstances. I have been touched so many times by this inherent goodness of her heart that I used to marvel at her magnanimity. Every body is not at that level. I was always humbled by this trait in her for I knew that I could never hold a candle by her in this regard. She was a true Champion!
She was an artist, a corporate executive, a businesswoman,a social worker, a comedian and a friendly human being...all rolled into one ball of joy and exuberance. But to me, at the end of the day, she was a sister extraordinaire!
Rest, chhordi. You deserve to.

I am back!

Yes, I am back! The 16th 0f September was a long time ago when I had put in my last post. ( groans! that last bit sounds as though the buglers had announced my exit from this world!) A lot has happened since then - some good, some bad. As such, that is no big deal since, after all, life is like that, and inexorably so. But the sudden and totally unexpected passing away of a beloved relative leaves one, not only numb with shock and despair, but also desperate to find answers where there are none!

Yes, she has left us, the youngest of three sisters of mine. We spent a lifetime together, shared a lot, (mainly the lighter side of life) till she moved on to a higher life. Very definitely, I shall remember her in words too, apart from in the heart and mind. But later. Not now. When the heart is less heavy and the mind that much clearer.

Till then.

Penny wise pound foolish!

Aren't we all pennywise and pound foolish, at least some of the time? So why blame anybody?

The austerity drive launched by the government is nothing more than mere tokenism as is quite apparant to anybody who cares to think. By shunning executive or first clss flights, the government personnel are expected to save the exchequer several hundred crores of rupees. Very commendable! The action also earns a lot of brownie points for the politicians, especially before elctions. The only thing is that, barring Maharashtra and Haryana, no other state has elections in the offing!!

So, the government saves several hundred crores of rupees. But it has also announced a 5% increase in dearness allowance (when corporates are freezing salaries and issuing pink slips in the wake of the economic slow-down!) which is estimated to increase its spend by 2300 crores of rupees!! Whoa!!

And what about the "damned elusive" administrative reforms? What is the price being paid for creating and maintaining the behemoths in the shape of ministries, government departments, commissions, etc, etc? How does travelling by train or flying economy class help in reducing this monstrous cost of inefficiency and imperfections that the nation (read us) is paying at the behest of the government? If the idea is to set an example then the question arises has it succeeded? Are all the politicians and bureaucrats, down to the state levels, cutting across all levels, even contemplating any such sacrifice?

The point is, easy as it is to nitpick on the government at the drop of a hat, one has to bear in mind that others are equally guilty of such "penny wise pound foolish" tokenism.

It brings to my mind the classic case of the transnational company, my earstwhile employer, whose dalliance with tokenism was not only legion but also severely detrimental to the organisation in the bad years. Invariably, when the chips were down and the moolah was not falling like manna from heaven, strict diktats would be issued to drastically cut expenses. However, the sacrificial lamb was always either marketing expenses or travelling costs or training costs, or all three!! Nobody looked into the question of productivity in the factories and retail stores, which, due to the years of appeasement of the trade unions, was a major cause of financial bleeding of the company. Nobody examined the lack of competence in the human capital caused by flawed HR policies which only succeeded in propagating populism and nepotism among the members of the management. This only resulted in the creation of a huge workforce of largely ineffective and unproductive people...at what a cost! Nobody even questioned the antediluvian practice of holding and maintaining enormous estates which, during the bad years, only sucked in the company's scarce funds for non-revenue earning purposes. The focus would rather be on reducing telephone calls, cutting down on travel and even freezing training programmes.

I would have imagined that, during lean periods, the marketing and sales people need to be more in touch with the customers than normal to boost sales. This would definitely lead to higher travel costs, for instance. They would need to step up on their marketing spends to push sales up. Also, it is sound policy to retrain the staff during downturns because that is when work pressure is lowest on them. The increased costs of business development is unavoidable during downturns. Otherwise, in the absence of promotional activities, how will the enhanced results come about? Economies need to come from other areas like advance buying, inventory management, waste management, reduction in imperfections in operations, higher human resource productivity, ensuring standard output from plant & machinery, etc

The tokenism that we encounter is perhaps the result of two forces that work in most organisations. Firstly, such actions catch the imagination of the people more easily. Secondly, the main issues are often difficult to tackle and are thus kept on the back-burner with the hope that, someday, someone else will be there to handle them.

In the meantime, the bad days pass, there is an upswing in activities, progress returns and the austerity measures are shelved without actually having achieved anything in the first place, except, perhaps, some amount of showmanship.

Hello, my friends!

