Ravi ki duniya

Tuesday, May 3, 2011
ONE (SLIPPER) IS NOT ENOUGH



Legislative bodies have vital importance in a democracy. They have, if nothing else, immense educative value for all those who care. Hitherto, hurling shoes and slippers (S&S) was the prerogative of the legislators. Our legislators are our role models in more ways than one. We so very readily and eagerly adapted and in no time became well-versed in the art and science of S&S hurling. It is said, it’s Science if the results are same every time irrespective of time and place. A shoe hurled at Chidamabaram did hit the target right in bull’s eye and Tytler bit the dust. Kalmadi may lament and justifiably so, that why just one slipper, of what use is one, why not a pair. Had it been a pair, he could have sold and made some more money out of this ‘individual’ event. Now that is what I call sportsman spirit. He may still be feeling sad, for while it was for the entire World to watch Bush, Omar and Chidamabaram being hurled at costly and branded shoes, poor Kalmadi had to be contended with ‘cheap chappal’. Now this is what I call I to I (Insult to Injury).

A great feature of this Government OF the people and FOR the people is that people are at LIBERTY to curse, use and abuse each other. This is what is called EQUALITY and FRATERNITY, two great hallmarks in the evolution of mankind in human history. Anthropologists will tend to agree with me there. It is people’s right and duty both at the same time to curse and criticize, to use and abuse. What a novel concept called Democracy, Greeks gave us.Its various facets and nuances are still Greek to us. Whether shoe hurling is a science or art may remain debatable till the topic is shunned and shooed away by the ‘intellectuals’. Everyone agrees that Democracy is an art – art of hair splitting ‘splitocracy’. Keep splitting the trivia, so that people are kept busy and hence, off the scent from real issues. Kalmadi may still feel hurt... why just me… why not that Kill Bill Gill, not even She La and why spare that LG (not the tv brand). If you say it is a scam involving billions than each of billion plus citizens of India (NRIs included) have a right and sacred duty too, to not just ‘hurl’ but bash up with the slippers or shoes as the case may be. A nation of billion plus people and just one lone slipper, no sense of ratio-proportion at all. Are we that poor in Three Rs ( Reebok, Red Chief & Relaxo).

We the people of India pride ourselves in being intellectuals. Being intellectual is different than being man of intellect, while the latter are few and far between hence, needed to be protected and prodded like Himalayan Panda, the former are parasites that live off our ignorance and indifference. Look at the poor guy! Who started selling salted grams in post independent India. We all pounced upon him and scolded him to educate his kids. He thought, if nothing else, he will be able to save his future generation from selling salted grams and bribing cops from Marine Drive to Marina Beach and Victoria Memorial to India Gate. How naïve of him. His educated son has no employment and refuses to sell gram. He is no illiterate so why should he be selling grams. Education has singularly taught us one thing from Rann off Kuchh to Sundarbans and from Kashmir to Kovalam --- hate manual labour. So, we the people of India, too educated to sell grams have become arm chair/ drawing room critiques – a forte of intellectuals.

India has all along been jeopardized, harmed and corrupted hollow by this so-called educated class. The simple toiler who lives off his sweat still remains a simpleton, honest and God fearing. Why just God fearing he breathes under constant fear of society, Gotra, Khaps, ‘what others will say’ and last but not the least his ‘conscience’. On the contrary the educated suave, articulate homo-sapiens is the devil who devours what he fancies/ sets his eyes on. He is so very game for every scam, cheating and embezzlement. To him, bribe is sweet as bride to his ears and eyes. Ever ready for sweet indulgence and get away. For you and me, India is our mother land, for him, her included, its not mother land rather a plot of land whose records can be tempered, FSI enhanced adding floor after floors and a sky-scrapper constructed.

Be it 2G, KarGil (Adarsh), Games (Commonwealth) all are the illegitimate offspring born out of the incestuous alliance of educated elites. Poor Bharat still lives on pavement and has stray dogs for company enabling you to turn your head other way in sophisticated snobbery wrinkling your nose and snaring with right tinge “the country is going to/gone to dogs”.

‘Savior with the Slipper’ is our poor men’s Gladiator with Excalibur. Critiques sprung and wasted no time in issuing condemnation – in democracy other than wearing there is no room / use for slippers or shoes. It is nothing but slipper assassination er ... character (?) assassination of a sports lover. Calling poor Kalmadi The Sports Czar is so very fascist. Whoever said the World loves the lover. I find on the contrary the world hates this sports lover and wants to beat him not in steeple chase but with chappals, shoes, hockey sticks, and finally with baton, Queen’s or otherwise. But the omnipotent statesman of his stature hardly gets ruffled by such petty misplaced bravados. For him, these are merely childish pranks. More so, when this lonely chappal could not come anywhere near his splendid aura, leave alone touching / hitting him. He is beyond all slippers and shoes. Remember the benediction Hirankashyap had received. Gods had blessed and assured him that neither man nor beast will be able to kill him, he will not be killed during day or night, he will not be killed on earth or in sky. So is our man, no less than Hirankashyap. No prison. No penalty. No police. No politician. He is above P-4. None will ever be able to reach His Holiness… the Most Beneficent and the Most Merciful.

