Caring For The Dead

The news item reporting the passing away in London of Theon Wilkinson in November 2007 some how did not catch my eye then. It is only much later that while re-reading his well known book “The Two Monsoons”- which he had sent to me with his autograph and a personal letter about two years back that I checked up the internet and found about his demise.

Theon was born was born on January 28, 1924 in, what the Britishers called, Cawnpore (Kanpur) in India and later on served in the British Indian army. He settled in the UK after retirement. On his sons’s 21st birthday, he brought him to India to show him around. While visiting various cemeteries, he was sad to see condition of the graves. This was when he decided to do something about it. He set up an informal Association of Friends of European Cemeteries in India - which later came to be christened as the British Association for Cemeteries in South-Asia (BACSA) and was formed in March 1977.

In 1976 he published “The Two Monsoons”. The full title of the book “The Two Monsoons - The Life and Death of Europeans in India” gives an idea of the contents. It reviews 350 years of cemeteries in India. A revised Second Edition came in 1987- which coincided with a decade of the setting up of BACSA. The preface explains two clear aims of the book. The first was a hope that the fragments from the tombs would present a mosaic of the life and death of Europeans in India without any political prejudice. The second aim, interlinked with and in fact flowing from the first, was to set up an association of those who felt for the European cemeteries in the Indian peninsula. Both the aims seem to have been well full filled.

It is estimated that more than 2 million Europeans lie buried in different parts of the Indian peninsula. He puts the whole issue in a stark perspective by informing the reader that the average age at death of Europeans in India during the earlier part of the colonial period was a meager 30 years for men and a pathetic 25 years for women. And this excluded the high rates of infant and child mortality. It took a sea journey of 6-7 months to reach India from Britain. And reaching just before the monsoons, one had no time for getting acclimatized. One was lucky to survive two consecutive monsoons in India and that’s what the title of the book is hinting at. He sweeps through locations of cemeteries, the inscriptions, the causes of death, and puts everything in a perspective.


He puts forth a different and fairly dispassionate view of the history of the British colonialism in India. He doesn’t try to justify anything and at times he is openly critical of the ways of the Europeans in India. Describing the inscriptions giving cause of death as some of the sports being then played by the Europeans, he blames them for their insensitivity to local customs: “Europeans in India pursued their sports with a desperate disregard for the customs of the country and the local population was surprised and bewildered by their values- the needless heroism, the unnecessary activity of mind and muscle – when the climate had taught the Indians that passivity was the answer. On this point there was a real gulf between the East and the West”. Of course including the word “mind” with “muscle” in the above description does hint that he thought the Indians to be averse to unnecessary activity of the mind too, a statement which even though it rhymes well, is neither true nor acceptable.

He didn’t mince words in describing the large scale shooting of the tigers by the British. Of course he went a step further and pondered over the possible reasons behind this “sport” having become so popular with his countrymen in India: “Tiger shooting became the sport of the Governors, the new kings of India, and killing a tiger, in some unconscious way, symbolized the conquest of the mysterious forces of the East.”

He succeeds in giving the Indian point of view and in the process often mocks at the Europeans. He describes how the Europeans always appeared to be in a hurry in India, which greatly intrigued, and one is sure, amused the Indians. “For some reason, incomprehensible to the Eastern mind, Europeans were always in a hurry ‘Jaldi Karo’ ... ... ‘Jaldi’ was almost the first word a European learnt in India. Not that the time saved was put to any useful purpose”.

We are told of the little known relatives of important personalities of the day lying buried in India. We get details about the Yale University’s founder Elihu Yale’s Madras connection. In Bangalore is the grave of the son of Sir Walter Scott who died at the Cape on his way to India. Who but Theon Willkinson could discover that poet John Milton’s great-grandson Caleb Clarke was the Parish priest of the St. Mary’s Church in Madras. Or that Mathew Arnold’s brother Delafield Arnold, who wrote several books and articles under the penname “Punjabee” had a long stay in India. He also located the grave of Charles Dickens son Walter Landor Dickens in Bhowanipore near Calcutta.

He shows surprise that there is no memorial to the dead Indians at the site of the Battle of Plassey, or to the victims of the Great Cyclone of 1st November, 1864 which left thousands dead in Calcutta. One needs to appreciate that expression of private grief in public, by way of erection of memorials was not common in India. Similarly mass monuments were also not erected in India. One reason is the difference in the manner of disposal of the dead. Since in Christians, the dead are buried at specific, identifiable places in the cemeteries, putting up a gravestone with an inscription or getting a monument constructed over it are understandable. The majority Indian form of disposal of the dead is by burning at the burning ghat. The same spot is used again and again, to burn the dead bodies. So it is difficult for any one to individually or collectively regard it as the burial place of a particular individual and to bury a memorial or structure there. Therefore not finding memorials to the dead in India should not be taken as lack of show of respect for the departed.

Remembering the dead is not the same thing as glorifying the colonial rule - these are just different levels. At one level, the detailed epitaphs and inscriptions could be seen as an expression of, and even an attempt to glorify the colonial empire. At a different and more humane level, it is just remembering the dead who came from far away lands, never, ever to go back to their motherlands. Those who subjugated the land lie dead and buried here- subjugated by the same very land- what an irony!

As is welknown, the Moghuls had got pillars erected at every ‘kos’ on the Grand Trunk Road in India. These were known as the “Kos Minars” and were the precursors of the present day milestones. But what really came as a surprise was the finding in the book about small cemeteries set up by the British along the grand Trunk road and some other major roads. “There were tiny cemeteries or clusters of graves at about 12 mile intervals, known as ‘marching cemeteries’, where the casualties of heat stroke were buried when the marchers camped on for the night”. This is a tempting area for further research - if only I were younger!

It is difficult to label this book into a single category. It is interestingly informative, thoroughly thought provoking and amazingly anecdotal.

Thanks to his initiative BACSA has aroused considerable interest in India and the upkeep and conservation of the European cemeteries has improved, though in patches. My humble homage to this extra ordinary man would be to propose the following epithet for his grave:

“There are many who care for the living,
But here lies a man who cared for the dead!”

A Knock on the Head

I had gone to visit the world famous Ajanta and Ellora caves in Maharashtra recently. I took a conducted tour in a bus, which took me to Ellora, and thereafter to the Grashneshwar Verul Jyotiralinga nearby.