Hello my friends! On the 11th of August 2009 I decided to let in my friends and relations into my little world of "Reflections", which is nothing but a sounding-off of the mind characterised by a steadily reducing occupation. My idea was that, having been pitchforked head first into the blogosphere by a zealous daughter, I would use this predicament to set up a regular chat or adda network. After all there is so much pleasure in exchanging bullshit, especially for people of my age! For the benefit of the uninitiated, the procrastinators and the geriatrics, I repeat that "Reflections" is my blog accessed by visiting esschatterjee.blogspot.com

Alas! Even after a month I have only two followers - admittedly two very good-looking young women! So what if one of them is my daughter and the other is a cousin! My son and daughter-in-law are busy traversing the world! And all the others, comprising my aged relatives and friends are doubtlessly finding it a challenge to grapple with the marvels of modern science which is involved in posting comments on the blog! Or is it that the mind is willing but the flesh is not, or vice versa???

I think I shall resign myself to the fact that Rupa and Sraboney will remain my faithful followers....and that the other relatives and all my friends, though they mean well I am sure, shall remain my ardent but silent backers. After all behind every great man there is a woman, or man, saying "I won't" !

The rains came!

Oh yes! It finally did happen. It rained. As a matter of fact, it is still raining and has been doing so since the late afternoon of Wednesday, i.e. 09.09.09. My class with the kids of Delhi School of Communication, scheduled for today from 8.30am , got duly postponed.

This kind of continuous rain is not very common in Delhi, although I must admit, it is not very strange either. The current weather is very reminiscent of Kolkata at its monsoon worst. I realise that there will be a large number of people who will be dismayed by my use of the word "worst". After all, isn't the monsoon the inspiration behind great prose, poetry and song? Isn't Tagore held in extreme reverence, by the cognoscenti, for his soul-uplifting compositions on the monsoons? Undeniably true. However, the fact remains that, though I genuinely admire and love Tagore's works, I do hate the monsoons! To me there is no romance in the drift of the dark clouds or music in the patter of raindrops (except in Jose Feliciano's unforfettable refrain). I do not get turned on by the "rhythm of drumbeats" that thunder claps are supposed to represent. To me monsoons are messy. Mud and slush abound. Roads are flooded. Shoes and trousers get wet. The body gets drenched. At times, even the umbrellas get upturned!!! Above all, there is no getting away from the all-pervading musty smell of poorly dried clothes. And worse, the neighbourhood press wala does not turn up to provide the little crispness that one craves for in an otherwise damp world! Thank you but no thank you. I can do without the monsoons. Only thing, in actual fact I really cannot, can I? Life's damp squib! One is stuck with it! DAMN!

School's in!

I share the horrors that exist in the mind of Mr. Kapil Sibal, as they indeed do in the minds of millions of our nation's children, about the very thought of "Board exams" for school children. I am not sure how my teacher friends will react to this. However, I believe that this is the way to go. I think that education has no option but to be "learning" oriented and NOT "exams" oriented. I am not going to state my case with cogent, or not so cogent, arguments. I think the world around us abounds with thinkers who are far superior in this domain than I am, with all due modesty. It is only fair that they have their own experienced and knowledgeable takes on this issue. What I shall do instead is to highlight the schooling system in which I had the privilege to study....the system that has shaped my thinking.

Although I am not going to talk about the Board Exams ( in any case,in our days, we had one and not two such exams for high school leaving! ) I shall share with you our school system of academics and leave you to decide whether the produce of the system, i.e. ex-students, are well rounded in their knowledge and personalities or are mere "crammers" who retain very little of what they were exposed to. In other words, whether we, the products, have gained adequate knowledge about the world and the environs in which we live or merely imbibed enough to pass the trauma of the board exams.

Our school had no annual exams. Instead, throughout the year, we had to appear for tests on Friday afternoons. Significantly, the tests were not called "examinations" but "competitions". Every Friday from 1.30pm to 3.30pm, we had to take a test in a designated subject. This was clearly mentioned in the class routine. At times, like in the winter sessionwhen the number of school days were limited, we would have a "comp" on Tuesday afternoon as well. This way, all the subjects were easily covered in the course of the term and none of the boys were pressurised to study like maniacs at term end to "prepare" for "exams", whether terminal or annual.

If I subscribe to the view that the boys, as a rule, finished school high up on the learning curve, it is because they had studied in a relaxed environment, without any pressure from the system. I must mention a couple of other features which made our school quite unique.

Firstly, school was shut on Thursdays. This offered an entire day to prepare for the comps, to those who were so inclined.

Secondly, homework was strictly limited to just one subject per day, albeit everyday. This too was fixed in the class routine. As a result a regular study habit, rather than a frenetic one, was enough to handle all the "competitions" that the school could throw at us! There was never a need to frantically indulge in last-minute heavy- duty cramming to pass the test.