I am saddened beyond words by the utterance of people including the ones in authority who are going around ‘loose talking’ that Kapil Thakur (The S-3 – Shining Star of Slipper) is having disturbed mental balance. So very mean! Dear countrymen, among we the 120 crore people of India, I find he is the ONLY ONE having right mental balance. If you call him mentally disturbed or mad I wish and pray to the Almighty O God ! pray give us 120 crore the same mental disturbance, the same madness. We too have slippers rather are left with slippers alone, rest everything else is taken away by successive governments in new and newer taxes. God, if this is Adarsh (ideal model) save us from Adarsh, if this is Raja… give us ‘Rank’ (pauper) and if this is the 'Game', let us not host / watch any. We are not yet ready for this ‘Demonocracy’.

Did I hear Kalmadi say…. “Thaam mee yeto ! baraa!”
==

Posted by Ravinderkumar at 11:33 PM 1 comments
Thursday, April 28, 2011
एक चप्पल से मेरा क्या होगा

सदन का लोकशाही में शैक्षिक महत्व होता है. जो चप्पल-जूते अभी तक सदन में चला करते थे अब वे सदन के बाहर भी आन पहुँचे हैं. कलमाडी जी को यह ग़म हो सकता है कि एक ही चप्पल क्यूँ मारी. दोनों तो मारते. और कुछ नहीं तो इन्हें बेच कर कुछ मुनाफा और कमाया जा सकता था. या फिर उन्हें यह रंज भी हो सकता है कि बुश, उमर और चिदमबरंम को तो महंगे वाले जूते फेंक कर मारे थे और मुझे बस सस्ती सी चप्पल में ही निपटा दिया. यह तो सरासर अपमान है.

लोकतंत्र की एक महत्वपूर्ण विशेषता है कि सभी ‘लोक’ एक दूसरे को गाली देने, कोसने, को अपना अधिकार और कर्तव्य दोनों समझते हैं. उसी तरह लोकतंत्र के तंत्र की बाल की खाल निकालने को वे स्वतंत्र होते हैं. तदनुसार एक बुद्धिजीवी ने बक़ौल पान - मसाला एड कहा है “भला एक चप्पल से मेरा क्या होगा”. यह जितने हज़ार करोड़ का घपला / स्केम है, कम से कम उतनी चप्पल तो पड़नी चाहिये थी. कुछ तो अनुपात होना चाहिये, ये क्या कि हज़ारों करोड़ का स्केम और महज़ एक चप्पल. यह तो सरासर बे-इनसाफ़ी है. ना ऐसे नहीं चलेगा.
बुद्धिजीवी हिन्दुस्तान में बहुत इफ़रात में पाये जाते हैं. चने बेचने वालों ने पूरे मरीन ड्राइव, चौपाटी, विक्टोरिया मेमोरियल, इंडिया गेट पर चने बेच बेच कर अपने बच्चे पढ़ाये ताकि उनमें शैक्षिक योग्यता के साथ साथ कुछ बुद्धि आ जाए. उन्हें क्या पता था कि इतने बुद्धि आ जाएगी कि वे बुद्धिमान बनने की अपेक्षा बुद्धिजीवी बन जायेंगे. नतीजा ? नतीजा आपके सामने है, नौकरी है नहीं और उन्होने चने बेचने से क़तई इंकार कर दिया है.

न खुदा ही मिला, न विसाल-ए-सनम

बस तो जनाब इसी तर्ज़ पर, न वे चने बेचने वाले ही बन पाये न नौकरी – पेशा. मेरा निजी मत है कि मेरे भारत महान को ख़तरा हमेशा पढ़े-लिखे लोगों से रहा है. ग़रीब, मेहनतकश तो भगवान से, समाज से, गोत्र से, खप से, ‘लोग क्या कहेंगे’ से और कुछ नहीं तो अंतरात्मा से बारह महीने, तीसों दिन, 24 घंटे,1440 मिनट और 86400 सेकंड डरता है. यह पढ़ा- लिखा जीव, बिंदास होता है. वह हर घोटाले, हर बेईमानी, हर दलाली, हर जालसाज़ी को कर गुजरने को आतुर है और बच निकलने का माद्दा रखता है. जिसे आप मातृभूमि कहेंगे, पढ़े-लिखे के लिए वो महज एक प्लॉट है जिसको घेरा जा सकता है, कागजों में हेर-फेर कर एफ.एस.आई.बढ़वाई जा सकती है. मल्टीस्टोरी माल बनाये जा सकते हैं, फ्लोर के फ्लोर बेनामी बेचे जा सकते हैं. आदर्श घोटाला, 2 जी स्केम, कॉमनवैल्थ सब पढ़े-लिखे, ओहदे दार लोगों की कारस्तानी है. ग़रीब, अनपढ़, सिम्पल लोग तो आज भी दूसरे ग़रीब, अनपढ़, सिम्पल लोगों की हर संभव मदद को तैयार रहते हैं. वे उन्हें सड़क के किनारे देख कर नाक-भों नहीं सिकोड़ते. हाऊ डरटी या हाऊ अन्हाइजेनिक कह कर मुँह नहीं फेरते. ना ही यह कह कर अपने कर्तव्य की इतिश्री कर लेते हैं कि ‘ दिस कंट्री इज गोइंग / गॉन टू डॉग्स’

