Bol - Speak(up)

Below is the story of a movie I watched recently. It was an Urdu movie made in Pakistan. Filmography, music, almost everything was perfect. It was a treat to see a big part of the movie being filmed in a suburb called 'Heera Mandhi' or the diamond market of Lahore. The courtesans are the diamonds. Most buildings were built by Mughals. The movie is full of obscurantism which prevail in South Asian societies. I have numbered them as I identified them. I will let you make your own inferences, but, please share them with me. Here I go.

A Homeopathy doctor (Doc) in Lahore, Pakistan is obsessed with having a male child (1). Every other year his wife gives birth to a female child, many die, four survive.

Finally a child, which turned out to be a eunuch. The midwife advises the Doc to hand-over the child to a group of Eunuchs, but he doctor declines. Instead, he wanted to kill the child to avoid embarrassment in future (2). His wife stops him from doing so, assuring that she would raise the child indoors as a boy.

One day, he was out of town,the first daughter takes the mother for contraception (3). With days the doc finds out that the wife is not getting pregnant, figures out what has happened and beat up the wife and the daughter (4).

For other girls he was a strict father who did not believe in education of girls(5). All were stopped schooling after year 5.

His first daughter gets married, the marriage did not work out, so, she is 'returned' to the father(6).

The women at home were not allowed to question anything. If he does not have an answer, he will beat them up (7).

His second daughter falls in love with a neighbor, belonging to Shia community. He refuses the proposal made by the boy's parents on the grounds that they were not Sunnis. A pimp, belonging to Shia community requests him to teach Quran to children in the red light area, which he rejects (8).

The local community however respects him as a religious scholar, and entrusts him with the appointment as a treasurer of the committee wanting to build a new mosque. Two lacs rupees was in his possession, which belonged to the committee.

As days pass, his income goes down. The second daughter's boy friend arranges a painting job for the Eunuch with a group which paints trucks. (S)he was paid 100 Rs per day, but the Doc was unwilling to accept (9).

One day, the eunuch was tied up and raped by fellow painters and left in the fields. Another eunuch unties the younger one takes him home, cleans him and dresses him as a girl. The younger eunuch, with make up and dresses return home late at night, the Doc gets angry, afraid of embarrassment suffocates and kills (10) the eunuch, as the first daughter watches.

The eunuch who helped the younger one gets suspicious, and report it as a murder to the local Police inspector. The inspector asks the Doc to swear on the holy book (11), that the death was not a murder. The doctor declines to swear - fear of God - and accepts the charge that he killed the younger Eunuch. The inspector agrees to cover it up, if the doctor paid him 2 lacs (12). The doctor gives the two lacs which belonged to the committee to the inspector (13) in the hope that he could earn and collect two lacs before it was required by the committee.

To earn more money, he agrees to teach Quran to the Children in the red light area (14). He was paid with money thrown at the courtesans, which he will bring home, wash, and the wife will iron, before they use (15).

The Doc has now collected 25,000 Rs, but the committee wanted the 2 lacs back. He requests the pimp to lend him the money. The pimp, knowing that the Doc fathers only female children, makes a deal with him. The Doc should father a female child to his daughter. If the grand kid of the pimp is a girl, the doctor need not return the money. Just leave the child and go. If the grand child is a boy, then again, the doctor need not return the money, but must take the male child with him. After all, the doctor wanted a son anyway. The doctor agrees provided the pimp's daughter would marry him. He did not want to father a child out of wedlock (16). All is well, he marries the courtesan, and lo and be hold, its a girl!

Now the doctor did not want his child to become a courtesan, he begs the pimp to let him have the baby. The pimp beats him up and chases him away. The doctor returns home with guilt. In a few hours, the second wife brings the baby girl, leave it in front of the doctor's house and disappears. Now the courtesan do not want her daughter to become a prostitute. The first wife questions the husband who now reveals that he has a second wife. Arguments - violence pursue and the doctor throws the baby down hoping it would die. But, one of the daughters saves the baby. The doctor continues assault of his first wife with rage, the first daughter takes a baton, hits the father, the father dies.

Now the pimp is at the door looking for his grand child, but one of the daughters had taken the baby and went hiding at their neighbors. The pimp was told that the doctor killed the baby and threw her away, and when he attacked the others in the family, he was killed by the first daughter. Pimp leaves grudgingly, the first daughter admits murder, but refuses to defend herself, and was sent to gallows! Rest of the women are now free, start a new life.

