Inundated with choices, where will Uncle Sam cook his next goose?
Comments
Air Marshal KK Nohwar (IAF Veteran) — A finger in every pyre (sic). It might end up cooking its own goose if it doesn’t take corrective action now. Sitting on the fence in Ukraine and Gaza won’t help its image much. Great effort, Ashok. Stay at it, you have the potential!!! 👏👏👏👍😊
Air Commodore Roj Assey (IAF Veteran) — Super effort …. and I think the answer is clear. From all indications, Uncle Sam will cook his goose rather royally in the next presidential elections ! Heads, he loses. Tails, he loses !! 😂😅🤣
Air Marshal Naresh Verma (IAF Veteran) — A brilliant cartoon indeed. You are quite multifaceted. Let us have more such creative outputs from you. Best wishes.
Praful Nanavaty — Gazab is the word 👌👌
Air Commodore BS Yadav (IAF Veteran) — OMG.. that’s hard hitting… A cartoon conveys more than a 1000 words… Brilliant… You are an all rounder 🫡
Colonel Jamshed Husain (Veteran) — Cartoons have a subtle bite, which is a way ahead of words. Americans are great masters of literally cooking their own goose so often..Your this attempt👍. Stay blessed Ashok..
Dinesh Lakhanpal (Film Writer, Producer, Director) — It indeed is a multi-edged sword. Just a single drawing, called, cartoon, suffice for the entire newspaper. Not an easy form to follow. Hits straight. Now don’t stop and get spoiled further. 👍👍
Dr Kirti Jain (UK) — That is spot on – brilliant specially if it is your first attempt.
Discovery of masterpiece of a book in Kalidasa’s Ujjain.
A decade into retirement, Major General (Dr) SC Jain VSM & Bar, has changed quite a bit. But then, some old habits die hard—imperfections of any kind bother him off and on even now.
Last week, at the root of the general officer’s discomfort were a few unruly hairs standing at ease on his almost bald scalp. He was on a morning walk when the desire to discipline the wayward little things peaked. He looked for a barber shop but was less hopeful of finding one open, because it was Tuesday, a weekly off for all hair-cutting saloons of Ujjain. Let alone a decree by the Labour Department to keep the shops closed, many Ujjainis consider it inauspicious to take a haircut on Mangalvaar, the day of the red planet.
General Jain (GJ) was a tad surprised when he found the doors of Aapka Hair Dressers open with signs of activity. He was greeted with a warm namaste by the lone man cleaning things and arranging them neatly on a dashboard opposite a large mirror. It was bohni time—a time at the beginning of each day when a shopkeeper sows the seeds to harvest returns through the day. The hair dresser hurriedly, completed the cleaning and dusting, and got down to addressing the needs of his first guest of the day.
He seated the officer comfortably in a chair and made the preliminary enquiries: “Haircut? …shave? …both? …shampoo? …head massage? …face massage…?” With the way GJ spelt out his requirement of haircut, he knew he was dealing with a no-nonsense fauji. Yet, to confirm his finding, he asked, “Sir, are you from the armed forces?” This was also to break the ice and prune the list of subjects for further conversation with his client through the next half hour. Genuine happiness surged through him when GJ nodded a yes. He was pleased to be serving someone who had served the nation.
Out of sheer curiosity, GJ enquired, “How is it that your shop is open on a Tuesday?”
“Sir, it is so difficult to spend time at home doing nothing. I get bored, so I keep my shop open all seven days,” he said as he draped GJ in a clean white cloth.
[Author’s Note: The man’s name, as I discovered a day later, was Ratan Parihar, RP for short]
GJ: “But, I am sure one gets tired of monotonous routine and needs a break, sometimes.”
RP: “That’s right, sir. But being on my feet, and moving, keeps me physically fit and energetic. In fact, my grandfather was a tailor—sitting stooped by a sewing machine for long hours had begun telling on his health. So, he decided to switch to hair cutting instead.”
GJ: “I see… this hasn’t been your family business for generations?”
RP: “My forefathers were farmers. My grandfather left behind large swathes of land in Pakistan at the time of partition and started tailoring in Rajasthan. Then we moved to Agra where my father wanted me and my brother to get the best education.”
RP sensed the “Hmm,” loaded with appreciation, coming from GJ and continued with greater enthusiasm. “I am an MA in Sanskrit. I was compelled to join this profession because my brother left home to join a religious cult in Rajasthan… and my father needed support.”
GJ: “Like your grandfather, did you ever think of switching to some other profession? With your rare qualification, you could have pursued academics.”
RP: “Not really, sir. I began enjoying this. Work is no longer W-O-R-K (that word was said with emphasis) when one enjoys doing what one is doing.”
Which hair to crop, and which one to spare, must have posed a big challenge for RP. But somehow the poor density of hair on GJ’s head did not bother RP. With the air of a practitioner of fine arts, he went on accomplishing his mission—snipping errant hairs here and there.
As an individual, RP was different. But as a small-town barber picturised in so many stories, he was the same—a talkative, inquisitive man. Finding a patient listener in GJ, he continued, “We are proud of our soldiers… they have shown Pakistan its place… the Maldivians are so ungrateful… it is a matter of time, China will get kicked out from everywhere….”
As he went along, RP looked at GJ in the mirror, in his eyes, which were going groggy because of the monotonous snapping of the pair of scissors so close to his ears, and sought approval of whatever he was theorising. For that man with a pair of scissors in one hand, and a comb in the other, every “Hmm…,” coming from the guest in the chair was an invaluable concurrence of his thought process.