The guide, a deeply religious man, had a quick darshan and then stood near the gate to help the passengers. The gate was only three feet high and one had to bend considerably to get into the compound of the temple. Sir, have you had the darshan? He asked me politely. No, I replied and added rudely, and nor do I have an intention of doing so. He was taken aback. Let me explain, I said, and told him my story of how cruel cancer had crippled, chewed and killed in slow motion my deeply devout and religious wife. I lost faith in God the day she died, I told him. He listened quietly and did not utter a word or show any emotion.

I soon realised that I had got carried away with the self-pity of one wronged. So I tried to draw him into a conversation and asked 'What is it that you asked for
from God when you had the darshan'? I prayed for 'moksha', was his short reply. And what is 'moksha', I persisted. It is the deliverance from the cycle of births and deaths, he explained. I again took an aggressive anti-view and added that I would like to be born again. Again and again. For 84 lakh times. And experience the happiness and sadness, excitements and disappointments of life, in whichever lifeform I am. I do not want to run away from the world. Who wants 'Moksha'? Not me. I said somewhat arrogantly. And then suddenly we spotted the other passengers of the tour-bus approaching the gate and our uneasy conversation was cut abruptly.

I moved towards the gate to leave the compound. Suddenly three persons came from behind and wanted to cross the gate ahead of me. I obstructed them with my arm and told them sternly that I was ahead of them. All right, you go first, was the curt reply of one of them. As I rushed out of the gate, my head hit it with a bang. The knock was so hard that my head reeled and thought I was going to faint. However, I recovered, and feeling blank, moved towards our bus.

Was it just a curious coincidence? Or an incident attributable to my arrogance, which so diverted my mind that, I became blind to the existence of reality? Or literally a quick knock on my head by Lord Shiva to put me on the right path?

I don't really know!

Ab tera kya hoga Kalia...

Is it a bird...is it a plane? No it is the Superbaba who is back with a bang after rest and recuperation of about a week. He gave interviews to all theTV channels yesterday on how he is going to remove the scourge of black money.

Ab tera kya hoga Kalia (short form of Kaladhan)....

Kuch Na Kaho, Kuch Bhi Na Kaho ... ...

This was about ten years back. I was working in Koraput in Orissa. It is a tiny little town at an elevation of about a thousand meters and surrounded by lovely green hills.
During my 2 years stay in Koraput none of my relatives or friends visited me- none except my brother- in- law and sister- Dr. Narendra Wig and Veena. In fact when they first told me that they were planning to visit me at Koraput, I was greatly surprised as they were staying in Chandigarh and coming by train all the way to Koraput appeared to be very brave and adventurous.

I drove down from Koraput to Raygada, the rail head, about 120 kms away towards the East Coast to receive them. The train was in time and we all drove back to Koraput. During the next 6 days we travelled to various interior parts of Orissa at a leisurely pace. The weather was heavenly and their company made it absolutely great. As it happens, the good times appear to pass very fast. Soon it was time for them to leave. Another road trip through the lovely green forests and we were at the Raygada Raiway station once again. The train was to come from Vishakhapatanam, and not taking any chances with the trains and the roads, we reached a good one hour before the schdeuled time. And what does one do in such situations? Yes one falls back on hot cups of tea.

The man preparing and serving tea at the stall on the platform appeared to be in his sixties. He was making tea for two persons who were before us. The effortless ease of his movements drew our attention. Dr. Sahib wished him with folded hands and said “Namaskar Ji”. The man was taken aback and almost spilled the tea in the utensil. But then he composed himself and returned the greetings and replied in chaste Hindustani “Inkay baad aap kay liyay chai banaoonga”.

And soon the conversation started. Why did you feel startled when I greeted you, Dr. Sahib asked him. Not many clients wish me and none has ever wished me with folded hands, was his candid and simple reply. His name was Ramdhan and he originally belonged to Bihar. Soon we got our glasses of tea. It was a cool and cloudy day and we enjoyed every sip of the hot tea. The conversation progressed and Dr. Sahib asked him since how many years had he been in that business. He did not respond immediately as he was desperately trying to fight his tears. He failed and wept like a child. And then he replied. Dr. Sahib, he said, I came here with my father when I was twelve and this was fifty years back. His voice choked again. Dr. Sahib went closer to him, and hugged him but didn’t say a word. There was nothing more to be asked and nothing more to be said.

And this was good two years before Munnabhai first talked about his “Jadoo Ki Japphi”........

Muggy Manali

Last two days in Manali have been disappointing. Days, and especially the nights have been warm and humid- with no provision of any fan, much less of air-conditioner in the hotel room.

So to get up today with the sound of pitter patter of rain and clouds moving around has been a real mood brightner.

Hoping that the clouds and the mood will last through the day....

The Sunday Tribune, Spectrum,

June 26, 2011
Old is bold
The thrill of adrenalin-pumping adventure is not just for the young, but alsothe old who’re youthful in spirit. These senior adventure lovers may be latestarters but it’s better late than never, writes Mehak Uppal

THERE is a magic that creeps into our lives, unannounced, when we discover the fun activities that bring unbridled joy and thrill, especially at an age and stage when one is thought to be beyond the call of the wild.

It must be because of this experience or exhilaration that people aged 50 and above get hooked on to adventure. Pardeep Gupta, a 58-year-old businessman, is busy getting all his documentation in order these days. There are so many clearances to be taken and licences to apply to the Federation of Motor Sports Clubs of India. Simultaneously, he is seeking guidance from people around to overhaul his Grand Vitara and introduce some modifications.
All this activity has been to participate in the Mughal Road Motor Rally in Srinagar this month-end. The preparations started a month back as he discussed detailed plans with his friend. This trip is special, as Gupta’s 18-year-old son Anmol Ratn is accompanying him, before leaving to pursue his higher studies abroad. "We need to go rallying together dad, at least once!" his son had been telling him since long.

KEEPING THE SPIRITS HIGH: Old Monk is a group of adventure lovers named after the famous drinkroadies: Pardeep Gupta (L), a 58-year-old businessman and adventure enthusiast, is taking part in the Mughal Road Motor Rally in Srinagar this seasontrekker’s trail: K.J.S. Chatrath, a retired IAS officer, has trekked to the Yamunotri, Gomukh and Pandori glaciers and even visited (above) Machu Picchu in Peru

Car rallying had always attracted Gupta but he felt bound by family obligations and professional commitments. Then one day, he decided to take part in a St John's Old Boys Association (SJOBA) rally, a small platform to test the waters. And, as they say, after that he never looked back. From then on, life took on another meaning as he ensured his participation in at least one rally every year.

