Her arrival into my life was rather accidental. At first sight she was just another of her kiln who would make their daily visits to our hostel. But another look and she was different from all of them. Her eyes were greener than the others’ and her gait and walk…..there was definitely something in her which caught the eye. Our first meeting was un expected. I had just woken up from sleep and was going to the canteen for my early morning cup of tea, hair dishevelled, face unshaven, eyes bleary, not exactly the situation you would like a first meeting to be in. She however seemed to have an instant liking for me and started circling around me all the time rubbing her little body against my legs. I too took a liking for the little kitten and despite running the risk of being scratched, took her in my arms. And thereby began our relationship which lasted till the day I left the university.
She was not born in the hostel, the canteen boy said. Someone from the village, just outside the university campus had left her in the hostel. Her tendency to climb on the benches, in the canteen seemed to ratify this. She would climb on the benches and rub herself against our bodies, in a bid to draw our attentions into sharing food items with her. We would humour her with small pieces of biscuit and bread. She, however, seemed to be more active during lunch and dinner when fish or meat was served. I would be the first one she would invariably approach, to make her presence felt, but she slowly took to the fact that I was a vegetarian and could not offer her any fish or meat. However, she did become a fan of the aloo bhaja (deep fried sliced potatoes), served to the veggies in lieu of the non vegetarian items, and would often wait for me to come for my lunch or dinner, whatever the case may be.
The other hostellers did not take quite kindly to her and would in fact take it out on me for giving her enough leverage, something which according to them was absolutely un called for. But irrespective of what others said, I would always try to jump to her protection and try to convince my friends to leave her alone. By now, she had become a beautiful, graceful full grown cat.
She had started trusting me and knew very well that out of the 120 or so students staying in New P.G. Hall, I would surely be one who won’t ever hit her.
Her intimacy with me grew during the 2007 Durga Puja vacations. I had decided to stay back in the hostel, to prepare for my MBA entrance examinations. However, the mess would be closed at that time. And realising that the major source of her daily diet would be closed, during those fifteen days, she (invariably) turned to me for help. I and a junior who had also chosen to stay back,for a reason similar to mine, would feed her. The whole exercise had assumed a certain pattern. Our days would begin waking up to her constant mewing outside my or my junior’s door. Whoever would listen to it first would get up and feed her bread slices, which we would keep mainly to satisfy her hunger. Lunchtime for her would consist of a little rice which we would literally smuggle from Subirda’s hotel, where we would go for our lunch. For dinner, we would get an extra roti or two from Subirda’s shop and then offer it to her at 10 P.M., the time she would arrive at either of our doorsteps.
Her gaining entry into my room was also in a way, one would not exactly call conventional. Having forgotten to lock my door from inside, one fine day, I woke up from my siesta to find her sleeping peacefully on my table. And thus began another routine which continued through those vacations.
The last time I saw her was the day I was packing my things to leave the hostel. It was the 29th of May 2008. While I along with my friends was busy packing up for yet another leg of hostel life, in this institute, she sat quietly on an old book shelf just outside my room. By then she had mothered three children, who were firmly on their way to become as beautiful and graceful as their mother was. That night I found her to be as much upset, as I was at my leaving the hostel.
And I can swear……I had seen tears in her eyes.
I don’t know, whether she is still alive. I don’t know what fates her children have met. But I know one thing for sure. The only part of my hostel stay of those two years, which I miss today, is the time I had spent with her.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Monday, January 25, 2010
Celebrating sixty years of rape
The mothballed flag is out of the closet. There is a small hole near the Ashok Chakra but the early morning sun will make sure that it is not visible. The cassettes containing “sar kata sakte hain lekinsar jhuka sakte nahin” and “Ae mere watan ke logon” have also been tested, played and replayed. Rafi Sa’ab’s voice is barely audible and Lataji’s voice is quivering. The tapes have taken up a lot of moisture since the last time they were played on the 15th of August last year. Thankfully Mahendra Kapoor is still booming with his “bharat ka rahne wala hoon”. Hell, why don’t they make movies on India’s democracy? As to how India became a democracy. We could have had a different set of songs then. And as for me, I am enjoying a holiday right in the middle of the week. And along with my country men, celebrating rape. The rape of the country in the hands of the democratically elected representatives. It is sixty years since we have thrown the country into the hands of a few gentle men who are supposed to take us forward. Since we are far too busy with fending for ourselves. And just look at what they have done.