ये जो चप्पल योद्धा, वीर पुरुष है वह मध्य प्रदेश का है, जहाँ विपक्ष की सरकार है. अतः यह कहा जा सकता है कि यह विपक्ष की एक और साज़िश है, सरकार के एक कर्मठ देशभक्त, एक क्रीडा – भक्त, आर्य पुत्र के सम्मान को ठेस पहुँचाने का शिशुतुल्य प्रयास है. दैदीप्यमान-सूर्यपुत्र ऐसे अनायास लकड़ी के खड़ग से किंचित भी मस्तक पर बल नहीं आने देते, वो और होंगे जो इतनी सी बात पर कलामंडी खा जाएँ. इस बेचारे कपिल ठाकुर का निशाना भी चूक गया. चप्पल अगले को लगी ही नहीं. तप-साधना में सचमुच ही अगाध शक्ति होती है. अब अगले ने तो कहते फिरना है ना मैं तो पाक-साफ़ हूँ तभी तो चप्पल मुझे छू तक ना सकी. बिल्कुल वैसे ही जैसे आज तक कोई भी पुलिस, सी.बी.आई उनके अधो वस्त्र तो दूर, शिरो-वस्त्र की चीर के स्पर्श से भी वंचित रही है.

मुझे तो सुन कर बहुत दुख हुआ, अब यह बात ना जाने कौन फैला रहा है कि कपिल ठाकुर पागल है, मानसिक रूप से विक्षिप्त है. अरे भले- मानुषो ! इस 120 करोड़ के मेरे भारत महान में एक वो ही तो बंदा बहादुर है, समझदार है, बुद्धिमान है.

ये बहादुरी, ये ‘पागलपन’ हमें दे दे ठाकुर.

चप्पल तो हम पर भी है, बल्कि चप्पल ही रह गयी है, नयी पीढ़ी के बच्चे भारत माता के लिए गा रहे हैं --- ........नानी तेरी मोरनी ( भारत कभी सोने की चिड़िया था) को मोर (अंग्रेज) ले गए बाकी जो बचा था अशोक (आदर्श) नरेश (राजा) और सुरेश ले गए.

Posted by Ravinderkumar at 3:23 AM 1 comments
Friday, April 8, 2011
ELEGY OF VICTORIA MESS


The name suggests it is some place in Britain or at best in one of the numerous British colonies. It is said that the sun never set in British rule. The exact meaning of this phrase is the sun was always visible in one country or the other where Britain reigned. The Victoria Mess I am writing about was right here in the heart of New Delhi. Just a stone’s throw from the finest examples of British architecture i.e. the monumental Assembly House (Parliament), Viceregal lodge (Rashtrapati Bhavan) and war memorial (India Gate). Why just Victoria Mess, there existed this Edward Mess on the same road, a little distance away. The road was Dr Rajendra Prasad Road. These two mess were situated opposite and behind the National Archives of India, the imposing building at present day Janpath (Queen’s way) just before it cuts historical Rajpath (King’s way). As you pass the cross section of Janpath and Rajpath you have National Museum at the left side if you are travelling from Connaught Place end. Behind National Museum you have offices of Archaeological Survey of India and the famous Vigyan Bhavan, the official venue for those big sarkari events. The Vigyan Bhavan also Ashok hotel were got built fondly by Nehru ji for the first ever Non Aligned Meet. Those were the heady and dreamy days of Pt. Nehru, Gamel Abdul Nasir and Marshal Tito, of Non Alignment Movement, Afro - Asian friendship and awakening in Asia remembered as Nehruvian ideology. Geography at its place, lets go back to our Victoria Mess.