"It is something I had always wanted to do. It had been all around me in the form of newspaper stories and television shows," shares this member of Old Monk, the name of their group of adventure lovers, derived from their favourite drink. "This name quite suits our team in more ways than one," he smiles.
There is bound to be hesitation about taking those wobbly baby steps into adrenalin-pumping adventure at a ripe age. There is likely to be some inhibition about venturing out of the comfort zone. "I found it a little awkward to go trekking for the first time because of the age disparity with others in the group. But everyone around was so supportive and made me feel at home. It ensured that that the self-consciousness lasted only the first time," explains K.J.S. Chatrath, a 68-year-old retired IAS officer who has trekked to the Yamunotri, Gomukh and Pandori glaciers, among other places.

An avid traveller, he has journeyed to a place where human habitation ends and witnessed the midnight sun at the Arctic Circle. He has also touched the other end of the earth, the Antarctic Circle. It is the fascination of exploring a place and stories that come along with each one of them that touches something inside him. One can make that out as he talks fondly of the thrill of being on the same land that Charles Darwin visited on one of his expeditions.

"It gives you a chance to communicate with people you would have otherwise never talked to. Apart from exposing you to different styles of thinking, the travel also proves to be a great lesson in geography and history."

In fact, it’s the "newness" factor that seems to be casting a spell to ensure that many senior citizens stay charmed. "With a new place comes a new culture, traditions and values. It is intriguing to discover places, which are almost a century behind us in terms of development. Their lifestyles in themselves are so thought provoking," says 71-year-old Suresh Mohan Uppal, a retired Class 1 officer from the Punjab and Haryana High Court, who has been on bike/scooter expeditions to destinations like Marsimik La, situated at a height of more than 18,000 feet near the China border.

"I visited a place in Himachal Pradesh where no one ever visits a hospital. Local doctors give credit for this to the clean environment around!"His eyes confirm the grit and determination that his stout back and long moustaches bear testimony to. "This is not for the faint hearted. I have retired from work, not from life." His daughter nods in agreement and tells us stories about how her fatherattitude ensures that he still shoulders household responsibilities.
It seems to be a chain reaction: the youthful spirit of these senior enthusiasts ensures their participation in advnture at a ripe age and these activities further fuel their spirit to live life to its fullest. "Now, there’s something to look forward to in life rather than going through it mechanically," explains Gupta.

They talk about being late starters, even though the mind had always craved for a life of adventure. But it was only when they became a little free from family and work responsibilities that they followed their heart to do what they had always yearned for. "I started travelling only after I hung my boots. I was posted in Orissa and did not get much chance to be near the mountains during my work tenure," shares Chatrath.

The wisdom that comes from age ensures that the enthusiasm they bring to adventure activites is well measured. They take part in relatively softer categories of these sports and take full care to not to overdo it. "There are proper health check-ups to keep a tab on blood pressure etc. before starting out on a journey. Also, two doctors always accompany a group to be of help in case of any exigency," informs Suresh Mohan. He adds, "There is a long checklist to ensure a smooth execution of the travel plan. The weather reports are studied along with identifying good places for night stay. Tents are also carried along in case one needs to take a halt in the middle of nowhere because one avoids travelling during night for the fear of landslides."
But being cautious certainly does not mean that they do not excel in what they do. Suresh Mohan was chosen the "leader of his team" for a 10-day tour to Khardung La Pass, Leh.
Gupta, who was awarded a special trophy for being among the "elders who gave tough competition to younger competitors" in Desert Storm, 2009, shares an incident, "One becomes very involved in these activities. I remember having driven for three consecutive days while participating in Raid de Himalaya. On the fourth day, an unexpected snowfall set in and the rally had to be cancelled. Being just 200 km from the destination, it brought me on the verge of crying."

With that kind of involvement, no wonder they are busy thinking and planning their next move. Gupta has registered himself with the Indian Motorsports Marshall Club as a volunteer for the Formula 1 Grand Prix`A0championship to be held in October at Noida. "I also started the Chandigarh Offroaders Club two years ago. The members are those motor sports enthusiasts who own 4x4 vehicles."

Chatrath’s next trip is a trans-Siberian train journey. "I will be embarking on it all alone in two months from now."

As this tiny group of elders grows, one of the challenges it faces is not the lack of will but that of specialised clubs or guidelines for them. There is no recognition of them as a special category. "Western countries are in general much more organised than us and the same is this case with this segment. There are special groups for the senior category and one can easily be a part of one of them by registering online,"remarks Chatrath. Funds, too, leave much to be desired. "We have funded all these activities from our own pockets," adds Suresh Mohan.

But the fact remains that in spite of all the drawbacks, their biggest advantage is their determination to pursue their passion for adventure.
http://www.tribuneindia.com/2011/20110626/spectrum/main1.htm

Yale's India Connection

Recently I had written to a French Professor in Paris, whom I know as an Indophile, informing him of my new website on European Graves in India. I received a prompt mail in reply telling me that he was, for a few months, in the US, at Yale University, for giving a course on "Popular Religion in India’ during the fall term. One of the top Ivy League Universities running a course on popular religion in India and a French Professor going from Paris to Yale for providing the academic inputs — this globalisation of knowledge set me thinking. why should Yale be interested in religion in India? And gradually, with the help of the almost omniscient internet and some books I discovered some fascinating details of Yale’s Indian connection.

But first about the India-centric courses at Yale. The University has a South Asian Studies Council which manages the Programme of South Asian Studies. Besides programmes on learning Hindi and Tamil, it also runs a programme on "Understanding Bollywood". It recently launched, and very appropriately at that, on August 15 this year "The South Asian Independence Movement Project" with a mission to preserve the broadest historical record of the independence struggle in colonial South Asia involving people in today’s nations of Bangladesh, Bhutan, India, the Maldives, Nepal, Pakistan, and Sri Lanka.

Studying in one of the three top Ivy League Universities of the US— Harvard, Princeton and Yale is a dream of every university level student the world over. But few of us are aware of Yale’s Indian Connection-Elihu Yale. In 1718 he was requested to make a donation to the university, which he did, and in consequence the University was rechristened as Yale. He was born in Boston and joined the service of the East India Company as a "Writer" or a clerk at `A310 a year. He travelled to Madras in India in 1670-1671 where he remained for 27 years and made a fortune. He made a significant contribution to the development of the company. In 1684 he was appointed Acting Governor of Fort St George and confirmed in the post three years later. He remained as the Governor of Madras from 1687 to 1692.