“Peoples’ representatives”. The term in itself seems to be a big farce. 25% of the population electing 500 of them who will decide what is good and what is bad for over one billion people. 25% of the eligible voters who are bought off with sarees, toddy and other freebies. You wake up early in the morning on election day, walk to the election booth and see that you vote has already been cast. And by the way….does anybody cast his vote? I knew most vote their caste here. Supporters of political parties intimidate voters. In fact supporters of a particular political party go to the extent of snatching the voters’ identity cards of any one they think might vote for the other party.
The “peoples’ representatives” fan the religious and regional feelings and make hell break loose. And then revel in the mayhem that follows. Everyone, every damn one right form the gate keeper to the mantri sitting in the comforts of his airconditioned office has a “valid” and “logical” reason to steal and embezzle. While the common man, mind you, the one who brought the “peoples’ representative” to power gets fucked on the streets, the “peoples’ representative” , moves around in air conditioned cars, with the police force forced to lick his ass rather than protect the one getting fucked on the streets.
And in between all this, we celebrate the day our country became a republic. A form of government, “by the people” (Doesn’t matter if its only 25%), for (fucking) the people and of the people (belonging to the same caste as theirs). The only other day when the national flag sees the light of the day. A day when we can make love in the afternoon (it’s a national holiday, goddamnit, all of us are at home), while the country gets raped.
“Peoples’ representatives”. The term in itself seems to be a big farce. 25% of the population electing 500 of them who will decide what is good and what is bad for over one billion people. 25% of the eligible voters who are bought off with sarees, toddy and other freebies. You wake up early in the morning on election day, walk to the election booth and see that you vote has already been cast. And by the way….does anybody cast his vote? I knew most vote their caste here. Supporters of political parties intimidate voters. In fact supporters of a particular political party go to the extent of snatching the voters’ identity cards of any one they think might vote for the other party.
The “peoples’ representatives” fan the religious and regional feelings and make hell break loose. And then revel in the mayhem that follows. Everyone, every damn one right form the gate keeper to the mantri sitting in the comforts of his airconditioned office has a “valid” and “logical” reason to steal and embezzle. While the common man, mind you, the one who brought the “peoples’ representative” to power gets fucked on the streets, the “peoples’ representative” , moves around in air conditioned cars, with the police force forced to lick his ass rather than protect the one getting fucked on the streets.
And in between all this, we celebrate the day our country became a republic. A form of government, “by the people” (Doesn’t matter if its only 25%), for (fucking) the people and of the people (belonging to the same caste as theirs). The only other day when the national flag sees the light of the day. A day when we can make love in the afternoon (it’s a national holiday, goddamnit, all of us are at home), while the country gets raped.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Tamacha Bangali Babu ka
The District Magistrate of Lucknow, was caught on camera slapping a striking employee of the UP government. To be very honest I would have found it hard to believe, had I not chanced upon this report in The Telegraph. More surprising is the fact that the incident took place in the heartland, even the mention of which, gives many Bengalis an urge to run to you know where. And a Bengali slapping a bhaiya? More unbelievable. But, I have no reasons to doubt the credentials of a newspaper like The Telegraph, so I take the news item at face value.
One might think, what is so great about an IAS officer slapping another government officer? Does it not happen often? Well, it does, but seldom will you find the slapper in question to be a bong. Bongs are basically docile in nature. Physically, that is. Take my word , they are great fighters with the mouth. In fact a famous quote follows a Bengali wherever he goes, “Mukhe na Maritom Jagat”, I will win the world just by fighting with my mouth. So while you will always have a Bong shouting, “dekhe nebo” (I will see you), or “dekhiye debo” (I will show you), you can well be sure of what he will see and what he will show.
I have found many Bongs having this irritating habit of “Gaye Pore Jhagda”. They some how, always find out ways to pick up a fight or a row, which almost inevitably ends with them being beaten up (if the other person is a non bong) or both parties shouting dekhe nebo and dekhiye debo (if both of them are bongs).
Bongs are normally brought up to be docile. Quite a great paradox it might sound, but they want to steer clear of controversies. It’s a different matter altogether that very few people have this tendency of courting controversies as they do. The Lucknow DM might well be one example. While the whole world (almost the world, because the followers of a certain balding bespectacled man who wore white loincloths apparently don’t) believe in the maxim of “an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth” , the bongs while not exactly believing in extending the other cheek when slapped on one, precisely end up doing so.