RP concluded the haircut with a brief but refreshing complementary head massage; a salute, as smart as it could be and a guileless smile. GJ reciprocated with equal geniality and left.
***
Back home, Dada (as I call General Jain) vividly described his visit to Aapka Hair Dressers and kindled my interest in the scholar barber. “Ashok Bhai, in that man you’ll find a book, nay a library of rare thoughts. He is an interesting person to know and maybe, write about. That nudge from my brother and mentor sent me rescheduling my next morning with a bit of excitement.
***
I was the second customer at Aapka. I sat on the sofa and started looking around as I waited for my turn. The man I wanted to study was well dressed in a plain white, sleeved shirt neatly tucked into his May Fair trousers held in place by a leather belt. His shoes were nicely polished. He was in his mid-fifties. Freshly shaven; his long sideburns reminded me of the lead Bollywood actors of the 1970s. GJ’s briefing about him had created the picture of a scholarly man in my mind. His half-rimmed glasses and a pen in his pocket supported that image.
More revered?
The shop was modestly furnished. Placed reverently on a shelf was the garlanded picture of a bearded man. Below it was the picture of Goddess Laxmi without any garland or flowers. There was no sign of an oil lamp or incense sticks around the goddess of wealth. The placement of the frames clearly indicated relative importance of the sadhu and the goddess in the heart of the shop owner.
“Is that the picture of some saint?” I asked RP with the intention of inviting him to speak, although I didn’t have much interest in the baba looking down from the picture. Faces of Asaram Bapu, Gurmeet Ram Rahim, Baba Bagheswar Dham and Baba Ramdev were streaming in my mind as I waited for his response.
“Sir, he is my father,” he said curtly. Perhaps he had read my mind and had disapproved of my putting his father in line with those Pied Pipers of India. RP’s tone changed to that of extreme respect when I introduced myself as GJ’s younger brother, and an Air Force veteran. “Sir, general saab is a fine gentleman,” he certified.
The long rate list hanging on a wall enumerated the various types of haircuts, shaves, facials and massages on offer. When I said that I was interested in a shave, RP described the three types he could give me. “The ordinary shave is with cheap shaving cream and after shave. For people who wish to go in for the Special Shave, I use Godrej shaving cream and Old Spice after shave lotion. For a Foam Shave I use Gillette shaving foam. Most of my clients are learned men and well to do people, they demand the best creams and lotions.”
I was eagerly waiting for him to begin his monologue when his mobile phone rang. The not-so-smart phone was plugged in for charging and placed precariously on a switchbox. He excused himself and took the call.
RP: “Hello! Who is it… (he listened to the voice on the other end and continued) thank you very much. I don’t need it,” He disconnected the line—a bit amused, a bit rankled. Then he spoke addressing me, “There is someone saying that I have won ten crores in lottery. He doesn’t know that I am a satisfied man. I don’t need all that money.”
I and my half-read book
He was still chuckling when he picked up the razor again. As if he heard the question swirling in my mind, and said, “Sir, I am done with all my major commitments in life. One of my son’s is an engineer; another one is a musician, and my daughter is a psychologist. She is doing well as a counsellor. My children are settled in life. I am happy running this shop. What more do I need?”
Seeing me wide-eyed, he added cheerfully, “I am also a singer.”
I was eagerly waiting for him to resume his monologue when the phone rang again. “Beta, I’ll be there soon,” he said, as he hurriedly disconnected. Then cutting a sorry figure, he said to me, “Sir, it was my daughter. She is getting discharged from the hospital after a minor surgery. I need to pick her up.” He rushed through the shave, and at the end of it, thanked me for honouring him by availing of his services. Needless to say, I took back some valuable life-lessons from Aapka Hair Dressers.
For me, RP, the book remains half read. I am eagerly looking forward being in Ujjain to turn the remaining pages and… stumble upon new discoveries.
Comments
Wing Commander TK Mitra, ‘Teekay’ (IAF Veteran) — Dear Ashok, as always your short story of “Aapka Hair Dresser” was absolutely wonderful & could picture the whole narration in front of my eyes. Thanx for sharing with our Group Members. Would surely wait for more Short Stories to njoi your experiences. Stay blessed & cheerful.
Wing Commander JK Kaushik (IAF Veteran) — Wonderful story You have the gift of transforming ordinary events into gripping narratives 🙏🙏🙏💐💐💐💐👍👍👍
Wing Commander Sanjay Sharma (IAF Veteran) — Inimitable style. Simple. Readable. Engaging. Hairest of the hair account 🤩🤩🤜🤛👍👍
Viney Sharma — Ashok beautifully written. Waiting and really excited to read the 2nd installment of this story.
Colonel Jamshed Husain (Veteran) — Interesting conversation between two professionals of such varied fields. Barbers were an institution in most societies, and stood out for their conversational skills. Ashok, you have beautifully captured the essence. My compliments for such an original piece. Stay blessed Ashok.🙏
Air Vice Marshal DB Ajgaonkar (IAF Veteran) — A ‘Book Half Read’ is, I feel a tribute to the scores of Indians living in small towns and villages who are honest, hard working, fiercely independent and above all with loads of self respect. In addition to their dedication, they have strived hard to fulfil their duty towards their children of providing quality education thus ensuring good careers for them. He then maintains his self respect and dignity by refusing to accept any financial support from his children. He thus continues to pursue his selected profession with full contentment and dignity.
PK Jain — Your impressive story…No profession is small or big, if it is hobby, it brings perfection with entertainment. Learning is not bound to academic. लकीर पर चलने वालों से लकीर खींचने वाले हमेशा प्रेरणा बनते हैं।👍😊👌
A researcher placed a frog on a table and snapped, “Froggie jump!”