In 1680 he married a widow Catherine Hynmer. His wife brought him a fortune. They had four children, three daughters and a son who died shortly after birth. A fort at Tevenapatam, near Cuddalore, was sold by the Marathas to the English East India Company in 1690. It was named Fort St. David after the patron saint of Weles as the Governor of Madras at the time, Elihu Yale, was Welsh. It is said that the naming also had in mind David, the young son of Yale who had died around that time.

Elihu was replaced as Governor in 1692 and he returned to the UK in 1699. subsequently, he became the Governor of the then British colony of New York. The last 22 years of his life were spent between Wales and London. He died in London and was buried in St Giles Churchyard.

The inscription on his tomb which he wrote himself reads:-

""Elihu Yale was buried 22nd July 1721

Born in America, in Europe bred,

In Africa travelled, in Asia wed,

Where long he lived and thrived —in London dead.

Much good, some ill, he did, so hope’s all even,

And that his soul through mercie’s gone to heaven.

You that survive and read this tale, take card

For this most certain exist to prepare

Where blest in peace, the actions of the just

Smell sweet and blossom in silent dust."

Two recent developments before ending this story. With history come full circle of sorts, in 2004, the university introduced teaching of Tamil amongst its courses offered, from the starting point of the then Madras, where Yale stayed and made his fortune. Secondly showing a healthy sensitivity, the university recently decided to "retire" one of the portraits of Elihu Yale with a dark complexioned servant sitting at his feet from the university since some felt that it had racial overtones.

(Published in The Tribune, October 14, 2007)

Sampoorna Swachata Abhiyan, U.P.

A Homage to Madhubala

Heritage

It is amazing to see how everything used or touched by Chandigarh’s planner architect Le Corbusier is being revered as a ‘heritage’ item. One fails to understand how the simple chair or the stool used by Paul Jeanneret, an associate of Le Corbusier becomes a heritage item?

The notebooks in which Leonardo Da Vinci used to scribble his notes and draw sketches of machines over 500 years back are surely heritage items. The pyramids constructed in Egypt thousands of years back are heritage items. But the 50 year old note books of Le Corbusier. You are not serious!

Let us see the dictionary definition of ‘heritage’. These are the “Valued objects and qualities such as cultural traditions, unspoiled countryside, and historic buildings that have been passed down from previous generations”. What are the heritage items are, for example, the remnants of the Indus Valley Civilization not the 50 year old stuff. What is a 50 year old article or a drawing in a country like India which has thousands of years of known history.

Let us now read this with The Ancient Monuments and Archaeological Sites and Remains Act, 1958. This Act defines an ancient monument as a monument which is atleast 100 years old.

May be since Chandigarh is a newly built town and we don’t have any old building to show off our pedigree or class, so....maybe....

Come on, let us have some sense of proportion.

Prison population in the USA

According to Wikipedia, in 2008 approximately one in every 31 adults (7.3 million) in the United States was behind bars, or being monitored (probation and parole)!

What a shame!

An Australian Parlimentary Report submitted on June 20, 2011 brings out the shocking fact that
although the Aborigines constitute only 2.5% of the population of Australia (22 million), yet they constitute 25% of the Australian Jail population!

The Summer Solstice

Here I was in France again, this time in summer and on some new pretext. The summer in France, though the most popular part of the year, some how does not excite me. Of course it is nice, bright and cheerful, and the sun almost refuses to set in - there is light all around till 11 p.m. But when the temperature crosses 30 degrees Celsius with no provision for air conditioning in the living spaces - not even the lowly fans - one starts remembering the heat of India. An Indian does not go to Europe to be confronted with the warm weather like back home!

This was the kind of weather when I decided to take a conducted tour to the South of France. I had been to this part of France earlier but had somehow missed Nice and Monaco and here was a trip which promised to fill in this gap. After an overnight bus trip from Paris, we reached Nice (pronounced ‘niece’) on the 21^st of June in the morning. That is the day of the “summer solstice” in the Northern Hemisphere which marks the gradual lengthening of the nights and shortening of the days. We were told that since the hotel rooms would be available only from noon, we could take a walk on the seaside road. It was almost uncomfortably warm, even though one was on the sea side. Ultimately we reached hotel rooms around noon. At the reception we were told that it was the day of the ‘Fete de la Musique’ or the Annual Music Festival where there would be free public performances in various parks and open spaces starting from the evening.

At the first sign of sun slightly setting in, I was on the road towards the part of the city where the biggest event was slated to be held. On nearing the venue one found scores of people, young, the not so young and the old moving towards the park. The roads were, as usual full of cars but the police force was out in full numbers. For reaching the park one had to cross the road with the heaviest traffic. I waited patiently at the traffic light to cross the road. And then I saw a stunningly beautiful lady cop. She was in the prescription blue dress with a cap perched on her head at a very stylish angle. When the lights turned amber and then red, suddenly this charming cop jumped to the middle of the road, put her hands on her waist and faced the traffic daring and forcing the cars to stop at once, while one of her male colleagues signaled the pedestrians to cross the road. I watched her spellbound forgetting to cross the road. And the lights turned green. This beauty glided back to the side walk near to where I was standing and I had a closer look at her. She was not thin or skinny but looked radiantly healthy and cheerful. One has seen women in various stages of dress and undress but this fully clad young lady possessed a rare charm and was undoubtedly the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. She seemed to be totally engrossed in her responsibilities and what is more fully enjoying the job. I stood there as if in a trance till the lights changed colour again. This time I was conscious of the fact that I was to cross the road. But I just could not move so spellbound was I of that lady. After two more change of lights, when she would jump into the middle of the road and then come back to where I was standing, I noticed her looking at me quizzically. That was the time when I was fumbling with my camera wanting to take her photo. Her look made me nervous. We are used to fearing the police and a look, a gaze, even though friendly, and even though from a lady cop makes us nervous. I feared the thought of her jealous and perhaps over-zealous male colleagues coming to her side and taking me to my first visit to a French Police station. So hastily, though quite unwillingly, I crossed the road.

I few years later, I had the opportunity to visit the Arctic Circle and be at the northern most human habitation on the globe North Cape in Norway on another June 21. There I saw the strange spectacle of sun shining brightly at 12 at night. That are is aptly called “The Land of the Midnight Sun”.

I promise to write about that visit and share my photographs next year on June 21- if by then the inevitable has not overtaken me.

Mauna Vrata

Has a famous Baba suddenly taken a 'mauna vrata'........ or has he changed his Media Advisor?