Not having grown up in West Bengal, I am not exactly sure of the family system that is in place, but as many of my friends claim, they are mostly women dominated households (Mine fortunately or unfortunately is not and both my parents take up equal responsibilities when it comes to fights or quarrels). Therefore, as a natural corollary, it is the woman of the household, who takes up the cudgels against cheating milk men, nosy neighbours or sabzi wallahs who donot weigh the right amount, while the male member sits in the privacy of his bedroom writing poems for his wife or maybe reading “those books” because his wife may as well refuse “that thing” in bed, and he will in all probability……..well you know what.
But the hormones don’t stop making their presence felt. The aggression which nature endows men with has to find an outlet. And so they start fighting the whole world with their mouths and with their shouts, of course when wifey dearest is away. Because in her presence, she will quite inevitably lead from the front.
Bong men are brought up to believe that they do not possess the power to hit back. There are in fact many jokes about Bong men, especially those belonging to a place which carries the legacy of a certain noble prize winner with a long beard. One of them goes as “ A bong (man of course) sees a cow blocking his path and instead of trying to shoo it away he says, “dhenu, rasta char, nahole phool chhure marbo”, Oh! Dear cow, leave my way or I will hit you with a flower.
This possibly sums up my initial surprise at the incident which happened far away in Uttar Pradesh. In fact, I believe, the employee who was slapped, was far too surprised at being slapped by a bong, (rather than being shocked at being slapped in full public view) to react. Otherwise the report might have read something else. And I have reasons to believe, I need not quote the probable headline here.
One might think, what is so great about an IAS officer slapping another government officer? Does it not happen often? Well, it does, but seldom will you find the slapper in question to be a bong. Bongs are basically docile in nature. Physically, that is. Take my word , they are great fighters with the mouth. In fact a famous quote follows a Bengali wherever he goes, “Mukhe na Maritom Jagat”, I will win the world just by fighting with my mouth. So while you will always have a Bong shouting, “dekhe nebo” (I will see you), or “dekhiye debo” (I will show you), you can well be sure of what he will see and what he will show.
I have found many Bongs having this irritating habit of “Gaye Pore Jhagda”. They some how, always find out ways to pick up a fight or a row, which almost inevitably ends with them being beaten up (if the other person is a non bong) or both parties shouting dekhe nebo and dekhiye debo (if both of them are bongs).
Bongs are normally brought up to be docile. Quite a great paradox it might sound, but they want to steer clear of controversies. It’s a different matter altogether that very few people have this tendency of courting controversies as they do. The Lucknow DM might well be one example. While the whole world (almost the world, because the followers of a certain balding bespectacled man who wore white loincloths apparently don’t) believe in the maxim of “an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth” , the bongs while not exactly believing in extending the other cheek when slapped on one, precisely end up doing so.
Not having grown up in West Bengal, I am not exactly sure of the family system that is in place, but as many of my friends claim, they are mostly women dominated households (Mine fortunately or unfortunately is not and both my parents take up equal responsibilities when it comes to fights or quarrels). Therefore, as a natural corollary, it is the woman of the household, who takes up the cudgels against cheating milk men, nosy neighbours or sabzi wallahs who donot weigh the right amount, while the male member sits in the privacy of his bedroom writing poems for his wife or maybe reading “those books” because his wife may as well refuse “that thing” in bed, and he will in all probability……..well you know what.
But the hormones don’t stop making their presence felt. The aggression which nature endows men with has to find an outlet. And so they start fighting the whole world with their mouths and with their shouts, of course when wifey dearest is away. Because in her presence, she will quite inevitably lead from the front.
Bong men are brought up to believe that they do not possess the power to hit back. There are in fact many jokes about Bong men, especially those belonging to a place which carries the legacy of a certain noble prize winner with a long beard. One of them goes as “ A bong (man of course) sees a cow blocking his path and instead of trying to shoo it away he says, “dhenu, rasta char, nahole phool chhure marbo”, Oh! Dear cow, leave my way or I will hit you with a flower.
This possibly sums up my initial surprise at the incident which happened far away in Uttar Pradesh. In fact, I believe, the employee who was slapped, was far too surprised at being slapped by a bong, (rather than being shocked at being slapped in full public view) to react. Otherwise the report might have read something else. And I have reasons to believe, I need not quote the probable headline here.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
A bullet for a bullet and.........