The frog jumped and landed two feet away.
The man, in quest of knowledge, scribbled an observation on his notepad and put the frog back at the starting point and chopped one of its hind legs. “Froggie jump!” he yelled again retaining the pitch and the loudness of the previous occasion.
The frog jumped. This time, it landed just about a foot away.
With great anticipation, the academic chopped the other hind leg of the helpless being and repeated the exercise. The profusely bleeding frog didn’t move an inch. The scholar repeated, “Froggie jump,” several times, varying the pitch and loudness of his command.
Then, with the air of an Archimedes discovering the principle of buoyancy, he noted: “A frog becomes deaf when its hind legs are severed.”
In a study on the impact of major historical events on the environment, published over a dozen years ago, it was theorised that some occurances could have impacted the climate due to the return of forests after depopulation; one of the events studied was the Mongol invasion of the 13th and 14th Century. It was revealed that 40 million deaths during the Mongol conquests caused large areas of cultivated land to grow thick once again with trees, which absorbed carbon dioxide from the atmosphere. Ecologists believe it may be one of the first ever cases of successful man-made global cooling. Thus, Genghis Khan was the greenest invader in history.
The ecologists who arrived at the green conclusion didn’t have the tools or, more probably, they didn’t have the inclination to comment on the kind of 40 million people killed by the Green Genghis. Among those put to sword, there could have been artists, painters, thinkers and social scientists who might have put the earth back on a greener track? May be. May not be.
It is only a matter of time, some social scientist, somewhere, will draw similar conclusions about the (good) environmental impact of the recent wars. More than 90 million (including civilians) have died in the wars since WW I (including only the major wars with casualties in excess of 25,000). Blame it on the fog of war—this estimate of ~90 million+ could be grossly incorrect. This figure does not include the Covid deaths.
Most wars have their genesis in the failure of dialogue and diplomacy. And when two sides do go to war, they fight to win it, and impose their will on the vanquished. Incidentally, the numbers that die on one side are not compensated by the number killed on the other side—they add up. In military academies and war colleges all over the world, they teach the art and the Principles of War. The knowledge gleaned from the writings of Kautilya, Sun Tzu, Clausewitz and their ilk, is passed on from a generation to another. The future leaders study campaigns, and try to figure out whether or not the military wisdom of the yore was put to use. The effort is to establish, to what extent the victor and the vanquished adhered to the proven warfighting tactics/ strategy.
The Ukraine War and, now the War in Gaza (some call it the War on Gaza, and with good reason, which depends where they stand and how their glasses are tinted), has necessitated the need to refine and redefine warfighting for the ones executing the will of the political leadership. A few might agree (most others will agree absolutely) to cram the sum and substance of all military knowledge in just four words: “LIVE AND LET DIE!”
“Live and let die!” that is what exactly the Ukrainians, the Russians, the Israelis and the members of Hamas are trying to achieve even as the cheerleaders, the US, the UK, the NATO and Iran etc are eagerly awaiting the opportunity to enter the fray.
An uncertain ICJ
Meanwhile, in the International Court of Justice (ICJ), the ‘genocide’ issue led to an animated debate. South African advocates painted a vivid picture of Israeli atrocities in Gaza. The Israeli rebuttal was passionate and strong. Rhetoric at the Hague boiled down to the definition of ‘genocide’ and ‘the intention to kill.’ At one point, the chair had to advise the Israeli representative to go slow to enable the translators and interpreters to keep pace. Speed notwithstanding, it is axiomatic that some meaning is always lost in translation. How then, can one expect people to understand each other, let alone be sympathetic? There is no way yet, to translate the ‘vibes.’ It is no wonder then, that the interim order of a toothless ICJ sounds so hesitant. The UN body has directed Israel to prevent genocide (mind the subtle difference between ‘preventing’ and ‘stopping’) in Gaza. As it stands, the ICJ is certainly not blaming Israel for the said crime. It has not ordered an immediate ceasefire.
The Gaza War has the potential to engulf many more actors and stakeholders in its raging flames. It is an unparalleled crisis. It is said that the worst corners of hell are reserved for those who maintain neutrality in times of crisis.
Time is NOW to speak up and work towards preventing further bloodshed.
Many wrongs have been committed since the birth of Israel in 1948. All those wrongs do not add up to make a right. They also do not justify either the Hamas raid on Israel on October 7, 2023 or the Israeli action following that attack. One of the possible ways out of the present crisis is the release of the Israeli hostages followed immediately by a ceasefire. If Israel decides to continue to pursue its aim of eliminating Hamas even after release of its hostages, it might succeed in its mission (although that is an extremely doubtful proposition) but in the process, it will sow the seeds for still worse to happen.
The writing on the wall is legible and clear. May sense prevail.
Tathastu!
Comments
Colonel Jamshed Hussain (Veteran) — Reasons are invented to justify most violent actions, including wars. Winners prevail, hence history is recorded as viewed by a victor. Seeds sown by imperial powers of yesteryears, will continue to fester conflicts…So Gazas and Ukraines will continue.. Ashok👍
Air Commodore Roj Assey (Veteran) — Very well written, Ashok. I have a video clip of the Israeli ambassador speaking at the UN, a couple of weeks ago. He made two major points …. If Hamas returns all the hostages, Israel will stop its offensive the next day. Nothing is more important to Israel than its own survival – irrespective of what the world does, or thinks. On the first point, this statement was made by an official rep of Israel and is a guarantee made in front of a world audience. On the second point, ever since Israel declared its independence on 14 May 1948, after the dramatic Resolution taken in the UN on 29 Nov 1947, Israel has had to fight for its survival. A Russian Mig or an Israeli Mirage takes only a few minutes to cross the entire country of Israel. There has been an enormous amount of heated, prejudiced, passionate and emotional talk and writing about the crisis. How much of it is true, depends, as you very aptly quoted, on how the glasses are tinted. I would suggest that 99 per cent – at least – of what is written, is a mix of fact and outright fiction. But I cannot fault Israel’s desire to survive.