My Take on The Lokpal Bill Stalemate

Granting that for various reasons, Government has not done its bit as fast as it should have in getting a tough Lokpal bill passed in India, but what stopped the self appointed spokespersons of the 'Civil Society' in making it an election issue during the last General Elections and to exort people to vote for only those candidates/parties who promised to bring a Lokpal Bill in a reasonably short time. That would have been a neat following of the democratic process in pressing for change.

One of the doyens of Indian Industry, Shri Rahul Bajaj is known for not mincing his words and giving his own suggestions. His latest suggestion, which was a part of an interview on TV last evening shows his immense ability to think out of the box and find solutions.

Why make the inclusion of Prime Minsiter under the proposed Lok Pal such an issue, he says. Let us not deprieve overselves of the other good provisons of this bill by blocking it on the issue of PM. His suggestion is to let the P.M. be excluded for the time being, get the bill through , and one can review the positon after 3-5 years.

Minister Shri Kapil Sibal has also made an interesting statement yesterday saying that PM could be included after he demits office, but not while he is holding the office.

One would like to receive these statements with, what is called in the diplomatic circles as 'cautious optimism' and hope that things would get sorted out soon.

One must concede that putting of pressure by people is now making the process faster, but let no one derail it by unilateraly fixing arbitrary deadlines. Heavens will not fall if the process takes a few more weeks or months for wider consultation, and results in the passing of a really effective legislation.

The Train to Macchu Picchu

It had been a long simmering desire of mine to visit Peru in South America. What fuelled the fascination further were the lovely accounts of the ‘Lost’ city of Machu Pichu - nestled high up in the Andean mountains. The pictures showed the amazing ruins of an almost mythical city on top of the mountains, mostly covered with clouds.

This year I decided to make the trip before the age got the better of me. I joined a Group of 14 people and the trip took off from London. On reaching Lima, we were welcomed by a wonderful Peruvian young lady who was our Tour Director. The Group comprised of people of different ages and of various nationalities- French, German, British, Croatian, American of Chinese origin and Indian. We left Lima to visit various places in Peru. Visit to Machu-Pichu was towards the end of the itinerary. We reached the small town of Machu Pichu in the morning and boarded the shining blue coaches of Peru rail to take us to the entrance of the site.

We were happy that the entire Group got seats in one compartment and it was a great atmosphere. The compartments have, besides large glass window panes, glass paned sky windows near the roof to give one a fuller view of the area.

On the way the train stopped to give pass to the incoming train and we suddenly saw an old lady appearing on the rail line trying to sell her flowers to the train passengers. She was short, rather poorly dressed up in the local Peruvian long skirt. Once she started shouting to get the attention of the passengers we realised that she had no teeth- but a very endearing toothless smile. She gesticulated showing three finders indicating that she wanted 3 sols (approximately 1 USD) for the small. A British lady from the Group managed to put her hand out, take the small bouquet and give the money through the window with great difficulty before the train started moving again. The old lady was ecstatic and waved vigorously. Inside the compartment the lady who bought the flowers presented those to the young Croatian girl from the Group as it happened to be her birthday!

We all clapped for the old flower seller outside, the lady who bought the flowers and the young girl whose birthday it was....

The 3G

No, this 3G has nothing to do with 3G as in the 3^rd Generation mobile communication systems or the scams of 2G or even CWG, which have sunk the careers of many. It is much older than these and belongs to a different genre.

Let me take you back about 45 years. I was in Orissa undergoing IAS training as an Assistant Collector. It meant doing as much or as little work as one wanted to. I chose a some what middle of the road path.

During the first week of my year long training, I met a young IPS Officer, who was from one of the Hindi speaking States and who had put in two years service by then. He, like me, was a bachelor. In him I found him to be an excellent friend whose advice I could seek on various matters. During one of our first meetings I confessed that the speed of my learning Oriya language was very slow and asked for his advice on how to improve. Don’t worry, he said, the day you get your first posting you will learn Oriya within a week as you would have to communicate with people in that language only. He then went on to tell me his experience in learning Oriya. The district where he was under training had a very tough, no-nonsense Supdt. of Police. This boss decided that the young officer under training with him must learn the language quickly. So he posted an Orderly Constable with him who knew only Oriya.

At this point my friend stopped narrating the story and had a loud hearty laugh. What happened then, I asked. Plenty, he said and explained that after 3 months he hand not learnt a word of Oriya but his Orderly Constable had become fluent in Hindi.

Let me come to the 3G now. I asked for his advice on how to become a good officer. That is not a good question, he said flatly and went on to explain, “The expectations from a public servant are many and pressures on him varied and heavy. Therefore the most important service goal should be how to survive without blemish.” I felt a little deflated by this but I listened on as he went on to explain his 3G Theory where G stood for Golden Rules.

The most important rule is “Don’t go to your Boss unless called for” he declared. I protested meekly, but if I go and talk to the Boss he would come to know that I am a serious officer and in the course of conversation I will also learn from his experience and learn on how to handle various issues. No, he said emphatically, you have to understand the dynamics of administration. If you go to your Boss he might tell you how to handle a particular issue in a particular file. Now having got his mind, you can not come back to your room and give a note suggesting something different from what he has told you. Take my advice and record what you feel is the correct advice and push up the file to the Boss in the normal course. Don’t invite trouble by going to your Boss. Not fully convinced, I nodded to let the issue rest there.

And the Second Golden Rule is even simpler, he assured me, “Don’t take any new initiative”, he advised. No, that is not correct, I protested at once. We have been trained in the Mussoorie IAS Academy to take initiative and come up with fresh ideas. (The term “Thinking Out of the Box” had not yet been born.). Let me explain, he said and went on like this. If you take initiative your Boss will not like it. No officer wants his junior to be considered smarter or more capable than him. Your peer group too will at once become jealous of you as a stair climber in a hurry and a show-off. Believe me, he added, this will make even your subordinate staff unhappy as new initiative means more work, he declared. My face showed that I was not convinced of the Second Rule also, but he ignored my expression and moved over to his Third Golden Rule.

Keep the despatch of all your routine Monthly, Quartely, Yearly Reports to your Boss and your relevant superiors uptodate. Don’t falter even if information has not been received from some of your subordinate offices, you send your reports punctually, was his advice. I am sorry, I don’t think I can agree with that, I said somewhat harshly. He gently chided me saying “You are forgetting our major objective - to retire without blemish aur phir seetee bajao (and then spend time whistling....)”. His view was that if the Reports and Returns are sent up in time, no Boss would be able to dub you as an inefficient officer as the records will speak for themselves. This will not get you an “Excellent” grading but would secure you from “adverse” rating.