It was November 2007. A block in the East Midnapore district of West Bengal had suddenly gained nototeity. A group of people trying to protect their lands from being acquired had been shot dead by the police. Many women had been raped. A dhuti panjabi wearing gentleman, sitting in a palatial building in Kolkata had drawn a dividing line between the perpetrators and the victims. “They are being paid back with the same coin”, he had said. I was at the university then. The students’ union (rather the union of a particular political party which waved red flags with a hammer and a sickle drawn on it) had called for a path sabha a meeting in front of the administrative building. The agenda was, rubbishing the claims of a white sari wearing, puffed faced lady, who was the chief of another political party which waved white flags with three flowers in green drawn on them, that all the violence in the aforementioned district was being fanned by the former party.
A bespectacled moustached, doctoral student, was to address the path sabha. And he shouted “gulir jawab guli, dharshaner jawaab dharshan”, a bullet for a bullet and a rape for a rape. He then went on to sing paeans about the heroics of the supporters of the first party, how they killed people and raped women and teenagers to “recapture” the block. And then the request (rather an order), that we would take out a rally the next day to protest against the protests of the protestors.
This was again reiterated at a general body meeting at 10 in the night. We were reminded of our duties as responsible supporters of our ”priyo sangathan” our beloved organisation. This effectively meant that “walk the rally you fuckers or we are going to kick the shits out of you”, which is precisely what was done to those who gave hints of the sangathan being not priyo to them.
All of us joined the rally and walked on the state highway just outside the campus. Who would like to be kicked around by 15 well built men in a 20 by 20 room, hands tied behind the back, legs tied, and rubber water pipes and cycle chains taking turns to make marks on the buttocks and the back? Neither would any girl like to be branded as a ‘maagi”, a crude bong word for a woman of questionable character. So walk we did.
The slogan for the rally was gulir jawaab guli, dharshaner jawaab dharshan.
A bespectacled moustached, doctoral student, was to address the path sabha. And he shouted “gulir jawab guli, dharshaner jawaab dharshan”, a bullet for a bullet and a rape for a rape. He then went on to sing paeans about the heroics of the supporters of the first party, how they killed people and raped women and teenagers to “recapture” the block. And then the request (rather an order), that we would take out a rally the next day to protest against the protests of the protestors.
This was again reiterated at a general body meeting at 10 in the night. We were reminded of our duties as responsible supporters of our ”priyo sangathan” our beloved organisation. This effectively meant that “walk the rally you fuckers or we are going to kick the shits out of you”, which is precisely what was done to those who gave hints of the sangathan being not priyo to them.
All of us joined the rally and walked on the state highway just outside the campus. Who would like to be kicked around by 15 well built men in a 20 by 20 room, hands tied behind the back, legs tied, and rubber water pipes and cycle chains taking turns to make marks on the buttocks and the back? Neither would any girl like to be branded as a ‘maagi”, a crude bong word for a woman of questionable character. So walk we did.
The slogan for the rally was gulir jawaab guli, dharshaner jawaab dharshan.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
The child is dead
I am a grown up man now. I will be in a job (hopefully) in another three months. And as one of my seniors promised today, I might as well be heading a 100 crore profit centre in another three years. What is my age? Well, I think one should have the basic courtesy of not asking a twenty six year old his age.
I remember having these very dreams in my child hood. And I would relive all those dreams by playing office on my study table, every day over and over again. The office would be my spacious bedroom, complete with a table, diaries, product brochures, which would serve as files, a luxor pilot pen, gifted on my 10th birthday by my father and a pen stand (This pen by the way was used only when I played office. In school it would always be fountain pens). And yes, I used to have a secretary too, Sunita, the daughter of my neighbour, Rao uncle. Sunita’s brother, Sudhakar would be the peon, whose only job would be to fetch me water. I was the CEO, the boss. (I was not aware of the meaning of CEO, but was definitely aware of the power, the boss could and did yield ).
Today, by God’s grace and my parents’ blessings, I am pretty close to fulfilling that dream of mine. The day is not far when I will have my own table with my laptop on it and real files surrounding me, not the product brochures which I would earlier pass on as files. But I am not happy. I am pretty close to barking orders on the phone, as I would do then, whenever Sunita would call me to receive a “phone call”, but I am not ecstatic.
The reason, after I assume the position, I will have to behave as a “manager”. Exactly as I had to behave then with Sunita, snapping at her for not typing a letter on time. By the way, the type writer would be the snake and ladder part of my LUDO board. I am often reminded that my conduct should be like that of a manager, which I would become in another three months. I am often reminded, that I am no longer the “mummy ka pyaara beta” which I would be then. I am not expected to mimic animals’ voices, because that will put a label on me. I am not expected to cuddle stray puppies and feed them with biscuits, because that is something which managers probably don’t do. I am not expected to buy yo-yos from the footpath for someone I love, because, as a student of this well known management institute in Western India, I am probably not expected to do that. (This was pointed out to me by a friend). I am not expected to be emotional, because managers probably don’t have hearts and are “men” (Forget Roger Federer, he is a sissy). Today I fear having an inky finger, because it would quickly be pointed out that I might be heading a company ten years from now, so I better learn handling a fountain pen.