In our childhood we used to often wonder why the complex has bungalows number 15, 17 and 19 and not logically in continuity i.e. 15 (where we lived), 16 and 17. It was much later we came to know that the bungalows were numbered as odd and even No. All odd ones at your left and even at your right (if you are entering from Rajpath end). So that is how you have 10 Janpath at the right hand. 10 Janpath once was the official residence of Lal Bahadur Shastri, Prime Minister of India. We are a nation of hero-worshippers. Teen Murti House official residence of the first Prime Minister of India was promptly converted to Nehru memorial museum after his demise on 27th May 1964. I am sure Nehru ji would not have liked the idea one bit. After all Gandhi ji was killed on 3oth January 1948 in New Delhi’s Birla House and it’s not a memorial. The road on which Birla house is situated was named Tees January lane nevertheless. After Lal Bahadur Shastri’s untimely demise on 10th January 1966 in Tashkent, (capital of Uzbekistan) then part of USSR. (We used to have fun, asking full form of USSR, five out of six times one was bound to miss a word, and by the way it stood for Union of Soviet Socialist Republics). The bungalow was labelled as evil omen and none dared stay there for years. It remained office of Youth Congress during hey days of Sanjay Gandhi. Later Rajiv Gandhi showed the courage and shifted to this bungalow after he was no more the P.M. The big round about at your right, if you are facing the 10 Janpath was named York Place by the British, later rechristened Moti Lal Nehru Place. Let’s come back to Victoria Mess. The Victoria Mess was an Air force officers Mess. There were whole lot of double storied tenements in row. These quarters had occupant with shops of sweet meat, mutton shop, general store, cycle repair shop, washer men and what have you.

Evenings were full of such a din and fanfare. The round about of Dr Rajendra Prasad road and Janpath There did exist one, I felt sad when found it dismantled and levelled to make way for seamless tarmac ride to Parliament House. There would be these Pan shops and opposite a shoemaker sat. Right across the road four-five barbers sat with their apparatus in funny looking iron boxes, though some did have cute leather kit too.

In my childhood, a large slice of my free time was spent going to and fro Victoria Mess for everything big or small. A milk booth selling bottled milk of DMS (Delhi Milk Scheme) was there. One could buy milk against empty bottles after showing the aluminium token similar to the smart card used these days to access your hotel room. There was this ration shop too. Those were the times of Indo-china and Indo-Pak war, scarce crops and stringent rationing. We will get Australian, Canadian or American (PL 480) wheat under some agreement between the two govt. It was widely believed that the wheat they shipped to us Indians was the one which their pig ate, at times; critique retorted, the wheat was actually the one which their pigs too refused to eat, hence, exported to India. However, the wheat was much redder than our own wheat.

Victoria Mess was abode to all sorts of people. Hardly any one was studying. They were busy carting their wares. Be it colour, balloons (during Holi) crackers and sparkling sticks (during Diwali). The population largely was either of utility workers, chefs, cooks, stewards or of small time shopkeepers selling knick-knack and items largely consumables of daily use. There must have been hundreds of quarters on both sides of cross section of Dr Rajendra Prasad road and Janpath. Edward Mess stood once, where we have Shastri Bhavan today. There is a row of M.P. bungalows opposite Shastri Bhavan. There was this austerity type school running in one room, kind of play school. The teacher – a beautiful Christian damsel would take her tuition classes also side by side. I was one of her few pupils. I recall once we were addressed by a simple dressed bearded guy in white asking us to note down names of specific Christian Saints for a specific task e.g. snake bite.. Prayers should be directed to so and so Saint so on and so forth. I admit I was highly impressed. So very simple he made it sound.
The beautiful teacher used to come to our house also for taking classes of us brothers. No sooner she came, some smartly attired boy too would come (different boy, every time) and then both will go away abruptly ending our class. Some case of ‘class cutting’ was this, where teacher was bunking. Later, I got to hear so many tales of her escapades but that’s another story.

As I said, opposite Edward Mess were M.P. bungalows, still there. Great luminaries like Firoz Gandhi and Tarkeswari Sinha resided there. Latter acted as agony aunt for a children’s magazine ‘Milind’ The column also carried her beautiful picture with a strand of hair carelessly falling on her forehead like Mala Sinha, the cine actress. Dr Rajendra Prasad road once boasted of great leaders. Deen Dayal Upadhyay, most revered leader after Dr Shyama Prasad Mukhrji, (the founder of Jansangh, later renamed Bhartiya Janata Party) stayed there till his untimely death in a train fall somewhere in Bihar. I remember long queue of people who came with flowers and garland to pay their respect and have last glimpse of their leader. Dr Rajendra Prasad road was also the address of SK Patil, Morarji Desai and Babu Jagjivan Ram. Later one of the bungalows was converted to office and served as CVC office for several years. Just at the end of the road (India Gate end) we had Hyderabad House, now known as AP House where good quality mutton could be bought. Today one can have tastiest Andhra Pradesh delicacies in ‘Andhra Thali’ at reasonable rate there. Opposite Hyderabad House is located Dr Rajkumari Amrit Kaur Nursing College named after our first Health minister of free India. She was a spinster, scion of princely family of Patiala. In the vicinity, shrouded in mystery is Bahai’s House. Now they have the swanky address -- Lotus temple. Next building is Pataudi House of Nawab of Pataudi, a small princely state at the border of Rajasthan – Haryana close to Delhi. My father’s mentor in Delhi late Shankaranand Shastri ji lived in the officers’ accommodation there. He was Director Employment Exchanges. Sat at Rafi Bhavan, opposite Mavalankar Auditorium. Yes Dr Rajendra Prasad road’s story can not be over without sharing what happened to me on one summer afternoon. While returning from school I saw a tree in the bungalow laden with half ripe orange like fruit (Malta). There was this gap in the bushes, I entered the lawn and had plucked a Malta just then I noticed an ‘angry like mad’ gardener entering the wicket gate and charging towards me. I was paralyzed, plain immobile. My legs refused to leave ground, as if glued to ground. He thrashed me and confiscated the booty too. My school mate Dilip also stayed across the road where Ashok yatri and Kanishka hotels stood. Dilip had two sisters Asha and (strangely) Ramesh. I know when the displaced persons of East Pakistan were given refuge to start their lives it was named EPDP colony (East Pakistan Displaced Persons). The residents found the name rather unsavory so renamed the ghetto as CR Park (Chitaranjan). Today it is known as mini Bengal, where even the shopkeepers talk to you in chaste Bangla. CR Park has the grand Kali temple and the scale of grandeur during Pooja festival celebrations in CR Park is unparalleled in whole of Delhi.