Thirdly, out of the two study periods that we had every day, the second one from 1.00pm to 1.30pm was strictly for reading story books available from the exclusive library that each class had, within the classroom itself! I am confident that the reading habit that was inculcated in us by this system was responsible for not only improving our language skills in a most interesting manner, but it also broadened the horizons of our ganaral knowledge and awareness.

These systems, in addition to others, definitely made it easier for the students to assimilate whatever they were taught; since they learnt things in a relaxed atmosphere, never under pressure and not under duress. What our school taught us was that one could acquire knowledge, information and concepts without having the fun taken out of the process. If our Union HRD Minister is meaning to offer the nation's children a trauma-free system of education then I can confidently say "way to go Mr. Sibal!" I know it can happen.

I have been, of course, referring to St. Xavier's School, Kolkata! Nihil Ultra!

Word Power!

An old adage suggests that the pen is mightier than the sword. If that be so then surely our writers and editors need to be extra careful and vigilant in the choice of words that are allowed to be offered on print in the national press! The media's role is one of an opinion-maker. I believe it is seriously charged with the responsibility of presenting news and views in an objective manner. It should resist the temptation of being judgemental, no matter how fashionable it may be to be so!

In one of the dailies, a writer decided to write about the lost cause propounded by the CBI in the matter of the theft of the Nobel maedallion belonging to Rabindranath Tagore. I am not perturbed by the author's dig at the apparant obsession of the Bengali with Tagore. Nor is it the subject of my reflections. What worries me is that, in her wisdom, she decided to describe Kolkata as "the decadent city". She must be having cojent reasons for doing so. However, I feel that it is dangerous to use such damaging words because firstly, it is difficult to establish the intent and, secondly, it is tantamount to foisting the writer's "coloured" perception on the readers' minds.

Decadence means moral deterioration. Are we sure that Kolkata and all Kolkatans have lost their moral fibre? Are we sure that rape, murder, robbery, scams, frauds, rave parties,corruption which comprise the moral fabric is the sole preserve of Kolkata and Kolkatans? If it is indeed so then I rest my case.

However if, it is not so and such signs of degradation can be found in other places as well, then the writer has done a grave injustice to a section of the nation's populace as against the others. This is reprehensible and it cries out for meningful and effective editing of all that is published and put forward for the reading pleasure of the people at large. The vox populi must not be fostered by opinionated and immature correspondents, who give themselves the right to pronounce judgements on matters they may not be experts at.

To end with another adage...it is said that ignorance is bliss. If that be so then it is time that our "journalist" friends of today awaken fast from this state of bliss and spare the poor readers of their biased considerations.

Icarus reborn?

One of the newspapers has run a feature today with the heading " Air India's star staff get away with no work and no play "! The article says that the national carrier had given jobs to the likes of MS Dhoni, Yuvraj Singh, Harbhajan Singh, Irfan Pathan, VVS Laxman and RP Singh........long before most of them became the icons that they are today. In fact, it seems that, some of them were in very humble jobs before Air India took them on board. But today, according to the carrier, barring Robin Uthappa (who has also joined Air India) none of the others are ever available for any match or any event or any endorsement of the national carrier. As per the requirement of their employment, these players are supposed to attend office for half a day and play for the company in the other half, whenever they are free of their cricket assignments.

These players are compensated with handsome salaries and full perks of the organisation which, needless to say, they enjoy to the fullest as their entitlement. However, when it comes to turning up for Air India in any tournament,apparantly it becomes difficult for them to do so because of various reasons like sub-standard grounds, risk of injuries, pre-occupation with physiotherapy,low status of the events for stars like them,etc. It seems, some of them refused to appear for some endorsement event of Air India although they had plenty of time to promote a fashion week in Kolkata around the same time!

The other grouse of Air India is that hardly ever do the "stars" receive or respond to telephone calls. Harbhajan Singh countered this by mentioning to the newspaper that, in view of his association with Air India for 8 to 9 years,he feels that if the organisation has any problems with him it should contact him. Very true. Only thing is, as the management of Air India points out, how does one contact him when he does not receive or respond to calls in the first place! Moot point! Catch 22!

I am a sports crazy person and far from apologetic about being an out and out cricket devotee. I have even played the game a bit at the college and club level. For me, the players form the nodal point in this modern day industry that is cricket and they will always continue to be so. They are the ones to sweat it out, risk life and limbs to play a game they love. However, as is usual, the very officious officials that "control" the sport invariably screw up.They are the ones who bask in reflected glory and play god by raking in the golden eggs and trying to run the lives of the geese that laid them, often with undesired resiults!