Irrespective of what I wanted to be fifteen years back, today, I want to become a child again. I want to dance on the streets after India beats Pakistan in a cricket match. I want to have the taste of the rain drops on my tongue. I want to jump on the puddles of water, a common sight in our country, after any shower. I want to sing my lungs out in the bathroom. I want the reassurance that my classmates are my friends and not my competitors. I want to be excited at the prospect of going home and being with my parents. And I want to do these without ever giving a thought to what others would think of me.
Today as I see a ten year old playing with the puppies, just outside the gate of my institute, or when I see another child jumping in the puddles of water, I am jealous of him. I ask myself, is this why we aspire to become “someone” in life? To weigh the pros and cons of everything before we set a foot forward. To bury the carefree child deep down within us, so deep, that it finds it impossible to express itself. So that cannot even reminisce about our childhoods, because no one else has the time to listen to that “crap”.
Have we grown up? I think, we have grown out. Grown out of the child in us. Grown out of those carefree days. Grown out of the human being, which we are in the first place.
I remember having these very dreams in my child hood. And I would relive all those dreams by playing office on my study table, every day over and over again. The office would be my spacious bedroom, complete with a table, diaries, product brochures, which would serve as files, a luxor pilot pen, gifted on my 10th birthday by my father and a pen stand (This pen by the way was used only when I played office. In school it would always be fountain pens). And yes, I used to have a secretary too, Sunita, the daughter of my neighbour, Rao uncle. Sunita’s brother, Sudhakar would be the peon, whose only job would be to fetch me water. I was the CEO, the boss. (I was not aware of the meaning of CEO, but was definitely aware of the power, the boss could and did yield ).
Today, by God’s grace and my parents’ blessings, I am pretty close to fulfilling that dream of mine. The day is not far when I will have my own table with my laptop on it and real files surrounding me, not the product brochures which I would earlier pass on as files. But I am not happy. I am pretty close to barking orders on the phone, as I would do then, whenever Sunita would call me to receive a “phone call”, but I am not ecstatic.
The reason, after I assume the position, I will have to behave as a “manager”. Exactly as I had to behave then with Sunita, snapping at her for not typing a letter on time. By the way, the type writer would be the snake and ladder part of my LUDO board. I am often reminded that my conduct should be like that of a manager, which I would become in another three months. I am often reminded, that I am no longer the “mummy ka pyaara beta” which I would be then. I am not expected to mimic animals’ voices, because that will put a label on me. I am not expected to cuddle stray puppies and feed them with biscuits, because that is something which managers probably don’t do. I am not expected to buy yo-yos from the footpath for someone I love, because, as a student of this well known management institute in Western India, I am probably not expected to do that. (This was pointed out to me by a friend). I am not expected to be emotional, because managers probably don’t have hearts and are “men” (Forget Roger Federer, he is a sissy). Today I fear having an inky finger, because it would quickly be pointed out that I might be heading a company ten years from now, so I better learn handling a fountain pen.
Irrespective of what I wanted to be fifteen years back, today, I want to become a child again. I want to dance on the streets after India beats Pakistan in a cricket match. I want to have the taste of the rain drops on my tongue. I want to jump on the puddles of water, a common sight in our country, after any shower. I want to sing my lungs out in the bathroom. I want the reassurance that my classmates are my friends and not my competitors. I want to be excited at the prospect of going home and being with my parents. And I want to do these without ever giving a thought to what others would think of me.
Today as I see a ten year old playing with the puppies, just outside the gate of my institute, or when I see another child jumping in the puddles of water, I am jealous of him. I ask myself, is this why we aspire to become “someone” in life? To weigh the pros and cons of everything before we set a foot forward. To bury the carefree child deep down within us, so deep, that it finds it impossible to express itself. So that cannot even reminisce about our childhoods, because no one else has the time to listen to that “crap”.
Have we grown up? I think, we have grown out. Grown out of the child in us. Grown out of those carefree days. Grown out of the human being, which we are in the first place.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Jargonising Development
They say MBA is common sense delivered through jargons. I don’t know, who said this first, or who propounded this phrase, but I dare say, I cannot help but agree with him (or her, if it was a she. You have got to be “gender sensitive”).