A Day at Galle Face Green

For those of who do not know Galle Face Green (GFG), its a coastal strip of about 2 km, just opposite the old Parliament of Sri Lanka in Colombo.

I recall going to GFG as a kid with my parents, it will be the evening outing with my siblings.  Waves continue to hit the strip as hard as they can, and without the reinforcement available, the strip would have disppeared by now.  There will be kites, gram vendors, and of course a few ships waiting to get into Colombo harbor.  I will try and spot them and count, but my father always spotted one or two before I could.  It was fun.

Its a place I always visit when I am in Colombo.  I can sit and gaze the vast horizon, changing colors at sun set, and enjoy all types of snacks vended.  The competition is always between a half ripe mango or pineapple salted and peppered, and tapioca chips.

The day at GFG starts with middle aged and obese men trying shakeout a few grams they gained previous day.  They are sweaty, walking briskly and panting as if they are about to lose their breath.  I could be easily be one of them.  Then a crew of kids enter the green with their cricket bats, balls and stumps.  They will run across each others' pitches to save a run, and call each other from their bottom of their stomachs.  I wonder whether they ever tire themselves.  

Now it is almost 11 AM, time for the couples and coupling.  The coast will be swamped with umbrellas covering faces and upper half of the bodies of young men and women.  I will leave it to your imagination to figure out what happens underneath the umbrella. Policemen patrol around and warn that umbrellas should not cover the faces, but couples continue coupling underneath.  Occasionally you will also see couples having picnic lunch, often feeding each other.  Not a bad sight.

Then its the turn for the families - like the way we were - when we were kids.  Kites, gram vendors and so on.  There are semi-permanent stalls and restaurants, and diners hang around as late as ten pm.  Yummy street food at cheap.
 
But, there's a part of the strip not patrolled by Police at any time. This is where pimps prosper.  There are a swarm of them, and they prey on tourists.  Once I recall reading in a glossy airplane magazine that Colombo.  is a city of persistent pimps.  He must have been walking on this part of the GFG.  Recently, within a km of walking distance four of them approached me, one at a time of course.  I too have got into brief discussions with them, but now I know the way out.  Invariably all of them start the conversation by asking whether I am from India.  Of course I look like one.  I reply them in Tamil with a strong Jaffna accent that I am from Jaffna. They then walk away.

GFG has never disappointed me.  There's always the breeze and the noise of relentless waves.  They will always be there, and I will keep going there.

Where is Everybody?

After living in New Delhi for the past 18 months, wherever I go, I feel I am in a place less crowded.  Delhi is crowded, and initially it was bothering me.  There are times people literally bumped into me as I walked on the streets, and did not even acknowledge being brushed.  With time, I got used to it, and I probably do the same now.

I boarded Air France flight from Paris to Montpellier a few days ago, and a tall man welcomed me – and just one man.  He had a tag on his shirt which said ‘Securite’ in French, and I assumed that he must be an Air Marshal.  I did wonder why would an Air Marshall advertise himself, but did not follow that route of thinking.  He then, closed the door, made announcements on the PABX.  The plane took off.  Lo and behold, he started to push the refreshment cart, offering passengers drinks and snacks.  Then he went down the aisle again, collecting rubbish, made announcements, sat on his seat, the plane landed, he then opened the door to let us out.  One man is doubling for security and hosting of 200 passengers or so. 

I arrived at Novotel where I was to stay.  It turned out that the bar was also the reception and the bar tender was doubling for receptionist.  Went for breakfast in the morning, there was no one around, plenty of pastries and croissants, packed food – you name it, there it was.  Made myself a coffee, collected whatever I wanted to eat, ate, returned the used plates and put the rubbish in bin and walked out.  Noone was there!

I am not sure if this is the way productivity is increased or this is because there’s a shortage of people in these countries. 

Is it Technology or Attitude?

Everyone loves German Cars, and everyone who had been to Germany knows that everything works there, on time and as planned.  How come, I often wondered?