I said usually, did I not? Well in this instance of Air India, I cannot but depart from the usual and recall to mind a couple of things which show up the playing icons in a different light..

Firstly, the recent failure of Ms Dhoni and Harbhajan Singh to accept the invitation of the President of India to come and receive National Honours from her, has completely baffled me. I cannot find any mitigating curcumstance that would have prompted them to ignore the call of the leader of the nation that they serve.

Secondly, I recall with pleasure the days in Bata India Ltd when Kapil Dev Nikhanj and Rani Mukherjee were signed up by the company as Brand Ambassadors. Kapil Dev was, in fact, a contracted employee, I believe. Both of them gave their utmost to the cause of the brands in terms of time and availability. I was personally involved reasonably closely every time Kapil Dev was requested to inaugurate one of our new or renovated retail outlets in the north of India. I also remember, for a fact, that Kapil Dev would visit our offices in Kolkata (India HQ), and Delhi for discussions and also check out the product in our factories on every occasion that he had some time in hand and was away from his cricket commitments, international or domestic.

As for Rani Mukherjee, well she became the talk of the company, not only because of her looks, but also because of her simplicity, dedication to the brand promotion and her charm in associating with the members of the management, whether they be expatriates or Indian, young or not so young!

To say the least, on both counts, the sale of the products that these two stars endorsed and promoted, sky-rocketed in no time.

Now,here is my point. If anybody tells me that Kapil Dev or Rani Mukherjee were not stars of the highest firmament, I would seriously think that he or she is pulling my leg. Or that he or she needs to have the head examined! It may not be an exaggeration to say that the players that Air India is having problems with today, though huge achievers and exceedingly talented, are still a little shy of the immensely exalted status of Mr. Nikhanj and Ms Mukherjee.

So, are our stars of today in danger of following the fatal path of the ancient Icarus? Are they Icarus reborn? Will their high flying cause their wings to melt in the heat of the sun for having soared prilously close to it? Will they plunge into the sea or plummet down to earth with a mighty thud?

"Silly season" ?

Today's news papers, or at least the one I read, carried a feature about Dev Patel and Frieda Pinto. We all know who they are as we have been subjected to an information bombardment about these two ever since Danny Boyle's film made a sweep in this year's Oscars.Today, the newspaper in question, used up considerable column centimetres to tell us that the duo was seen having dinner together at Trishna in London! My my, what audacity on their part! How dare they have a meal together? In fact, how dare they at all meet? To add insult to injury, Frieda and Dev did not end matters there! According to the news reporter they are often seen "cosying upto each other"! Apparantly, they even put up in the same hotel and ordered room service for champagne, chocolates and Eton Mess pudding! What shocking behaviour on the part of the two actors and what humdinger of a scoop by the reporter! Surely he deserves the highest award for investigative journlism? Not to forget a decoration for upholding the morallity of the nation!

Phew! I cannot help it but the journalism of today, what I come across daily either in the print or the electronic media, makes me want to kill! I read this particular newspaper because two of my favourite journalists (yes, I must admit, they do exist, albeit in tragic minority!) belong to it.I remember that one of these two had once talked about a journalist's "silly season". This is the season when there is not much happening and, therefore, to fill up news space the reporters and journos fill up newsprint with whatever they can find, or invent! I buy this point of view, although with a rider. The rider is that in India it seems the silly season never ends!

Firstly, nowadays, all the pages appear to be Page 3. Today a celebrity means either a fashion designer, a model, a cricketer, a film actor or a criminal.The amount of exposure they get is surely the envy of our Prime Minister! I wonder if we have any scientist, writer, philosopher, statesman, pioneers,economists, etc left in our country! Secondly,once the media channels, whether print or electronic, get hold of a news story they keep repeating it ad nauseum, for days and weeks together, till some other "breaking news" hits us! Incidentally, have you noticed how everything is breaking news, no matter how trite or stupid it is? How long can you be fed your daily dose of Delhi University admissions (as though we never studied in colleges!), Rakhi Sawant choosing a groom(which she never meant to in any case!), what Pakistan is telling us about 26/11 (it has been eight months, by the way!), what the Ambani brothers think of private gas! And of course, as Rupa very rightly has pointed out, what Kasab is saying every day! I mean, come on! Give us stuff that can be rightfully called fresh news. Get on with it! For heaven's sake be news reporters and newscasters, not hysterical, bumbling yet smug panic mongers and misdirected viewscasters !

From Al's Diary..... My royal royal days!