Frankly I was somewhat disturbed as the advice was contrary to what I had picked up till then. But we parted that evening and kept on being good friends throughout our long service careers. Off and on I would think about the advice of my friend but then move over to other thoughts.

At the time of my retirement I again remembered the 3G Principles and felt that perhaps my friend was not all wrong.....

Rs 11.5 cr, 98 kg gold found in Sai Baba's room

News: "Rs 11.5 cr, 98 kg gold found in Sai Baba's room"

Would this in any way impact the faith of millions of the folowers of the late Baba in him?
Don't ask me!

More on 'The Civil Society'

Do read P. Sainath's "The discreet charm of the civil society" in The Hindu of 17th June, 2011.
He writes, "There is nothing wrong in having advisory groups. But there is a problem when groups not constituted legally cross the line of demands, advice and rights-based democratic agitation".

The Pride & the Prejudice

After retirement, I settled down in Panchkula- which I had found to be pretty and peaceful. Coming all the way from Orissa where I had worked most of my life, I had to start life afresh in a new place - which meant getting the ration card prepared, trying to get telephone and cooking gas connections and opening a bank account. Of these the opening of the account in the local branch of one of the large private sector banks turned out to be the easiest.

The plush air conditioned hall of the bank with smart girls and boys manning various counters was a far cry from the bank branches that I had been used to in Orissa. But gradually I noticed that all was not as honky-dory as it appeared to be. There was a quick turn over of the persons manning the counters with many times youngsters with very little knowledge of the procedures of their own bank handling the harassed customers. It appeared to me that the bank was expanding so fast that the retail services were not able to keep pace with it and were cracking up.

A state came when every visit to this bank meant more disappointment and feeling of being totally neglected as a customer. My pride as a Senior Citizen customer was badly shattered. I would come back from the bank fuming. I slowly withdrew my money from the bank and kept only the minimum needed for keeping the account live.

I finally decided to close my account with the bank. I went to the bank, complied with the paper work and was handed over the pending amount of Rs. One Thousand Two Hundred and Fifty Nine only which were in my account. I was so thrilled at the very thought that I would not have to go to that bank again that I did not verify the exact amount due to me as per my account statement. I had become so prejudiced against that bank that I felt greatly relieved at the breaking of the relationship.

And then suddenly one day it happened. The postman rang the bell and brought a Speed Post from that bank. On seeing the mark of my ex-bank on the envelope, I again lost my cool. Surely those chaps are not leaving me that easily and I am sure that they have created some problem for me, I said and cursed myself for having opened an account with that bank.

The Postman left and I opened the envelope. It carried a cheque for Paise Forty-Nine Only and a forwarding letter saying that a cheque with the remaining balance from your closed account is attached.

And suddenly my years of anger, prejudice and pent up feelings against the bank just melted away.

I did not ‘encash’ that cheque and am keeping it as a sweet souvenir of a relationship gone sour - may be due to my self pride and unjustified prejudice.

The Civil Society

I thought it was time for me to get some more clarity about what do experts really mean when they talk about "Civil Society".....Is it "We the People of India"?....Not really. Does it mean only the NGO's? Sorry, 'No' again.

According to the World Bank the term civil society refers " to the wide array of non-governmental and not-for-profit organizations that have a presence in public life, expressing the interests and values of their members or others, based on ethical, cultural, political, scientific, religious or philanthropic considerations. Civil Society Organizations (CSOs) therefore refer to a wide of array of organizations: community groups, non-governmental organizations (NGOs), labor unions, indigenous groups, charitable organizations, faith-based organizations, professional associations, and foundations”.

And what is the procedure for the "Civil Society' in India to select a small group of persons to represent it?

Now don't ask me that!

Smile Please

Reading articles about Madam Fori Nehru on her 100^th birthday some time back, my mind went back about fifteen years. I had lost my wife to cancer and was trying to cope with life without her. And then my old mother who was staying with me in Bhubaneswar also passed away. I suddenly felt very alone and lonely. May be a change of place would do me good, I thought. So I applied for a deputation to the Indian Institute of Advanced Study, Shimla. I was selected and I moved to Shimla. It felt great to be working in the lovely surroundings of the erstwhile Viceregal Lodge, amidst learned scholars researching the fundamental questions of life and thought.

This Institute has been modelled after the venerable Institute of Advanced Studies in Princeton, USA and was set up when the scholar philosopher Dr. Radhakrishnan, as the President of India, decided that this building be put to use for setting up an institute of higher learning rather than keeping it as the summer retreat of the President, to be utilized only for a fortnight during the year. In remembering him, the grateful IIAS holds a yearly lecture on his birthday and calls it the “Radhakrishnan Memorial Lecture”.

Around mid-summer, the Director of the Institute told me very excitedly that the next annual lecture would be by Mr. B. K. Nehru and that Mr. Nehru, who was leading a quiet life in Kasauli, had agreed to come up to Shimla for delivering this lecture in the first week of September. The entire academic community waited for September to come.

On the appointed day, Mr. and Mrs. Nehru reached the Institute around noon and were welcomed by the Director. I joined the Director in escorting them to their suite. In the afternoon, the full Conference Room of the IIAS listened to the old Mr. Nehru speak with amazing insight and candour. Mrs. Nehru sat near him and listened with rapt attention to every word that her husband spoke. She looked remarkably pretty and all the eyes in the Conference room were riveted on her and her husband alternately. There was a thunderous standing ovation at the end and the Nehrus, looking a bit exhausted, moved slowly out of the building toward the car which was to take them back to Kasauli.

By that time the sun was beginning to set. The path from the half a dozen stairs of the building till the car - just a few feet, was pebbled and hence a little uneven. I offered my hand to Mrs. Nehru to help her with the stairs. She stopped, looked straight into my eyes and said with amazing grace and motherly affection, “Young man, ever since I have come here I havn’t seen you smile. What is the matter? Why don’t you smile? I will hold your hand only if you smile!”. And that made me smile. She took my hand and slowly came till the car, boarded it and soon they left, leaving me still smiling and strangely content with life.

Right to High Speed Broadband as a Human Right?

Legal right today..... May get enshrined as one of the Human Rights tomorrow........

Access to high speed internet - a legal right in Finland

Since July 1, 2010 every citizen of Finland has been given the legal right to access to a 1 megabit per second broadband connection, with a goal of a 100 mbps connection by 2015.