This morning my little grandnephew asked me, “Dadu, why do we say, ‘the US, the UK, the UAE?’ Why don’t we say, ‘the India’?”
“It is rather simple, my child,” I said, “When the name of a country suggests that it is a group of states or a confederation or a federation, we use ‘the‘ before their names like, the United States, the United Kingdom, the United Arab Emirates….”
“I see,” Kartik nodded.
“Not only that…,” I added to enlighten him further, “…the names of some countries which are archipelagos or groups of islands, are also preceded by ‘the‘ for example the Maldives and the Seychelles.”
“I will not use ‘the’ with Maldives. I don’t like that country. The Indian troops risked their lives for their President and we have been rushing to help them in their times of need, yet they speak with disrespect for our Prime Minister. They are bad people!”
“Language has nothing to do with relations between countries,” I chuckled. “Grammar is not governed by feelings, Maldives will continue to be called, the Maldives. Your dislike for that country doesn’t change anything. Relations between countries are temporary; only interests are permanent. Yesterday the Maldives were with us; today they are with China. Who knows, tomorrow they might end up being without any one on their side when China discards them like a spent tissue.”
A pout on the little lips, lateral movement of the eyeballs, and a shrug of his little shoulders was Kartik’s way of conveying his displeasure about this particular rule of the English grammar. He continued paying attention regardless.
“Not only that, we use ‘the’ before names of groups/ organisations that suggest coming together of several entities. For example, the United Nations, the World Health Organisation and…,” I paused to think of names of more organisations.
“In that case it would be grammatically correct to use ‘the’ with India too,” the little one spoke with sparkling eyes. “I.N.D.I.A. stands for ‘Indian National Developmental Inclusive Alliance’ and meets the criteria of being a coalition of several entities?”
That question put me in a tailspin. I remained silent for a long minute until Kartik tugged me, “Isn’t it Dadu?
I scraped the inside of my cranium for the special wisdom required to answer such questions. Then I spoke hesitantly. “Well, theoretically you’d be right if you use ‘the’ before I.N.D.I.A. But as it stands, there is nothing like I.N.D.I.A. It is just a group of ambitious people trying to remain relevant in Indian politics by any means. Rather than setting an agenda for the country, their only aim is to remove the ruling dispensation, and their primary concern is ‘seat sharing.’ Men apart, every man there is a candidate for the post of prime minister. As of now I.N.D.I.A. exists only as a concept.”
The quizzical look on Kartik’s face suggested that he didn’t understand a word of what I had said. But does either India or I.N.D.I.A. visualise the consequences of having a weak, rudderless and meaningless opposition?
Comments
Wing Commander Sanjay Sharma (IAF Veteran) — If my Grandson were to grill me like you were fried, I shall take apolitical asylum in Djibouti.😱😱🤯🤯
Wing Commander Vijay Ambre (IAF Veteran)—You need a strong and united opposition for a vibrant parliamentary democracy. The present conglomeration in the opposition is not likely to provide that after the general elections, especially if the present government returns to power. The Modi government is doing a very good job on all fronts and deserves another term for internal and external policy continuity.
Colonel Jamshed Hussain (Indian Army Veteran)—Very interesting…use of grammer to drive home a point..for a meaningful democracy, a strong opposition is as important…. The small one for weekend, is razor sharp in its thought..Ashok, my compliments.👍 Stay blessed🙏
Air Marshal PV Athawale (IAF Veteran—Beautifully put across Ashok, through Kartik, something which “the politicians” scream aloud every evening on the TV, and no one understands!
Can India let the dragon keep trampling its interests?
At noon on November the 3rd, 1988, it was an anxious moment in the Ops Room of Army Headquarters in Delhi. The who’s who of the Indian political and military leadership, and the sharpest brains of the diplomatic corps had gotten together to plan the rescue of the then Maldivian president surrounded by blood-thirsty armed men. The lingering fear was that of the IAF aircraft, with the troops on board, being blown up by the rebels at the time of touchdown. There were suggestions to respond with maximum force. With a view to outdo the rebels, a general officer suggested inducting more troops than the number that had been proposed by the Army Chief. Humour was not lost on a witty Ronen Sen—a troubleshooter of a diplomat—who said, “Let’s not induct so many troops—the island will sink under their weight.”
Thankfully, Malé didn’t sink under the weight of the Indian military contingent then. Also, in the following decades the islands didn’t submerge despite the weight of the infrastructure developed, mostly gratis, by India. Even the weight of the feeling of indebtedness for the assistance provided by India in their times of various crises couldn’t dunk the islands.
Occasionally, when their leadership was getting ensnared by Beijing, well-meaning islanders—and there is a large number of them—were in touch with Indian leadership and intelligentsia. But India did not heed their clamour for help. Delhi didn’t interfere considering that it was the prerogative of the Maldivian leadership. The result was that the Maldives unfairly cancelled many contracts awarded to the Indian firms (including the $511 million airport project bagged by GMR) and even leased islands to Beijing which are being used as observation posts to snoop on India. This certainly was not what India had bargained for its non-interference in its neighbour’s affairs.