My university education had given me its fare share of jargons. But my real serious love affair with jargons began after I landed up in this well known institute of management in Western India.
The first evening here gave me the first lesson in development, that there are no short cuts to “development”. The d word is something, which I would probably use, most often for the rest of my life. Into the second week in our MBA programme we were packed off to villages all over the state to gain insights into the various “rural realities” and to “unlearn” things which, growing up in cities, we might have been assumed to have taken for granted. There we learnt that, “co-operation”, was a panacea to many of the ills plaguing “rural India”, if not all of them (Bina Sahakar nahi uddhar).
By that time, “mero gaon ka thepare ja” from the film Manthan had become the batch anthem and it could be heard blaring from almost every speaker in the hostels.
Coming back, we learnt that, “livelihood security” is the most important issue, facing the rural populace. And to ensure that, a “holistic” approach to development is the need of the hour. This requires a “paradigm shift” in the mindsets of the people in general and the male members of the society in particular. There is this need to be more “gender sensitive”.
Moving along in the programme, we also learnt that co-operation is after all, not the solution to all rural evil. The “free rider” problem is very much a part of every “collective”, since almost every human being is “rational”. Since, “common property resources” do not belong to any one individual, many, actually want to extract the fullest from them not caring to give any thing in return. However, “self-reliance”, too is important therefore, “capacity building” of all the “stakeholders” assumes very important propositions, if you really want to bring in sustainable development.
But at the same time, one should be aware of all the bull shit which the western world is throwing on us. Because, they are only interested in increasing “consumerism” in us and create “dependency” on them.
By the way, the best way to collect information in the rural areas (if you stay there for an extended period of time), is through “un obtrusive observations”. That is probably the best way to observe the “social networks” and their working.
Well meaning “interventions” from the government have failed to make any sizeable impact in the sixty two years of independent India’s existence, primarily because, true development can never be handed down by the powers-that- be at the top. In other words, it should not be “top down” but rather should be “bottom up”. It should be “need based” and “participatory”.
Last but definitely not the least, the credit needs of the rural poor can be met by providing them “micro finance” and their repayment can be ensured by formation of “self help groups”. And yes, one needs to be sure to directly jump into making “recommendations” when (s)he finds him(her)self face-to-face with any “decision problem” without caring to set the “decision criteria”.
Otherwise, one will not be taken seriously as a manager.
My university education had given me its fare share of jargons. But my real serious love affair with jargons began after I landed up in this well known institute of management in Western India.
The first evening here gave me the first lesson in development, that there are no short cuts to “development”. The d word is something, which I would probably use, most often for the rest of my life. Into the second week in our MBA programme we were packed off to villages all over the state to gain insights into the various “rural realities” and to “unlearn” things which, growing up in cities, we might have been assumed to have taken for granted. There we learnt that, “co-operation”, was a panacea to many of the ills plaguing “rural India”, if not all of them (Bina Sahakar nahi uddhar).
By that time, “mero gaon ka thepare ja” from the film Manthan had become the batch anthem and it could be heard blaring from almost every speaker in the hostels.
Coming back, we learnt that, “livelihood security” is the most important issue, facing the rural populace. And to ensure that, a “holistic” approach to development is the need of the hour. This requires a “paradigm shift” in the mindsets of the people in general and the male members of the society in particular. There is this need to be more “gender sensitive”.
Moving along in the programme, we also learnt that co-operation is after all, not the solution to all rural evil. The “free rider” problem is very much a part of every “collective”, since almost every human being is “rational”. Since, “common property resources” do not belong to any one individual, many, actually want to extract the fullest from them not caring to give any thing in return. However, “self-reliance”, too is important therefore, “capacity building” of all the “stakeholders” assumes very important propositions, if you really want to bring in sustainable development.
But at the same time, one should be aware of all the bull shit which the western world is throwing on us. Because, they are only interested in increasing “consumerism” in us and create “dependency” on them.
By the way, the best way to collect information in the rural areas (if you stay there for an extended period of time), is through “un obtrusive observations”. That is probably the best way to observe the “social networks” and their working.
Well meaning “interventions” from the government have failed to make any sizeable impact in the sixty two years of independent India’s existence, primarily because, true development can never be handed down by the powers-that- be at the top. In other words, it should not be “top down” but rather should be “bottom up”. It should be “need based” and “participatory”.