Alas! I do not know where the DPs (Displaced Persons) of Victoria Mess got relocated. Could they be rehabilitated at all? Today there is no sign whatsoever of Victoria Mess on Dr Rajendra Prasad road except the DMS milk booth and a small road side shrine (grown from obscure idol under a tree)

Long live the spirit of Victoria Mess.

Posted by Ravinderkumar at 6:11 AM 1 comments
Friday, March 18, 2011
ERROR OF JUDGEMENT Ha... Ha…Give me another one

(It is received with disbelief, hilarity and cynicism when none other than Prime Minister tried to unsuccessfully pacify the opposition’s criticism by calling a major constitutional appointment made by his government as an error of judgment. Who he thought would be so naïve to give credence to his statement.)






We are living in interesting times, to say the least. When did you last see or hear an ‘honest’ P.M. heading a bunch of corrupt…criminal...Tainted ministers. English is a funny yet rich language. You have terms to describe every situation and catastrophe politicians can push our country to. Error of judgment is one such phrase in the weaponry. I wonder! How every one in the numerous stages down the chain suffered from this color blindness called Error of judgment. So our PM brushes all allegations and comes out unscathed, or so he thinks. He is calling it (Thomas’s appointment as CVC of India) nothing big just an error of judgment. (EOJ) CWG was another EOJ. The list is endless. 3 G scam EOJ. Adarsh scam EOJ. Purchase of MPs votes so that an ‘honest’ PM could continue at helm—EOJ. Sharma says Nachiketa who? Next day newspapers splash him in family get- together photographs, may be yet another EOJ, this time probably by the photographer.



We all have a role to play till the curtains are down. Personal honesty is one of the traits required for prime minister. You can not rely on leading a nation of billion people by just one single sail called honesty. What about efficiency and effectiveness of the armada. The captain of the ship can not navigate rough sea on fate, hope and honesty. He has to have a team of equally honest, effective and dedicated crew aboard his ship.


Mr. Prime Minister you are not responsible for your honesty alone. You are responsible for honesty of your team mates too. Dhoni can not say I am sorry but see I am honest. He is on to the pitch not to display his honesty but his batting/bowling and captaincy skills. Isn’t he responsible for the performance of his entire team down to the last ball? Similarly, sir you are a nice man. You love poetry. You are a gentleman to the core. You do not vie for any personal gain but sir! Do us a favor even if it is for the first and last time – crack the whip... Go cracking man. Show them who the real boss is. Show them two of your sterling qualities, one - honesty that you already have in plenty and the other ‘zero tolerance’ to dishonesty. Sir, you may not be after Power but we do need a Powerful PM. Is it too much to ask. Don’t we deserve him/her?

Posted by Ravinderkumar at 11:33 PM 0 comments
Friday, December 31, 2010
THE FLYING SNAKE
There are hundreds of genre of snakes. One of the breeds is said to be of flying snakes. As the very name suggests, this snake flies. Have you ever seen one? Even I haven’t. However, a true story, I came across during my visit to Bandikui is here for you (as told to me by Kalyan Sahay Gaur, a retired Railway man of the era gone by).

Long long ago, during British Raj there was this C class station called flag station or way side station in Railway parlance. You might have noticed those tiny stations in your train journey when your train speeds by and there is this Assistant Station Master with green flag held at right angle from the ground. One Braj Gopal was the Station Master of this C class station. He was quite fond of ‘Bhaang’ (marijuana). During festive season folks in Rajasthan do indulge in merry-making by way of liberally consuming bhaang. Some of Braj Gopal’s staff made a rather strong potion and he along with his friends had more than he could hold. Since it was a shift change time, the staff including the Station Master who came to relieve Braj Gopal was also generously invited to the ‘party’ and offered liberal helpings of bhang. All the ‘guests’ of party were already sozzled and on a ‘high’. They had all rather forgotten that they were ‘on duty’. They were all too inebriated to remember that they were on duty. They had also forgotten that which trains are expected when, which trains required ‘line clear’ and which trains require ‘point setting’ through signal and caution order etc. All were in a trance. A train, not finding green signal is required to halt and give long whistles at the outer of station section, as per operating manual. Despite constant long whistles there was no green signal forthcoming Driver of the train, an Anglo-Indian, finding no signal and no effect of his constant whistling was annoyed. Driver and Guard together is the owner of the train in the mid-section. To say the Anglo-Indian driver was furious will be an understatement. The set rule in such eventuality is to uncouple the engine and ‘pilot’ it slowly into the station while continuously blowing the whistle.