A cross-section of people on either side feel that both India and the Maldives will be the losers as a result of the current spat. They conclude, and rightly so, that China will gain immensely from this tiff. So, should India accept this Malé-Beijing bonhomie as fait accompli? Certainly not, particularly if it is detrimental to India’s strategic interests. Silence is not a rewarding policy in a world of strategic communication. India needs to do more than just conveying its displeasure over Malé’s actions.
People also say that China is economically too powerful to be confronted. The diplomacy we have followed over the years has been trumped at each step by the lure of Chinese investments. It is, therefore, no wonder that Malé is following in the footsteps of Nepal, Bhutan, Bangladesh and Sri Lanka. But, can India let the dragon keep trampling its interests? Time and energy need not be devoted to answering that rhetorical question. China must not continue to get things on a platter.
India must do everything possible to make Beijing pay the cost for encroaching its interests. In the bargain, if Malé suffers, so be it; they have asked for it. All the possible ways in which India can counter China in the Maldives (and elsewhere)—and there are very many of them—may be adopted discreetly, without making a hue and cry. Keeping Beijing guessing will also serve a definite purpose.
Out of step with Chi…
President Mohamed Moizzu who generated the anti-India wave and rode it to success in the presidential election is certainly not in step with Chi. Now in Beijing, he’s trying to get some favours. Among others, China has promised additional flights and tourists to Malé. That will more than make up for the loss of revenue due to Indians not touring the Maldives. Hopefully, for the time being. But for sure, among the tourists will be Chinese agents (and possibly carriers of new variants of Covid) whose presence, the Maldives will regret at some point of time in the not too distant future.
What can India do?
Malé incurred heavy losses during the pandemic
The frenzy will be over soon. When the dust settles, for us Indians, the most difficult thing will be to acknowledge the blind spots so undiplomatically pointed out by the Maldivian ministers. Although, their comments were related to tourism in the Lakshadweep, it will be in our interest to consider tourism as a whole—everywhere in India.
India has umpteen exotic locations to promote tourism—pristine unexplored beaches, mountain treks, jungle safaris, bird sanctuaries and reserve forests. We have historical monuments and places of worship. Tourism for adventure sports, medical care, naturopathy, meditation and Yoga is already flourishing. People also travel for art, culture, theatre, film and photography… the list is long and ever growing. Limits are posed by imagination alone. Each of these has its peculiarities—means of transport, accommodation, food, equipment and above all people who can communicate well. India must go all guns blazing, and create infrastructure and train human resource to give the tourists an experience. Some sincere and meaningful introspection is vital as we take on the adversaries.
Need more be said!?
[Hereafter, how to deal with the Maldivians visiting India for medicare, education or any other purpose—is a subject for another day.]
Comments
Well written, Chordia; as usual! Thought provoking too…really need to up the ante in tourism….we have a long way to go…’coz, I feel genetically we are crooks…especially those who can make a difference..out for the big buck!! ~ Air Vice Marshal TPS Dhillon (IAF Veteran)
Well timed and articulated. India just has 1.6% of global share of tourism. As rightly put by you that we have everything to offer. Beaches, mountains, deserts, monuments, buildings , temples with their unbelievable architecture, yoga, massages, traditional music and dances not to forget medical and religious tourism. We have to exploit all these but for that we have to create infrastructure and also improve our image as a nation. It is difficult to digest that having a destination wedding in India cost three times more than in Bali. ~ Group Captain Sanjiv Aggarwal (IAF Veteran)
Will the man in the street of Malé be able to bear the outcome of the spat between India and the Maldives?
The one, and the only time I have ever been to the Maldives was without a passport, visa or an air ticket. Yet there was a red-carpet welcome. The Maldivians, their Government and their President in particular, were thankful for that visit of ours. In a handwritten note which he gave me, a senior military officer had expressed the sentiment: “Your Governments kind assistance is very much appreciated by our Force. National Security Service.” Signed Major Mohamed Zahir 4/11/88. He also presented me a cap badge and a formation sign of the NSS as souvenirs. “Do come over again in better times,” he had said, extending an invitation to me to the island nation. Perhaps that generous offer from a grateful Maldivian has become time-barred.
That was in November 1988—the Indian Armed Forces had provided succour to the then Government of Mr MA Gayoom in the midst of an attempted coup. The IAF had airlifted the paratroopers from Agra to Malé (2600km away); the paratroopers had rescued the President and restored calm. The Indian Navy had rounded up the fleeing rebels.
Much bloodshed was avoided; the medics of the Indian Army had taken over the Central Hospital to provide care to the wounded. The authorities had fallen short of words to appreciate the gesture (read the letter). The Indian troops remained in the Maldives for six months providing security cover and training the Maldivian forces.
And that was nearly 35 years ago.
Is the Prez being mentored/ chastised?
Time, tide and China have caused the erosion of the relationship that had been built on mutual trust and cooperation over the intervening decades. In the Maldives of President Mohamed Moizzu, the presence of an Indian helicopter and a handful of men—stationed to provide assistance to the Maldivians with the explicit understanding with the previous governments—is no longer acceptable. The manner in which it has been put forth by the man speaks volumes about his standing as the President of a sovereign country. Mind his body language and that of the Al Jazeera anchor during his recent interview to the television channel. The President is sitting up like a schoolboy answering the anchor who is leaning back, cross legged and pointing a pencil at him like a teacher. During their interaction, he appeared fidgety as if he were under instructions from his bosses to tow a particular line.