Last but definitely not the least, the credit needs of the rural poor can be met by providing them “micro finance” and their repayment can be ensured by formation of “self help groups”. And yes, one needs to be sure to directly jump into making “recommendations” when (s)he finds him(her)self face-to-face with any “decision problem” without caring to set the “decision criteria”.
Otherwise, one will not be taken seriously as a manager.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
R for Ratta
“Students, the syllabus for the next unit test is going to be evolutionary biology”, announced my biology teacher. And that proved the literal death knell for me. This was way back at the beginning of the new millennium. I was in Class XI then and had been performing poorly in biology all through the term. The reason, this teacher expected us to write down the answers as they were given in the book, effectively meaning that the answers were or rather the chapters were supposed to be mugged, something I was very bad at. As expected, I scored 24 out of a total of 50 marks. The sad saga continued throughout my graduation. M.Sc. was a welcome relief, as despite the muggings, we were given a lot of opportunities to see things in the fields and understand how things actually work.
Watching the movie, 3 idiots evoked these sad memories in me. The movie, apart from generating the laughs, also sends out a subtle message. Learning in the present education system is definitely not fun. Life has actually been made a race. The race to excel. The rat race. We study for marks. We study so that we do not come last in the class. We study so that our parents don’t ask us, “if X in your class scored 95 on 100 why did you score a 94.5”. We study so that we get enough marks in our board exams, so that getting into the coveted school after Class X and getting into “the “ college after class XII does not become difficult. When we were in school, India was slowly but surely enjoying the fruits of the opening up of the economy. The IT sector was booming. Engineering was “the” course to be in. For the ones who were not very good with numbers, it had to be medical sciences. There was no other course one could even think of. “Commerce was for those who did not study enough to get good marks in the Xth board exams” and arts were “for duffers”. You want to learn history? Get lost. Science is the in thing.
I still remember a well meaning father of my friend telling me just before my Xth board exams, “Beta you should study hard for your board exams, otherwise, you might well end up studying commerce or arts”. As luck would have it, his son ended up studying commerce, failing to score well in Class X.
These are just some of the instances of the intense pressure the students find themselves under. Being second is simply out of question, because, “being second means you are the first in a line of losers.” The subjects do not matter here, neither does the stream. The instances which I have provided here are mostly which I came across, growing up in an industrial township, where there were too many engineers and more wannabe engineers.
Even studying something as interesting as science, did not make matters easy for me. The practicals, normally meant to complement the theory, did not evoke enthusiasm. While we would merrily solve problems of pulleys and strings and tensile strength in the physics class, we never had any practical on the same. It was as if, practicals were not used as a complement to the class room learning, but rather as a supplement to make up for the time lost for the busy teachers. The salt tests in Chemistry were learnt by rote again, because no one cared to show us the equations or rather their actual reactions. Adding Fehling’s solution to sugar water gives a particular colour. Why? That is not required. Practicals were in fact something which decided, which teacher you took tuitions from, so as to be able to score the perfect 30. And that was all they were done for. To project yourself as a hardworking student and be in the good books of the teacher, so that you score the full marks. Glimpses of Chatur Ramalingam from 3 idiots? And yes , to top the class, you needed to study hard yourself and at the same time, prevent others from studying. Engineering school is too late for that to happen. The trend would begin in Class XI itself.
Some courses do have entrance examinations but again barring some, the emphasis of the questions are more on remembering than understanding.
Infact I got the shock of my life when I started preparing for my M.Sc.entrance examinations. We were taught the “left side right side method of rote.” “If what you see on the left column of the Xeroxed note, appears in the question stem”, the seniors guiding us would parrot, “then mark the answer as what you see on the right column.” And thus is decided the fate of hundreds of agricultural graduates all over the country, who want to lend a hand in feeding the nation. I am sure many others having studied in various other courses must have faced the same situation while taking their entrance exams, if at all they were given.
I really missed the word “analyse” in the question papers. It was so in high school, it was the same in college. It was almost the same during post graduation too, but byy then I had surely become a part of the system.
I began the post by criticising the expectations, which my biology teacher in school had from us. But, then taking a more objective view, it was not her fault alone. The board expects us to write such answers. The evaluation plans, which are provided to the teachers carry specific marks for key words, which in many cases are the only things which the evaluators look for in an answer. The reason, I feel, again, is marks. .Its all a game of numbers. You have to show the numbers, number of school goers who took the XIIth board and scored more than 33%. The number of final year college students, who took their university exams and scored more than 30%. Fuck learning. What have you got to learn any ways. You are required to be a graduate because that is what gets you jobs. Not the amount of learning you have achieved.