The whistle sound closing by was enough to sober our party people. They staggered on their feet. Suddenly it dawned upon them what it means to be found ‘drunk’ on duty with train desperately languishing at outer. They realized they are going to summarily lose their jobs. Braj Gopal, the Station Master got brightest idea flashed in his mind. His room contained all the instruments of giving line clear and communication apparatus, he locked his room from outside and sat at the doorstep with a long face. When the driver shouted at Braj Gopal “Hey Man! What’s wrong?” Braj Gopal with suitable stammer in tongue and tremble in body replied “there is a flying snake in my office ... with great difficulty I have got the room locked before it could bite anyone... I have called the snake charmer... It is just not possible to open the cabin before that… who will open? Only the one who wants to commit suicide can open the lock, here is the key. No joke. It’s a flying snake, flies right at you aiming for your forehead. Once bitten, the death is instant. Not another moment. You may go …do whatever...I can’t risk life of my staff. Hearing this, driver too lost his nerve. He instantly calmed down. The entire train was piloted to the next station. From the cabin of next station, Control Room was informed of the flying snake. Mind of Braj Gopal was racing like Toofan Mail (Rajdhani Express or Shatabdi Express were yet to be introduced) how to come out unscathed from this entire flying snake saga. Men were sent in all the ten directions (North, South, East, West, North East, North West, South East, South West, Skyward (tree tops) and underground (snake pits) to catch a snake, flying or no flying, dead or alive. Alas! All came empty handed. They were wondering the snakes, hitherto galore in the area, where have they all vanished. Till yesterday one could not have ventured out to adjacent mangrove without spotting a couple of snakes with or without venom.



Next morning when a staffer was up on neem (margosa) tree looking for a twig to brush his teeth, he located a baby viper. He shouted “Mass Saab! Mass Saab! Snake!” The Station Master couldn’t ve asked for more. It was dream catch. Immediately a cloth was thrown at baby viper to confuse him and poor fellow got caught for no fault of his. He was consigned to a pitcher. Pitcher was sealed. The seal was duly signed by three employees; a kind of ‘panchnama’ and a paper slip was promptly pasted on the pitcher. The slip read:




1. Name: Flying snake


2. Time caught: 1900 hrs


3. Length: 1.5 yard


4. Color: Jet black


5. Age: Above 100 years


(Estimated by the snake-charmer)


6. Property: Flies, aims and bites only at forehead of anything moving.


7. Effect: Instant death.


A rookie khalasi was handed over the pitcher and assigned the task of carrying the catch to Bandikui to the District Traffic Superintendent. Mr. Jennison, D.T.S. immediately called for Mr Cononi, the Chief Controller and shared his wish to see a glimpse of the legendry flying snake. As it happens in bureaucracy, this order too traveled from the very top and stopped at the junior most staffer. They caught hold of a casual labor and ordered him to break open the seal of the pitcher. Hearing this, the casual labor hid behind the bushes and started crying non stop. “Maai baap I have nine children. I am the only earning member, they will all be orphaned”. The D.T.S. realized the sensitivity of the matter and futility of his desire to see a ‘flying snake’. Promptly, Badri Prasad Chaubey, the Chief Clerk was summoned and instructed to dig a deep pit to bury the pitcher. The secret of the Station Master’s bhang orgy and myth of a flying snake was buried forever.


Years later, superannuated Braj Gopal’s grand children would never get tired of hearing the story of flying snake night after night.As for Braj Gopal, he attributed his entire creative imagination to his favorite bhaang.



























Posted by Ravinderkumar at 11:13 AM 4 comments
COINS WITH FUNGUS
Ever since the establishment of Railways in 1853, when first train chugged off from Boribunder to Thane, wages to its employees are paid by way of currency in vogue. British later renamed Boribunder as Victoria Terminus. We Indians can not lag behind, so we very quickly rechristened it after our great warrior. As they say, it was a major operation of sex change when Victoria (terminus) emerged as Chhatrapti Shivaji (terminus). Provision of payment of wages in the valid currency exists in Payment of Wages Act 1936. Railways, a great network do not make the payment to all its employees on first of every month. Instead, due to a massive number of employees spread over a large area, wages are paid on different but fixed dates. Although salary is paid on ‘assumed attendance’ basis for full month yet absence, if any, is adjusted in the following month.


Bandikui was a major Railway activity center. Prior to carving out railway territory into divisions in 1956, Bandikui was a place of far greater significance than Jaipur.Those were the days of British Raj. Wages were paid in the form of prevailing silver coins.