For sure, minds in Delhi will be working overtime to establish how things have come to such a pass, and more importantly, how to turn the tide. At the same time, the leaderships in Beijing and Malé must be looking forward to extracting the maximum they can from their present bonhomie. The people of Maldives will feel the effect of the Chinese bear hug sooner than later. It’ll be myopic on their part to ignore the outcome of Beijing’s largesse to Pakistan and Sri Lanka, and the result of China’s benevolence in Africa and South America.
Knowing the sentimental Indian, it wouldn’t be long before the ripples caused by #EXPLOREINDIANISLANDS and #boycottmaldives turn into waves. And, it shouldn’t be surprising if those waves turn into a tidal waves and then, into a tsunami that takes a small toll on Maldivian Tourism. As it appears, many have already reworked their plans (changed the destination from the Maldives to the Lakshadweep). A more likely and significant positive spinoff of the spat triggered by the unsavoury comment of a Maldivian politician (on Prime Minister Modi’s call to make Indian islands a tourist destination) would be an improvement in the facilities that our islands provide.
With a few Bollywood celebs echoing the anti-Maldives sentiment, investors might reconsider their plans of shooting their films on locales in the Maldives. A few cancellations will be enough for the Maldivians to feel the heat. Not long ago, I had advised my friends working on two of my stories—one inspired by Operation Cactus, and the other, based on a life changing event in the life of a military veteran—to plan shooting in the Lakshadweep rather than the Maldives. Although those suggestions were purely to keep the costs down, the present euphoria is nudging the decision further in this direction.
In the foreseeable future, Maldivians are less likely to give up visiting India for medical care or enrolling in Indian educational institutions or for other reasons. Visiting India is a need for the Maldivians.
A dispassionate cost benefit analysis of the current spat might show a little gain (or at least, NO LOSS) for India in the near future. The long-term tangible and intangible losses for the Maldives might be unbearable. Needless to say, the islands leased by the Maldives to Beijing have been a thorn in India’s side. Interestingly, the wisdom of an old Hindi proverb boils down to: “Use a thorn to take out a thorn.”
A dragon doesn’t have a soft belly. But it shouldn’t be impossible to find some delicate spots to insert a few needles to relieve the pain in India’s side. I am sure Jay (read Jai, if you will) is at it.
[Note: As I post this article, news of suspension of three Maldivian Ministers for their derogatory remarks against Prime Minister Narendra Modi, is making headlines. Will this action by President Mohamed Moizzu, stop the impending tsunami? Let’s wait and watch.]
Is golfing merely scything with expensive equipment?
“Chordia, why don’t you start playing golf?” I remember the day, nearly 35 years ago, when our Air Officer Commanding (AOC) at No 24 Equipment Depot, Manauri posed that question to me. In fact, it wasn’t really a question. I felt it was an oblique recommendation to play the game. At least, the old man’s intonation suggested that. Those days I used to enjoy sweating on the football field. About golf, I had a low opinion; I felt it was like scything with expensive equipment. I had just worn the Squadron Leader rank—inside me was a fidgety Flight Lieutenant who spoke first and thought later. Therefore, I am not surprised that I responded promptly with a polite smirk. Yes, a smirk can be polite, pleasant.
“Sir,” I blurted out, “I think golf is meant for the elderly and the moneyed; and may be… for senior officers. I do not belong to any of those categories of beings.”
With that utterance, I had dropped a brick, if not a bomb. I realised it as soon as the words left my mouth. So, I quickly replaced my polite smirk with a smile. And then, the actor in me worked overtime to look like an innocent youngster trying to be jocular.
The AOC didn’t show an iota of dissatisfaction on his favourite game being seen in a not-so-good light. He rather surprised me with a chuckle, “Beta (son), Playing, or not playing golf, and when to start playing, is a choice. You may choose not to play; but it’s definitely time you refined your ideas. Young people are taking to golf and it is not so expensive—you can buy a half set for pittance. That the game is meant for senior officers, is a myth.”
In the following week, he sent me to HQ Central Air Command to study their course and replicate their ‘Mini Golf Course’—a big putting green with nine holes and interesting obstacles. He patted me for creating ‘a marvel’ for Manauri as he called it. Crazy putting green—it was like playing marbles with putters. I wasn’t impressed; did not make a beginning. The AOC gave up on me when I refused to see the grass on the other side of the fence, let alone appreciating its greenness.
Around the same time, in another part of the world, a teenager, Eldrick Tont Woods (15)—nearly half my age—had made waves by winning the US Junior Amateur Golf Champion title. Soon, the world would know him as Tiger Woods. Clearly, old age wasn’t a criterion; people of all ages were golfing.
A year later, I was in Kanpur on posting. My work schedule gave me time to spare after office hours, and the golf course was next door. This time on, it was an Ordnance Corps officer, a Major, who nudged me, “Why don’t you give the game a try? The course is so close to your residence.” He dragged me to the greens.
The Kanpur Golf Course is scenic. The fairways run parallel to the Ganges. The river is so close that sometimes wayward balls land up in the majestically flowing waters. The saying goes: “You have to offer a few balls as guru-dakshina to Gangaji (teacher’s fee to the Ganges) to learn golf.” There are natural undulations, and trees with large canopies, which pose varying degrees of enjoyable challenges. The water hazards, the bunkers and the sand traps are positioned at vantage points to get the best out of a player; they get the better of some. Gentle breeze laden with fragrance of freshly blooming flowers and the chirping birds transport one to a different world. The gazebo next to the club-house provides a commanding view of the Course as one sips a cup of freshly brewed coffee. It is heavenly; it is enticing!