I almost lost 50 Euros yesterday at a ticket vending machine at Bonn railway station.  I needed a ticket to Frankfurt, went through the menu, ordered the ticket and inserted a 50 Euro bill, which got stuck in the feeder.  I just could not walk away – its 50 Euros.  I could not see anyone from Railways hanging around, and was not sure that I should walk and find one, leaving 50 Euros on the feeder.  I could not retrieve it, but what if the next guy could before I return, and how will I convince whoever that it was my money ?!

I saw a policeman walking among the crowd.  He was well built, his head was above the crowd, and he walked like a gentle giant.  I waved at him, and he came to the machine and raised his eye-brows, asking what I wanted.  I explained what happened.

He asked, ‘Are you in a hurry?’.  I said no.  My train is about 50 minutes from then.  He said, 'Just wait here, and I will bring someone to help you'.  In five minutes he came with a railway officer.  This officer was about half the height as the Policeman, must have had some Chinese genes in him.  He looked more of well-fed Chinese person than a German.  I thanked the policemen, he had a firm handshake.  He then left.

The Railway officer took his smart phone, took a photo to record the vending machine ID, and asked me to go with him.  I said that my money is stuck.  It was only then he understood what the problem was.  He said, just wait, ran in typical Chinese short steps, back to his office, and returned with a forceps in no time, grabbed the note and pulled it out gently.  I got my money back.

Then he went through the menu again, and got me the ticket I needed, I thanked, he bowed and left.

Train came about six minutes late and arrived at Frankfurt three minutes late.  In a two and half hour journey, the train driver apologized for the delay at least four times.  It had been raining a lot, the reasons for the delay. 

I reflected on the whole episode.  What would have happened if my money was stuck in a vending machine in another country?  I will be busy filling too many claim forms, and would have left with a faint hope that one day I will get my money back.  The chances of a policeman helping me will be 50:50 at best.  The railway officer helped me, as if his money was stuck, and the train driver kept on apologizing for 3 to 6 minutes delay for reasons beyond her control? 

The whole episode was too civilized for me, and I concluded it’s their attitude, not their technology, which makes everything works in Germany.

Railway Friendships

While I waited for the shuttle bus to Terminal 1 at Frankfurt airport, my eyes locked into another pair.  They belonged to an old man, scruffy, hair not combed, unshaven beard, clothes un-ironed.  He too was a passenger, and I felt he did not like me staring at him.  I shifted my eyes away.  He walked passed me, returned, walked passed me, then got into the bus, we both waiting for.  I lost track of him.

I found my way to the train station at Terminal 1, figured out the difference between a long distance train and a regional train, bought my ticket and found a seat.  I had to transfer to another train at Mainz, and the travel time from Frankfurt to Mainz is only 20 minutes.  I had five minutes for this transfer.  Needless to say I was a bit nervous, concerned if I could make it.

I heard a passenger arguing with the TTR, not sure what it was about, but wanted the TTR to clear me so that I could get down when the train stop at Mainz any minute.  I could not see the arguing passenger.  When the train stopped I moved my luggage towards the door, the man I saw at the bus stop was in front of me.  He pointed a bag, I said it’s not mine, he said that was his.  My bag was in front of his one, blocking his access to the bag.  I pulled my bag back; he took his one, and asked where I was coming from.  I said, India.

‘Key se hai’, he said in poor Hindi accent, I smiled and said ‘it’s Key se ho - meaning how are you’?  He said, ‘Oh, whatever’.  We both got out, and the platform I had to find was just on the other side, and he too waited for the same train to come. He sat on the bench, and said that the TTR fined him for getting into an express train.  His ticket was for a normal train.  Then he said, ’oh, it was only money – just a piece of paper; ever since the Americans put ‘In God We Trust’, on the dollar, the money has become cheap. I smiled, and said now money is not even paper, its plastic or electronic digits.  It’s another story he said, and went quiet.

The train to Bonn via Koblenz came; we sat next to each other.  I was not sure if he was curious, or just wanted to talk.  I was not in any hurry, and I obliged as a listener.  He covered a range of topics from sex to international politics.

'You know, my wife and I like sex, but we are old, so, we bought a sex engine BMW'. In German sex is six, I figured.  'The only problem is that I am not allowed to drive faster than 210 km/h', he lamented.  

‘What’s the hurry?’, I was sarcastic.  ‘You are right, I am seventy five years old, my wife died eight months ago, and I have a lot of time in my hand’.  'Oh by the way, how old are you?’.  