There was this Dr. William Craft posted in a senior position as Divisional Medical Officer at Bandikui. Whenever DPC (Divisional Pay Clerk) with heavy bag of silver coins and menacing ‘security guards’ in toe, would visit Bandikui for disbursing wages, Dr Craft shall sit beside him and begin his ‘examination’ of coins, yes ! You read it right, examination of coins, coin by coin, one by one. The coins which had green fungus on them, he would pick aside for ‘closer’ or so to say intensive examination. He would begin the scrutiny of coins by poking lead pencil and digging out clean whatever little fungus he could, out of the faces (head and tail) of the coins.


All those coins which still had fungus deep entrenched in them, finally, he would place them apart. Such ten to fifteen rupees worth of different denomination 'dangerous' coins, he would then order, to bury deep underneath the mother earth. He was of the firm opinion that these fungus laden coins are ‘deadly’. Anyone who comes in contact with these coins will suffer ugly and painful death.


Month after month, ten to fifteen of such ‘infected’ and ‘evil’ coins were killed and buried by Dr. William Craft. He believed that by doing so he was actually doing a service to humanity and contributing his bit to save mankind. The orderly, peon or khalasi whosoever was available at the appointed time (coin examination) would have gala time for he would simply pocket them. An elaborate report of burial would be fabricated and submitted to the satisfaction of Dr Craft.


All through the tenure of Dr. William Craft in Bandikui, he observed and abided this procedure with a religious zeal to the great amusement and greater gains by the ‘pall-bearers’. Needless to say, Dr. Craft was immensely popular among his staff.




P.S.
Twenty years back, this tale was told to me by one Kalyan Sahai Gaur, a retired railway man of British era. I still wonder how and under what ‘head’ these dead coins were shown in the books.









Posted by Ravinderkumar at 1:47 AM 0 comments
Friday, November 19, 2010
RAMU SETH

The world history is full of people migrating from one place to another for various reasons, be it on religious grounds such as persecution of group of people following a particular faith. Parsi, Bahai, Jews from Moses to Mohd. Saheb Romas to Dalai Lama, people en masse have been migrating from one corner of the earth to another. Nearer home, in the year 1970 Raj Kapoor the greatest ever showman of celluloid in his magnum opus ‘Mera Naam Joker’ (255 minutes running time with two intervals) delivered a dialogue (made a statement) of Khwaja Ahmed Abbas, outlining the universal truth “There is something more frightening and fierce than the most fierce lion and that is hunger”. So dear readers, right from the days when man was ‘food gatherer’ he has been driven by hunger to navigate uncharted path to fathom unfathomable and undertake unthinkable.

Bihar has been sending manpower to fields in remote countryside to power-corridors of India. A galaxy of Statesmen from Bihar has adorned the motherland right from India’s freedom struggle days. Our story opens in 1960s of Delhi, Faya Ram, a low-paid employee of P&T (Post & Telegraph) Department, Eastern Court, Janpath would annually return to his native place armed with fascinating tales of big city called Delhi – the land of opportunities. A poor lad Ramu would intently listen to those fairy tales, completely awe stuck with gaped mouth and dreamy eyes. Driven by abject poverty, hunger pangs, and el-dorado that the Delhi was made out to be by Faya Ram, Ramu a boy all of 19 years set for Delhi with his sole worldly possession – eighth class pass certificate. Narrating spiced up stories to naive villagers is one thing and having to bear and provide for someone gate-crashing in Delhi is quite another.

Faya Ram without wasting anytime took him to Shri D.A. Katti an M.P. from Chikodi, Belgaum at whose residence Faya Ram used to frequent in those idle evenings of Delhi. Ramu was promptly taken under the wings by Katti Saab. Ramu would cook and serve food to M.P. Saab. There was only one hitch... Ramu was not paid a penny, instead he was allowed to partake the food he cooked for M.P., and so he cooked for both. Greater hitch was M.P.’s sojourn in Delhi used to be disappointingly brief even when the Lok Sabha was in session. During the absence of M.P., Ramu was left to fend for himself. A famished boy, he had no option but to go door to door unnecessarily asking everyone’s well being, ever willing to lend helping hand. He would play like a child with neighborhood children in the fond hope that he may get a loaf of bread or at least a cup of tea. Often, he was given food out of sheer mercy as a charity. But not for too long. The lady luck smiled at him. Oh! How cruel and scheming a smile can be?