I couldn’t resist the temptation and gave the game a try. In those days (early 1990s), the Kanpur fairways had a lot of pebbles; preferred lie was allowed all along the course. That made it less humiliating and easier for a beginner like me to pick up the game. I was soon addicted. That little change of mind—to give the game a try—led to a big regret of my life: “Why didn’t I start playing golf earlier?” The AOC’s chuckle and his advice to refine my thoughts about the game echoed in my mind. To this day, those thoughts keep returning. I have realised the importance of trying things rather than rejecting them at face value or on the basis of perceptions.
As if to make up for the lost time, I began playing golf like a man possessed—never missing an opportunity to swing. Since Kanpur, I must have walked a few thousand kilometres with a golf club in my hand. And, I must have spent days (cumulative time) searching my golf balls in the wilderness. In Tezpur, where I was a forced bachelor—Chhaya and Mudit had stayed back in Delhi for Mudit’s schooling—I played golf every day, for two and a half years, except when I was outstation. I recall a sunny Sunday when I played 45 holes through the day. Even the rains couldn’t stop some of us. We would continue playing if it started raining after we had teed-off and would take lateral drops if there were puddles in the fairways. Playing on some of the courses maintained by the grazing cattle, in the tea gardens of the exotic east was unadulterated fun. One day, half way through the game, we were visited by a group of elephants, 30 or 40 of them. Majestic!
Playing with course-mates and friends has always been fun. Most golfers will agree that good company matters; some will argue that company matters the most. On numerous occasions, when I have reached the course without a booking, I have had the opportunity to play with interesting strangers. I have written about one, a Khushwant Singh-like old Sikh gentleman who shared a pearl of wisdom on ‘when to approach Guru Nanakji to influence one’s game of golf (and life)’.
Best… next, only to Yoga
Somehow my caddies have never been impressed by my game: “Sir, keep your head down!” “Sir, you aren’t following through.” “Sir, you are not keeping your eyes on the ball.” “Sir, you are applying too much force.” And the most hard hitting, “Sir, why don’t you take a break and spend some time on the driving range with a pro?” One of my caddies could lob a ball using the branch of a tree better than I could with a lob wedge. I can compile a 200-page booklet on all the solicited and unsolicited advice extended to me by my caddies and fellow golfers. For me, playing golf has always been a humbling experience. Reading self-help books and watching experts on YouTube has not helped. It is celebration when I score below 100. I am on the winning side only when I piggyback a good player.
I bought my first (and the only) half-set for an easily affordable Rs 3500/- and gifted it to a greenhorn when I was presented a full new set by a dear friend. My second new set was also a gift, from my nephew. I have been lucky in that regard. My long innings on the greens have (mis)led some onlookers and beginners to seek guidance from me. Inspite of my not-so-good-credentials, I have always encouraged them: “Golf is the best exercise, next only to yoga. It requires a lot of concentration; and, your concentration improves if you play golf. It teaches you to put aside setbacks and get going in life… mind-muscle coordination… it is application of laws of physics in three dimensions…,” I have sermonised. To some, I have loaned old balls and my 7-iron. But I have seldom taught anyone anything beyond interlocking grip, basic rules and etiquettes.
When Covid struck and people were confined to their homes, playing golf was out of the question. It wasn’t so for me. I was confined to the sprawling 60-acre Amity University Campus. Hardly anyone entered the University gate those days. I took the opportunity to play golf. I used to take my short irons and a dozen golf balls to the University’s sports ground. For hours on end, I used to hit golf balls from one end of the ground to the other. The best things people associate with golf—good company, good fairways, good greens, a cafeteria etc etc—were missing. But in due course of time, I began enjoying. It was Nirvana!
Nirvana!
What was it about golf that I was enjoying so much? Alone? On a football ground?
After much thought, I concluded that the second-best thing about playing golf is the feeling one gets when one hits the ball from the sweet spot of the club-head and watches it take the cherished flight; land and roll to the intended point. It is a top-of-the-world feeling when a few of the fifty odd elements that go into making a perfect stroke, align favourably to give the desired result. The audio, the soft impact and the visual effect—all lead to ecstasy. Much else matters less. Having a friend around who genuinely rejoices when you execute that near perfect shot only enhances that feeling of levitation.
I have shared this thought with many a golfer. Most have echoed the joy of striking the ball from the sweet spot, but, in the same breath they have questioned, “If that joyous feeling is the second-best thing about playing golf, then what is the best thing about the game?” Elementary! The best thing about playing golf is strictly personal. It resides in each golfer’s mind—it is that single reason which beckons them to the greens at dawn, over and over again, when rest of the world slumbers. A dear friend who strives to see every sunrise in the golf course says he is drawn to the game because: “It is the maximum fun one can have with pants on.”
Oh those customs and traditions of the armed forces!
Norman Dixon’s book—ON THE PSYCHOLOGY OF MILITARY INCOMPETENCE—is a shocking and provocative treatise on the behaviour of the men in uniform. Although his nearly 450-page study—to explain how a minority of individuals come to inflict upon their fellow men depths of misery and pain virtually unknown in other walks of life—is thought-provoking, his work fringes on mocking military personnel. The fact that he talks mostly about the Royal Army is not a saving grace for the armed forces of India, Pakistan, Bangladesh, Sri Lanka and so many other Commonwealth Countries who are steeped in customs and traditions of the Raj. Thus, what he talks about the British Army, by implication, applies to the Indian Armed Forces too.