‘Fifty nine’, and expected him to say that I am still young.  This is what I hear from elders I meet. ‘I thought you are near one-hundred’, and winked.  He has settled the score.  We both laughed.

It’s about an hour so we had been talking, and I asked for his name.  He said it’s Heiko Hodson.  He did not bother asking for mine.  

Our conversation continued.  He talked about his job in a nuclear plant in Germany which got shut down later; the five day war in the Middle East, at a time when he was based in Kuwait as a Radio Technician; training Zambians in radio-technology in Zambia, and how he convinced a donor that training in Zambia is cheaper than in Germany (and got himself posted Livingston, Zambia as the training coordinator); the Russian student he hosted in Germany without a rent; and the holiday he just had at St Petersburg with her.  On Chinese, he said, ‘they will colonize the moon, and rip all its resources, and leave a mess.  Then you have to see Moon only on old photos.  Mark these words of Heiko Hodson’.  He was categorical, convinced that Chinese will be a force to accept, not just to reconcile with.

As train whizzed along the Rhine, he commented that he has not seen the river levels so high; then expressed relief that flood will not enter his city because the levies are built high; then expressed dismay that the same levies will cause high velocity discharges troubling those downstream.  'No one cares about others,you know'he bemoaned.

Koblenz neared, he was ready to get down, he looked at me and said, ‘you have another forty minutes to Bonn, and I hope you can find some Chappati there’. I said, I will be looking for sauerkraut, sausages and beer.  He wanted to have the last word, and said for me it will be Cognac.    

Here’s my latest railway friendship.  We meet strangers for brief periods, engage in conversations, and then walk away.  These friendships are meaningless, but conversations could be otherwise.  I could see a man with a good sense of humor, information and satisfied with his past.  He wants to talk and I was glad to listen. 

I recalled something I read a while ago, ‘Marry a woman with whom you can converse.  At the end that matters more’.  In his wife’s absence, I was his conversation partner, just for an hour or so of our lives.   

Peradeniya Continues to Charm

"It's a beautiful day", a passer-by greeted me.  I nodded in agreement but started to wonder what was so special about this day.  It was Fall 1980, College Station, Texas.  I was new in town, just have come from Peradeniya, which was home to me for about six years prior to it.

I have spent 21 years at five Universities in four countries, as a student, Assistant Lecturer, research-associate, Professor, Head of the Department, Director and Dean.  I think my life as a student at Peradeniya was the best, it was full of life in the most beautiful environment.  I was naive,young, but equally wanted to be someone important.  Must be the age.  Being a residential campus, Peradeniya helped forming bonds and relationships - not just with fellow students and Professors, but also with the place itself.  This University is modeled after University of Cambridge, and I agree, Cambridge is beautiful (in Summer) and its buildings are far more majestic than what Peradeniya has.

But the hills of Peradeniya are more beautiful, and River Cam is no match to River Mahaweli, which dissects Peradeniya Campus.  Galaha Road is the main artery.  Most of the residential Halls are on both sides of this road, placed at the valley bottom, or the gentle slopes of the hill.  So, are Colleges (we called them Faculty) of Medicine, Agriculture, Science and Arts, the Senate and the Library.  Not to be missed are the Arts Theater, where 'art' movies are filmed periodically, and the open air theater.  I have seen amphitheaters , mostly ruins of them, in Italy and Jordan.  The one at Peradeniya is much smaller but natural.  Existing hill-slope is made into tiers of seats in an arc formation, and the stage is at the lowest but center-point of the arc.  Shade is provided by those huge trees with flowering wines crawling on them.  When the breeze comes, these trees and wines shed flowers, mesmerizing those around.

As you walk through Galaha Road, in addition to Residential Halls, Faculties and Administration buildings, you will sight places for worship, for Buddhists, Muslims and Hindus.  If you are game enough to climb up the hill then there are churches of different denominations.  Along the hill slopes, there's always a man or a woman cutting grass for fodder, they swing the cutting blade in a rhythm, that cuts the grass at a constant height from ground.  Human Mowers, I guess.  They are from the villages around, do not get in the way of University students and their lives, but add color to the landscape.