3 idiots might be remembered in the history of Indian cinema for the breast-in-the-hands-of-the-rapist speech, but it’s a slap on the face of the whole educational system prevalent in the country. It is a warning signal. To all the “educationists”, that education and grades should better be compartmentalised. Grades be not made the only criterion for movement in the careers of students. It projects a feeling of empathy for the lakhs of students around the country, on the verge of becoming machines and robots.
Watching the movie, 3 idiots evoked these sad memories in me. The movie, apart from generating the laughs, also sends out a subtle message. Learning in the present education system is definitely not fun. Life has actually been made a race. The race to excel. The rat race. We study for marks. We study so that we do not come last in the class. We study so that our parents don’t ask us, “if X in your class scored 95 on 100 why did you score a 94.5”. We study so that we get enough marks in our board exams, so that getting into the coveted school after Class X and getting into “the “ college after class XII does not become difficult. When we were in school, India was slowly but surely enjoying the fruits of the opening up of the economy. The IT sector was booming. Engineering was “the” course to be in. For the ones who were not very good with numbers, it had to be medical sciences. There was no other course one could even think of. “Commerce was for those who did not study enough to get good marks in the Xth board exams” and arts were “for duffers”. You want to learn history? Get lost. Science is the in thing.
I still remember a well meaning father of my friend telling me just before my Xth board exams, “Beta you should study hard for your board exams, otherwise, you might well end up studying commerce or arts”. As luck would have it, his son ended up studying commerce, failing to score well in Class X.
These are just some of the instances of the intense pressure the students find themselves under. Being second is simply out of question, because, “being second means you are the first in a line of losers.” The subjects do not matter here, neither does the stream. The instances which I have provided here are mostly which I came across, growing up in an industrial township, where there were too many engineers and more wannabe engineers.
Even studying something as interesting as science, did not make matters easy for me. The practicals, normally meant to complement the theory, did not evoke enthusiasm. While we would merrily solve problems of pulleys and strings and tensile strength in the physics class, we never had any practical on the same. It was as if, practicals were not used as a complement to the class room learning, but rather as a supplement to make up for the time lost for the busy teachers. The salt tests in Chemistry were learnt by rote again, because no one cared to show us the equations or rather their actual reactions. Adding Fehling’s solution to sugar water gives a particular colour. Why? That is not required. Practicals were in fact something which decided, which teacher you took tuitions from, so as to be able to score the perfect 30. And that was all they were done for. To project yourself as a hardworking student and be in the good books of the teacher, so that you score the full marks. Glimpses of Chatur Ramalingam from 3 idiots? And yes , to top the class, you needed to study hard yourself and at the same time, prevent others from studying. Engineering school is too late for that to happen. The trend would begin in Class XI itself.
Some courses do have entrance examinations but again barring some, the emphasis of the questions are more on remembering than understanding.
Infact I got the shock of my life when I started preparing for my M.Sc.entrance examinations. We were taught the “left side right side method of rote.” “If what you see on the left column of the Xeroxed note, appears in the question stem”, the seniors guiding us would parrot, “then mark the answer as what you see on the right column.” And thus is decided the fate of hundreds of agricultural graduates all over the country, who want to lend a hand in feeding the nation. I am sure many others having studied in various other courses must have faced the same situation while taking their entrance exams, if at all they were given.
I really missed the word “analyse” in the question papers. It was so in high school, it was the same in college. It was almost the same during post graduation too, but byy then I had surely become a part of the system.
I began the post by criticising the expectations, which my biology teacher in school had from us. But, then taking a more objective view, it was not her fault alone. The board expects us to write such answers. The evaluation plans, which are provided to the teachers carry specific marks for key words, which in many cases are the only things which the evaluators look for in an answer. The reason, I feel, again, is marks. .Its all a game of numbers. You have to show the numbers, number of school goers who took the XIIth board and scored more than 33%. The number of final year college students, who took their university exams and scored more than 30%. Fuck learning. What have you got to learn any ways. You are required to be a graduate because that is what gets you jobs. Not the amount of learning you have achieved.
3 idiots might be remembered in the history of Indian cinema for the breast-in-the-hands-of-the-rapist speech, but it’s a slap on the face of the whole educational system prevalent in the country. It is a warning signal. To all the “educationists”, that education and grades should better be compartmentalised. Grades be not made the only criterion for movement in the careers of students. It projects a feeling of empathy for the lakhs of students around the country, on the verge of becoming machines and robots.
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