Well, one has to begin somewhere, I suppose! I thought long and hard about something serious, momentous or even ponderous to write about. But all that one can get in abundance from newspapers and TV. And they are so boring!Instead let me recall my brief brush with royalty and the hilarious way it finally came about.
In 1987,when I was still doing my bit for "comfortable shoes at affordable prices" with Bata India Ltd, I was selected to accompany our supremo Thomas J Bata as his ADC during his annual visit to India. The whole "team" was housed in the Taj Mahal hotel in N.Delhi. One day, Mr. Bata left the hotel after breakfast to visit our retail stores. I was to stay back to supervise the arrangements for a press conference which Mr. Bata was to address later in the day in one of the hotel's banquet rooms.Mrs. Bata was also to remain in the hotel as she was to host her old friend Gayatri Devi in the Bata suite.
My joy at being left alone was short-lived as I discovered that our Deputy Managing Director, a bean-pole of a Canadian,was also to hang around in the hotel.Our DMD, bless him, was known more for his inability to take any deision than any other thing.Moreover, he was one of those men who was constantly badgering others about their work instead of leaving them to it.Therefore, not surprisigly, I had to assure him repeatedly about all arrangemets till I was practically ready to jump out of the window!
As though the "mentoring" presence of the venerable DMD was not inconvenient enough, all of a sudden I was informed of a change in plans! It was felt that Mr. Bata was running late and would therefore prefer to host a working lunch for the press in his suite.This meant that Mrs.Bata's meet with Gayatri Devi would have to be shifted elsewhere. Immediately on learning this our DMD flew into a tizzy....for what reason I did not know because,in any case I was going to organize the changes, definitely not he!
The alternate arrangements were duly made....no credit to me as the staff members of the hotel were magnificent in their co-operation.The suite in which the Batas were residing was in one end of a long corridor. As their ADC, I was billetted in an adjacent room.We were allotted a lovely room at the extreme opposite end of the corridor on the same floor.I explained the changes to Mrs. Bata, who was, as usual, very sweet and understanding of the situation.
But not so our DMD! He was by then the proverbial cat on a hot tin roof!He was sure there would be a major goof up with the maharani's arrival and reception.I told him very patiently for the umpteenth time that the moment Gayatri Devi's car reached the porch she woud be received by two hand-picked officials of the hotel. That at the main lobby she woud be personally welcomed by the GM of the hotel who would accompany her in the lift.That,on behalf of the Batas, I would receive her at the lift lobby on our floor. That I would then escort her to Mrs.Bata's suite.That immediately after the two ladies had met and exchanged pleasantries I would usher them to their meeting venue and introduce the butler to Mrs. Bata. That, at the end of the meeting, on being advised by the butler I would escort the Maharani from the room to her car and duly see her off with every courtesy.
As we were waiting for the events to unfurl the uncertainty proved too much for our DMD. He took to pacing the corridor as though the maharani would emerge from any room at any moment! I let him be as this afforded me a little time off from the badgering so that I could concentrate on the various other things on the "to do" list for the day. The respite was too good to last! As the time for Gayatri Devi's arrival neared, the blow fell!
The housekeeping staff requested me to check out the arrangements of the new venue for Mrs. Bata's tryst with the maharani. I had no alternative but to request the DMD to be in my room in case of any calls from the lobby.I went to the new room. I looked around,okayed the arrangements, discussed all the necessary details with the butler and left.
As I emerged from the room I heard the telltale "ping" of the lift bell. A lady with a stately bearing got out and started walking towards the Bata suite, away from me.At the same time, much like the hourly cuckoo clock, our DMD's head popped out from my room at the end of the corridor.In a trice I realised what was about to happen.I sprinted down the corridor and reached just in time to hear the DMD, right hand extended and with the suggestion of a stiff bow, saying "welcome Mrs. Devi,(of course he proounced the name as Mrs.Devvy!) it is an honour to have you with us. I am........" I managed to interrupt him enough to introduce him to the smiling Chief Housekeeper of the Taj mahal hotel! She had come to ask me if allthe arrangements in the suite were alright. Our DMD had, of course, retreated to the safety of my room by then!
Well, the famous maharani did arrive eventually. The reception and welcome arrangements went smoothly like a well oiled machine.I had my moment in the sun as I escorted the tremendously dignified lady to a reunion with her old friend Sonja Bata.
Thus I got my brush with royalty as I exchanged a few formal and polite words with a gracious lady, a beautiful woman, a queen!

The Beginning

Well, that is right! This is the beginning of my blogging career, thanks entirely due to the badgering of our daughter Rupa! Since I do not seem to have much of a choice, I feel I may as well go with the flow along this uncharted course and find out where I finally land up, or where I flounder.