Vichy Washy

I was in Tamil Nadu recently and while buying a bottle of mineral water, chanced to see a brand called ‘Pondicherry’. Being interested in France and things French, I bought a bottle and found the taste of the water to be quite nice. I discovered that it belongs to the category of natural mineral water and is packed exclusively from a single source. It reminded me of the ‘mother’ of all mineral waters— Vichy mineral water of France. Of course, France markets a number of other popular brands like Vittel, Volvic and Evian, but somehow Vichy mineral water has a place of its own.

This reminded me of my visit to Vichy way back in 1982. Before departing for Paris, my father, a doughty disciplinarian and teeto-taller, advised me, in his usual stern style, not to be naughty during my stay in France. By then I was married and had a small kid, but the fashion in which this advice was imparted prevented me from reacting and I maintained a poker face. Then, as if to clear up the embarrassment in the air, he mentioned in a more friendly fashion that when I was in my mother’s womb, he had procured some crates of Vichy mineral water and my mother was given that as a tonic for months. This was in 1943, when World War II was at its height. The father-to-son talk ended and, next day, I was on my way to Vichy.

It was my first visit to France. After reaching Paris, the very next day, I was supposed to go to Vichy, a town that reminded me of my world history lessons and World War II. Vichy is, of course, famous for its natural water, which besides being good for health, is credited with curative properties. The few weeks at Vichy were meant, not to fortify my health, but to build up my knowledge of French.

The six-week stay in Vichy was interesting and educative. We were a group of five officers from India. Along with learning the language, we gradually discovered various facets of French culture. I decided that, while returning to India, I would take two bottles of Vichy mineral water as a souvenir for my father. From Vichy we moved to Paris. A year later, the fellowship ended and I was back in India. My father had expired a few months before my return.

Thereafter, I have visited France a few times and with every visit my interest in France and its culture has been growing. Even as a school boy when I used to collect postage stamps, my favourite stamps were of France. I started learning French when I was just out of school. I do not know the reasons for this love affair. But at times I do think about the crates of Vichy water consumed by my mother…

(Published in the Times of India, New Delhi, January 4, 2001)

The Friendly French

Let me get out of my Fifth Floor Flat today....and fly away to Greece.

Yes, I visited Greece a few years back and anxiously tried to cover all the famous spots. My initial reaction was one of disappointment, having heard and read so much about the country and its civilization, the reality somehow did not measure up to those it. For example one had heard about Greek women being compared to Goddesses and Greek men to handsome Gods. Some how I did not have the privilege of seeing may of that category. But let us move further.

I was on a day trip to Delphi. A few hours of bus ride and we were at the foot of the mountain where Delphi stood. The climb was neither too tough nor too long, however I did need to stop at regular intervals to catch up my breath.

At one such stop I heard a loud Group of tourists climbing down the path. They have done the climb and are therefore happy, I tried to justify the loudness of the Group. And soon the Group appeared. There were about a dozen men and women, in shorts of all sizes, but uniformly overfed, if not obese. Yes, that was a group of American tourists. Soon they disappeared on the down hill path but their voices and conversation still audible in the air.

The next next sounds reminded me of sweet chirping of birds. Those were from another Group of tourists descending from Delphi. Having spent hundreds of hours at the Alliance Francaise and some years in France, I could make out that it was a French Group. I understood that they were talking in French but what, I could not decipher.

As the Group appeared, I saw a mixed crowd of men and women young and old. My eyes at once fell on an extremely pretty young lady. She was dressed in colourful clothes and was carrying a baby tied to her with an attractively printed cloth. She was holding the child as if she was carrying a treasure rather than a weight on her back. To me it appeared top be a perfect picture of celebration of motherhood. She appeared happy and full of joie de vivre.

I soon recovered from the trance, wished her in broken French and asked if I could take her photo with the baby (the French word for baby is a delightful ‘be’be’. She readily agreed. The rest of the Group politely went over to one side and I took this photo. While leaving she rewarded me with a lovely smile.

And who says that the French are not friendly?

REMEMBERING M.F HUSSAIN

M. F. Hussain’s passing away brought the usual plethora of eulogies from some and unfortunate negative reactions from others. It took my mind back half a century. Way back in the early Nineteen Sixties, I was pursuing a Law Course in the Delhi University. We were a group of three good friends. On one pretext or the other, we would end up the day, and at times, even begin the day, in the Connaught Place. One of our favourite affordable places used to be an open Coffee House run by the employees themselves.

Being daily visitors, we soon started occupying the same table every day. And slowly we realised that the persons on the adjoining table loved their spot as much as we did ours. They were there daily sometimes just 5-6 and at other times almost a dozen. One person from the Group immediately caught our eye. He had a beard and walked bare footed. He is M.F. Hussain, the painter, explained one of our friends. And what does he paint, I asked with an equal measure of ignorance and innocence. Well, mainly horses, explained my knowledgeable friend. This daily sighting continued almost for two years. None of us ever went and tried to talk to him. About what could we have talked to Hussain Sa’b since our knowledge of painting was non existent?

Past to present. The TV channels and the print media have made known so many facts about him during the last one week- if only they had done so earlier!

Many of his photographs and sketches show him with a painting brush in one of his hands. And that brings me back to my Fifth Floor flat. And more precisely to the newly installed safety wire-net door. It was supposed to have been painted, but the contractor disappeared suddenly. Today, while thinking about Hussain Sahib, paint and brushes, I suddenly asked myself, if he could paint master pieces at the age of 95, why can’t I paint a simple door? I soon gathered the half empty paint cans and two brushes and got going. The status at the time of writing this is that I have been able to do only a portion of the gate.

PS. Hear ye all my good friends...Want to help me finish the job?

Come with your ideas...paint and brushes will be provided.