Combination of residences with Colleges on Galaha Road, ensured steady traffic of young - boys and girls - at day light and twilight hours.  Almost everyone walked everywhere.  The slopes are not suited for bicycles, and motorcycles and scooters were beyond reach of almost everyone.These parading groups of girls, full of colors - skirts and blouses, and saris (only the Tamil ones at the Faculty of Arts had to wear it - not sure why such a requirement - although I have no complaints), were a treat to the eyes.  Yeah, there were boys too - but invisible to me most of the time, except of course, they were joined with their girlfriends, strolling along the lovers lane.  When it rains, both get into a small umbrella, cover their heads, and bodies touch-and-go, and their backs soaked in water.  Well, if this is not romantic, I wonder what else could be.

I returned to Peradeniya in 2010, the place still remains absolutely wonderful.  Very few new buildings along Galaha Road, but boys and girls, trees and shades all remain the same.  Although I have heard of difficult times and horrible stories at Peradeniya during JVP times, I did not see any evidences of it.  I suspect that the Hindu student population must have gone down since the seventies, but, the Hindu temple looks new, well taken care of by the generous Indian business men in Kandy.   I visited some of my friends who are Professors there now, living on University Houses within the campus.  All I could think of was that these houses are built within gardens - not a garden in front of the house.  It's just green everywhere.  For some reason I felt that there are more monkeys than what I could remember, and those grass cutters must have found better sources of income - hill slopes are now full of bushes.

I understood why it was a beautiful day in College Station, as I lived there for six years, that means six summers.  Winters are livable, Fall and Spring are OK.   But at Peradeniya, everyday remains beautiful, and it keeps on charming me!

Graduation from BPL to LMC

Just in case if you wonder what these are, BPL, Below Poverty Line, LMC, Lower Middle Class.

Yesterday I was in a village in Bihar, named Mukundpur.  For historians Bihar is Magatha, the State where Maurya Dynasty flourished - Chandra Maurya and Asoka came from here.  For the political strategists  this is the land of Chanakya.  For Hindus, it is the state where Varanasi and Gaya are (where Rama did final rites for his father on his way to exile), for 300 million Buddhists around the world, Budh Gaya, where Lord Buddha attained Nirvana and for educationists this is the home of Nalanda, the first University town in the world.

Bihar is one of the poorest Indian states, despite the presence of mighty Ganga, abundant but seasonal rainfall and vast alluvial plains.  It is home for 104 million people - some of the best and brightest IAS officers come from here, but there are villages,one after the other, where 100% of the population is below poverty line.  Some suspect the statistics - people under report their income to receive some benefit from the Government, but it is largely poor.  During the recent 7 years a new CM is making a difference, but, it will take time.  Previous ones largely plundered the state coffers and thrived in chaos.

I was in the house of a Village Group Leader which reminded me of our home in Jaffna when I was a kid.  I sat on a broken, old, but, a strong chair in a veranda.  Must have been a very good wooden chair some years ago.  The veranda floor was polished with cow dung, roof was supported by wooden pillars about three meters apart.  Roof was not high enough, so, one need to bend to get in.  The way I remember things at our ancestral home in Jaffna.

This village head lives under BPL, that will make my family living under BPL some 50 years ago.

As I grew up, we graduated from BPL to LMC.  The mud floor was cemented, roof was lifted, and half walls were built around the veranda.  Still, we did not have a lot of clothes, food was often very basic, fish once a week, chicken once a month, and on festival days, mutton once or twice a year.  My elders were better disciplined as Hindus, and vegetarian food was the norm for about three to four days a week.  When fish,chicken or mutton was not on, we as kids could expect half of a omelette for one of the three meals.   Still family debt grew, I frequented pawn shops and banks to pawn family jewelry, and for most part of my young life, our family home was mortgaged.  To me this was LMC.

The experience as a LMC kid has permanent marks in me.  Despite making a good income, I am comfortable when I do things the way I did many years ago.  Walking, biking and busing are fine, and being in a sarong without a shirt at home is pretty cool for me.  I enjoy a one dollar dinner often, and occasionally, I have had two hundred dollar dinners.  One exception is whiskey, I prefer a deluxe one over  ordinaries, may be because, I never had alcohol when I was LMC.

I am  very natural when I deal with LMC in India or elsewhere, often to the surprise of my hosts.  They expect an expat to be somewhat different.  The BPL/LMC attitude is still within me and I feel very good about it.