Norman Dixon’s Treatise
In the foreword to the book, Shelford Bidwell points out that the wars were not fought solely with victory as the object—victory being defined, presumably, as a net gain of benefits over costs—but for ‘glory’. To achieve ‘glory’, the war had to be conducted according to certain rules, using only certain honourable weapons and between soldiers, dressed in bizarre and often unsuitable costumes. The bayonet, the sabre and the lance were more noble than the firearm (one British cavalry regiment on being issued with carbines for the first time in the mid-nineteenth century ceremonially put the first consignment into a barrow and tipped it on the stable dung pile). The book is well punctuated with such examples. Dixon’s scholarly work is invaluable; it is well-supported by footnotes and bibliography which runs into several pages.
Needless to say, such scholarly work triggers ‘creation’ of anecdotes, which get accepted as facts in due course of time. One, whose truthfulness can’t be verified, goes like this:
At a firing demonstration of an artillery gun, two members of the fire-power display team took positions on either side of the gun. All through the exercise, they stood motionless, each with a closed fist held a little high; at the shoulder level. It was as if they were holding something. None, including the JCO, knew about the role of those two men in the firing of the gun. Research revealed that long ago, when wheeled guns used to be towed by mules and horses, two men were deputed to hold the reins of the animals when the guns boomed to prevent them going berserk. With time, the horse-drawn carts were replaced by motorised platforms. People didn’t care to reassign tasks to those two men who were no longer required.
Here is another one on the unquestioned Casabianca-like devotion and adherence to trivial orders:
A military formation in Central India had a Jawan deputed 24/7 in all weather conditions to stand guard by a bench in the Unit’s Park. None in the unit knew the purpose. During the re-union of the Unit, a retired JCO, in his late eighties solved the mystery when he asked, “Oh my God! Why do you still man that post. It was created on a temporary basis, sixty years ago, when I was a Lance Naik to prevent anyone sitting on the freshly painted bench.”
Taking cue and liberties from suchlike anecdotes, the film makers and ad agencies have created their own versions of military men. A retired Colonel or a Major being a role model; or a disciplinarian struggling to settle down in the family and society; or a comical character (butt of people’s jokes) was the theme of many a Hindi film of the last quarter of the last century. A recent ad features a burly army officer (or a band master? Mind the rank badges and the ribbons and the medals), with a gun in hand, chasing his Man Friday who is running around a table with a bowl of chholey prepared with ‘Everest Chholey Masala’.
A General Officer or a band-master?
Media does reflect reality to some extent. In real life, things are not too different.
The other day, a freak telephonic request from a clerical staff of one of the service Headquarters made me scratch my head hard. As if that torture on my smooth hairless scalp was not enough—that transaction with the gentleman dented whatever good opinion I had of my looks. “Sir, kindly email another of your passport size photographs,” he had requested.
Just to give the readers the background, I had already sent him a photograph which was required to be printed alongside an article which I had submitted for publication in a magazine.
“What’s wrong with the one I sent earlier?” I asked him. I knew it was a sharp image and nothing could have been wrong with it. “Is there a problem in downloading it,” I queried.
“Sir, it is not passport size,” he said hesitantly. On second thoughts, I felt he was not hesitant; he actually sounded sheepish.
“But it is a digital image. You can re-size, and even crop it,” I said with the air of a person who takes pride in his computer literacy. And, why not? Long ago, I had undergone programming courses in COBOL and Visual Basic in the prestigious (then) Military College of Telecommunications Engineering (MCTE), MHOW and Air HQ Computer Centre respectively. And, I am adept at using many computer applications. That—after getting me trained in programming—the Indian Air Force never utilised my programming skills is an altogether different matter. Although, secretly and silently, I have lugged the regret of not having been able to serve alongside the top brains of the Air Force, I have always taken time to educate the less knowledgeable who came my way. I have motivated (sometimes lovingly ‘kicked’ unwilling horses) and personally taught my men how to use computers effectively.
I thought here was an opportunity to light a candle for a soul groping in the dark.
A word about the photograph which I had mailed earlier. It was the one, which Chhaya, my dear wife had clicked during the Corona Virus pandemic. I had just recovered from a long bout of Covid. In the photograph I was sporting a thick salt and pepper beard and had worn a navy-blue round-neck tee-shirt; a black felt hat and dark round-rimmed sunglasses. It had received many responses, which I thought, were compliments. “Wow! You look like a cowboy,” was one observation. “Looks of a seasoned writer…,” commented another friend. “…that countenance goes well with your forays into film-making and association with the theatre.” Those flattering remarks gave my naïve self a reason to feel elated. I began using that picture wherever I could, including, as my DP on the social media; felt great.
Disapproved public persona of an Air Veteran
Returning to this person who wanted me to resend a ‘passport size’ photo.
After he had repeated his demand several times, I was able to elicit the real reason for his insistence. His ‘boss’ had disapproved my ‘iconic’ photo which, I thought, represented the ‘re-attired’ public persona of an Air Veteran of my kind.
There was no point arguing with the conduit, and I did not have the will and the stamina to engage in a discussion with the concerned officer. More importantly, I don’t belong to that category of writers whose articles are in demand and can dictate terms. It is so difficult to get an article published. Withdrawing my article on this ground was out of the question. So, with feigned alacrity, I agreed to comply with the demand. Within minutes, I sent him another of my passport size photographs in which I was well shaven and dressed like ‘an officer and a gentleman’—in a black suit. No hat; no goggles!
Image of an officer and a gentleman
At the click of the ‘SEND’ button, I became acceptable. And, as a corollary, my article got the nod of approval.
The next thing I did was to dig out several of my ‘passport size photographs’ and consign them to a folder on my computer desktop. Now I have a collection—A REAL PICTURE for every requirement… tor scholarly articles; for talks to executives; for lectures to college students; to media persons; for theatre and film fraternity. I know, I am going to need them, at least until more people read Dixon.
Road Much Travelled 