Anaap Shnaap: BUDDHA CHUL BASSA KYA? I stay alone in a fifth floor flat. There are three other flats on this floor, out of which two are locked. That leaves my flat and one bang in front of me. The owner and sole occupant of the flat opposite mine is a deeply religious and spiritual person. I am a hard boiled atheist and self-professed rationalist. So both me and my neighbour politely ignore each other. And this has been going on for good eight years. Yesterday we had a short chat when he told me that he was going abroad for 3 weeks and was in a hurry to leave. He requested me to water his flower pots while he was away. I wished him a good journey and he left with a small suitcase. I soon got busy in my daily routine of doing nothing. But as the evening turned to night, I felt that all was very quiet on my floor of the building. And then around 9 pm there was a bell at the door. That is the time for my ‘dabbawalla’ to bring my dinner. So almost mechanically I opened the door and found that the person who pressed the bell was not the ‘dabbawala’. I found a somewhat plumpish old gentleman in whiteKurta-Pajama staring at me. He gave me a deep look and then asked “Chatrath Sahib Ka flat kaun sa hai?” It was my turn to give him a deep suspicious look as he was standing just a yard away from my name plate. May be at that time I started sweating more than usual. And then I said softly “Gupta Sahib” and then ‘Arre O.P. tum?” yes he was OP Gupta an old friend of 35 years who retired from a senior position in the railways. We became friends when we attended a year long Group training programme for government officers together. Thereafter OP, as every one calls him, has been taking the initiative of organising a yearly or two-yearly get together of all the Group members. OP chided me for not responding to my phone calls. I told him rather sheepishly that I had changed both my landline and mobile numbers and somehow could not inform him. He told me that he had really getting worried about me, so while on way to Shimla he decided to drop into my flat. I asked him if he thought that “Buddha Chal Basa Hai” and we had a hearty laugh. In fact about ten years back when one of the Group mates could not be located the two of us had feared that the old man had passed away. He was in a hurry to leave and said rather casually that there was someone with him in the car. And before I could make a naughty guess he said, “Lacchu Maharaj is with me”. The great tabla Guru, I asked. Yes was his brief reply. I went with him to the car and touched the feet of Lacchu Maharaj who was extremely soft spoken and accepted my greetings with immense grace. I was dying to tell him that I too had been forced to learn tabla by my father when I was a kid - but there was no time. The car left and I returned back to my fifth floor flat. I was strangely happy and there was no trace left of any feeling of loneliness.

Twice a Week

Yesterday my car had an appointment for grooming with the Service Station. Knowing how much time these beauty sessions take, I carried some old magazines along to give me company. The Service Station has a nice air conditioned waiting room for the car owners to relax while their beauties get scrubbed and shampooed. A large TV set was on and the news channel was showing the latest antics of...you know who. So I started thumbing through one of the magazines and got interested in an article which took me almost half a century back.

The article was on Ayn Rand- remember the 700 page 'The Fountainhead' and a 1000 page 'Atlas Shrugged'? Some already known and some yet unknown facts and anecdotes made that article an interesting reading. I re-learnt that this proponent of, what came to be called 'Laissez-faire capitalism', was a Russian born in St. Petersburg who later migrated to the USA. What I did not know was that 'Ayn' in her name is pronounced as 'Ien' as in, say 'dine'.

But the most spicy and bizarre anecdote in the article informs us about her meeting, when she was 45, a bright young person of 19 and how the two became very close intellectually. But wait, the spicy part follows. At 50 she and her young friend ' received their partners' permission to meet for sex twice a week'. One wonders if this arrangement helped or hindered Ayn's flow of writing.

But it surely is an interesting thought to stop at!

(Article referred to is "Back in Business" by Andrea Sachs, Time, October 26, 2009.)

Sunday, January 16, 2005

Nehru’s refreshing humour K.J.S. Chatrath Reading about the release of a new edition of Pandit Nehru’s letters to his sister has brought back an interesting episode to my mind. Searching for a book in the Orissa Government Secretariat library about a decade back, I chanced to see an old book. The book was Nehru’s Letters to His Sister (Krishna Nehru Hutheesing). This book gave me an amazing insight into Nehru’s personality. Panditji was very fond of his little sister. There was a considerable age difference between the two and as Hutheesing herself explained in the "Introduction", she was treated more like a daughter, both by Panditji and his wife. The letters of Panditji address her affectionately as "Betty", Beti and, sometimes, as "Bets". What struck me was that a good number of these 93 letters in the book had been written from various prisons where Panditji had been detained — Almora, Bareilly, Dehra Dun, Naini, Calcutta and Ahmadnagar. Some of the letters were written from his ancestral home Anand Bhavan in Allahabad. The first letter in the collection written from Delhi, dated February 21, 1931, gives the address as I, Daryagunj. Two letters, written in 1947, give the address of 17, York Road, while there are some letters which just say "Delhi". Only in the letter dated July 20, 1955, the address is given as "Prime Minister’s House, New Delhi". Almost every letter introduces us to some aspect of Nehru’s humour. This subtle sense of humour comes even while mentioning the place from where the letter is written. The letter, written on June 30, 1945, notes the place of writing as "Running Train", while another letter that he wrote from a ship while returning from Ceylon records it as having been written from "S.S. Something". There is a nugget in the letter written from the ship which is worth quoting, "Kamla has often been taken for my daughter. But what do you say to Indu being taken for my mother? This has happened repeatedly." This shows the ability of Nehru to laugh at himself and his family. When he got the news of the birth of a baby son to his sister, Panditji sent a lovely telegram on February, 2 1935, from Almora Jail. He wrote, "Cheerio get well soon darling and bring the howling infant here for display and criticism — love Jawahar". In his letter dated October 12, 1943, he jokes at the Nehrus. He writes, "November seems to have been a favourite month for the Nehrus to be born in". He was referring to the fact that he was born in November and so were Krishna Hutheesing and Indira Gandhi. This delightful humour is also evident in his letters from the prison. From the Ahmadnagar Fort Prison on February 25, 1945, he wrote: "This is likely to be my last letter to you from Ahmadnagar Fort. Today we complete 960 days here — a long chunk of one’s life. But the longest lane has a turning somewhere and we turn to — another prison". In his letter written on July 12 1953, from Delhi, when he came to know of a little accident his sister had met with and had injured her nose, he remarked tongue-in cheek. "I am glad to know that you are safely back with more or less a complete nose". He reports in his letter dated January 17, 1943, that a bottle of honey sent to him had broken down in the box during transit. "I gazed awestruck at the mess just one bottle of honey could make when given the chance to do so..." Two books in the box had also got covered with honey. And reaction of Panditji to it was sharp and sweet, "There was Zimmern’s book, but this Zimmern is and has always been a sticky person. And Lewis Carol? Was it a new adventure for Alice to float about in honey?" There is a wonderful mix of humour and finality of views in his letter written from "Somewhere in India but not at Anand Bhavan, Allahabad" on September 18, 1942. He wrote, "I am horrified to learn that Raja (pet name of Krishna Hutheesing’s husband) is growing a beard. This is wholly inexcusable and you must tell him so." Yes, Panditji’s brand of humour was unique and refreshing.

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