A lady passenger reasonably good looking, well past in her forties smiled at him in the DTU bus. Before it became today’s DTC, the bus fleet was known as DTU – (Delhi Transport Undertaking). Then what followed was a courteous conversation. Next day, it was little more social talk. Third day they went for a cup of tea. Exchanging pleasantries... the lady Mrs. Chadha wanted to know everything about Ramu. Finding that an unknown lady taking so much interest in him Ramu felt warm and nice, as nice and important as never before. Ramu opened his heart out to her. She was visibly moved hearing that Ramu does not know where the next meal will come from. She insisted Ramu to come to her parlor in posh Pusa Road. It was a sprawling bungalow. Mrs. Chadha hand-in-hand with Ramu walked in the bungalow. At ground floor, Ram saw two teenage boys staring at him. She gave them kind of ‘I hate you’ looks. Laughing, joking, cuddling, she went to first floor of the bungalow. She had the entire floor for herself and of course, for our Ramu...no not Ramu but Ramu Seth. Mrs. Chadha was into intimate relationship with one rich industrialist - Mr Chadha who was a widower. She looked after Mr. Chadha rather too well – leading to his untimely sudden death. All the kith and kin of Chadhas rose in unison against this ‘freshly widowed Mrs. Chadha’. Back in Soulful sixties it was difficult to keep honour intact and yet find time and space to do kind of wayward adventures Mr. Chadha indulged in. Therefore, every thing was kept hush-hush and more so after the demise of Mr. Chadha, nobody wanted to speak ill of him and yet knew not how to handle this ‘new Mrs. Chadha’. Mrs. Chadha on her part had played her cards rather too well. She staked her claim on entire property and wealth of Mr. Chadha being her widow - and children being minor. Ramu was her servant by the day and prized trophy by night. If it can be called a job then Ramu had chucked his job with our hon’ble M.P. His new swanky address had everyone who knew him in absolute amazement. Lucky You! Ramu had a wardrobe he had never dreamt of. People would call him Ramu Seth and he would not refute and thought he actually was one. Mrs. Chadha, the lady luck smiled at him, why smile, she was guffawing... Laughing her guts out and Ramu Seth was shyly grinning. Ramu had never had it so good. Everything was God sent or so believed Ramu. It was a classic tale of rags to riches. Ramu with his new found status was hugely embarrassed to do any household chores anymore. Life was a big picnic. A dream without morning. How could Ramu Seth do odd jobs any more? A non-descript maid was promptly engaged to do the menial chores. Little did Ramu know that the maid appearing at their doorstep was no co incidence? She was carefully planted by the Chadha clan to score even with Mrs. Chadha For that it was necessary to separate her from Ramu Seth. With rudimentary planning and enough grease, local police gladly obliged. Early hours of one cold morning Ramu was arrested for raping the minor maid and dealing in contraband with Pakistani seal smuggled via Punjab.

With all the witnesses at the right place, in a summary trial, Ramu was imprisoned for seven years. Ramu a semi-literate village rustic neither knew what his fault was nor had any ink link what had hit him.

Last letter from Ramu was a heart rending account of torture in prison, begging us for mercy he was desperate to come out of prison.

The elders say the roots of all evils are 3Zs - Zar – wealth, Zoru – woman and Zameen- Estate. Unfortunately poor Ramu’s rise and fall had all the three.

We never heard of Ramu... Ramu Seth again.
==
Posted by Ravinderkumar at 2:13 AM 0 comments
Older Posts Home
Subscribe to: Posts (Atom)
Subscribe To
Posts
All Comments
Ravi ki kavitayen

Ravikikavitayen
4 days ago

मेरे बारे मे

Ravinderkumar
Born on 11th March at Aligarh,UP. Educated in Delhi, Bangalore. Worked as Personnel Officer, HAL,Nasik, Manager(P&A) ITDC,New Delhi.Indian Railway Personnel Service(IAS allied ) Jt. General Manager (HRM) IRCON International. CPO & CVO Delhi Metro, Senior Professor (Organizational Behavior) Railway Staff College, Vadodara Presently: Chief Personnel Officer (Admn)Central Railway Head Quarters, Mumbai-1 BOOKS (poetry) 1.SEEPI MOTI BHARI 2.PANKHURIYAN GULAB KI 3.OS KI BUNDIEN 4.SUNEHRI DHOOP KI CHHAON TALE 5.EHSAAS 6.MERI 101 KAVITAAYEN SATIRES: 1. MISS RISHWAT 2, TIHAR CLUB 3. BALD IS BEAUTIFUL 4. MERA BHARAT MAHAAN 5. MERE 51 VYANG GENERAL : 1. GATT A CRITICAL ANALYSIS 2. EK BAAR KI BAAT HAI 3. RAILWAY KARMIK NIYAMAVALI 4. DID YOU KNOW Writing since childhood.... Awarded Millennium Award 2000 International Hindi Society. Regularly contributing on All India Radio, Mumbai and in magazines and websites India and abroad. BOOKS PUBLISHER: ABD PUBLISHERS B-46 NATRAJ NAGAR IMLIWALA PHATAK JAIPUR-302015 TEL:0141-2594705 email oxfordbook@sify.com

View my complete profile

Subscribe To
Posts
All Comments
Total Pageviews
Sparkline 4,439
Followers
News around the World
India
Wall Street Journal - Timely Rains to Help India Farms
powered by
Watermark template. Powered by Blogger.
ब्लॉग अर्काइव

▼ 2011 (4)
▼ May (1)
ONE (SLIPPER) IS NOT ENOUGH
► April (2)
► March (1)

► 2010 (223)

► 2009 (1)