Where should the line be drawn?

The newspapers are suddenly full of it. People are full of it. The very air is full of it! Corruption, that is a way of life, is under verbal assault. Will words give way to action? I am by nature a pessimist. That way, if good results, I can be pleasantly surprised!

One newspaper announced, “If you have never paid a bribe, influenced a decision, paid black money towards purchase of a flat … write to us about your experience.” I thought back to my one experience of holding out in order to obtain a ‘bribe free’ ration card – my right as a domiciled national. That one incident cured me of expectation. That is how bad it is.

My father, a stern individual who tolerated no grey between right and wrong, also learnt this lesson the hard way. A pensioner of the Indian Army, he would walk the half hour distance to the Pay& Accounts office only be told by the peon that the necessary forms were not available. Father would diligently walk to and fro each day, only to be given the same reply. When he found out that others had obtained the forms by the simple expedient of greasing the peon’s palm, he was furious. He rebuked the organization but to no avail. Lethargy and corruption are two sides of the same coin. Father needed his pension to survive. Reluctantly he succumbed. But not without a sarcastic comment about ‘chai pani’ to the peon, who smirked in response. Considering the number of government pensioners at any given time, that peon must have raked in the moolah. This was thirty-five years ago.

Yes, I have paid a bribe for an out of turn gas cylinder (six months of cooking on a kerosene stove cured me of holding out), I have paid a bribe for an out of turn telephone connection (that was in the time before mobile phones and considering that all my neighbours treated my home as a public call booth, I more than paid for that ‘crime’) and yes, I paid a cash component towards the purchase of a flat – I needed a roof over my head and no builder, then, ever sold a flat on ‘cheque only’ payments. The tax component made the final price prohibitive. And that tax component was actually ‘fixed’ by the dealing officer who deliberately set a higher penalty in order to receive something under the table for a considerable reduction. You learnt to subvert the law in order to avoid a bribe! When I spoke to an officer of the Income Tax about it, he replied. “Madam, even I have paid cash for my flat. I cannot say so openly but everyone knows.”

Even when all is in order, the powers that be hold out and harass till they get what they want. So deep-rooted is corruption that one is suspicious of anything that comes without a price.

And as long as there is need, as long as there is greed, as long as there are those who can sniff opportunity and exploit it, there will always be those who take from givers willing and reluctant, able and unable.

Only those who have nothing or want nothing could ever be free from corruption. Given our vulnerability to need, would that ever be possible?

By lanes

Khotachiwadi, not just a place but a way of life, is in the news and for all the wrong reasons. Besieged by a futuristic world that views destruction of the old as progress and preservation a white elephant, the residents are standing shoulder to shoulder in an attempt to stem the encroaching marauder.

Khotachiwadi is firmly embedded in the fabric of my memories. While courting, I visited my husband and his family there; then, as a new bride, their home was my dwelling place for a year. And like homing pigeons, we returned for birthdays, anniversaries, weddings, christenings, First Communions, funerals, feast days, Christmas and for no reason at all other than a tug at the heartstrings.

A visit to Khotachiwadi with its cluster of interlinked winding lanes dotted with balconied, tiled homes, is an adventure. Once you step inside, you are in a different world, a different time and a different mood. As you wend your way through from entrance to destination, friendly faces smile, friendly hands wave and friendly voices call out a greeting and a query. Everyone knows everyone and for generations. People are known for their occupations and their talents from the doctor to the Bebique aunty (sadly no more – her Bebiques were legendary and the memory of the taste, though faint, still lingers). And directions always included a left/right from the kolsawalla, or the chip-shop, or Anand Ashram or someone’s house.

It is also a self-contained place, better than the best developed modern township – hospitals, schools, places of worship and shops are all within walking distance. No vehicle required. But if you should need to travel further afield, the location is well networked by bus and rail. Even better than the network of facilities, is the network of people. You may be alone but never lonely.

Big houses meant large families and warm hearts. I remember once telling a friend who questioned my lack of a ‘social life’ that I had no need to visit restaurants or jaunt around the town, the family birthdays and anniversaries kept me entertained and well fed!

But times change. And in the cause of ‘development’ there are those who scorn preservation for the few when viewed against the ‘needs’ of the many (though I think they really mean ‘money’!). A bungalow inhabited by one family could reinterpret itself as a high-rise for sixteen or even more. It would also mean a very healthy profit for the developer and all those who ‘assist’ in the development.

Divided between nostalgia and practicality, I know deep down that change is inevitable. But I do not want to dwell in memory in the here and now. I want to be able to see, hear and feel. I want to know that I can still find a living, breathing place which answers a favourite prayer: ‘Slow me down, Lord, still the frantic beating of my heart…’ A place which embodies the adjectives, homely, gracious, affable, vibrant, charming, heart-warming.

A place where time stands still long enough for batteries to be recharged. A little bit of soul in the middle of a hurried and harried city.

Growing up Grant...

...was a far cry from Growing up Gotti. The statement, on the other hand, alliterates just as resonantly!

My last two blogs took me back in time (yes, I know, I do it quite often!) to when I started reading. As soon as I was able, I was allotted the children’s section of the daily paper to enjoy. Once it was felt that I could ‘graduate’ to more serious topics, I was encouraged to read the entire publication. Starting with the daily cartoon, one progressed from the sports, to the international news, to city happenings and finally to national events – a routine which continues to this day.

What made this practice special was that I had to be able to discuss a topic of my choice, from the news of the day, and state my opinion. The only proviso was that I should be able to justify it. I could not say that a particular person was ‘bad’ or that a particular decision was ‘stupid’, I also had to reason why and try and hold my own in the ensuing ‘argument’! Now, many, many years later I am able to receive the news objectively and questioningly. There is an involvement with the happening world. There is an interest in things other than just myself and my immediate environment.

Home and family set the foundation for the child to become parent of the adult (‘father of the man’ now being politically incorrect?!). A child who is raised to be connected will more often than not turn out a caring and concerned citizen. A child who is taught by example to be indifferent will probably be clueless to all else other than what is needed to pass examinations. Certain educational institutions may seek to address this problem, but they are more likely to be successful in capturing the mind; it is the home that captures the heart.

Children learn what they live – and life begins at home.

Incidentally, though my mother today needs a magnifying glass to read her paper, she insists on being au fait with the news! There’s example for you.

Growing up Grant was not always such sweetness and light. My parents believed in corporal punishment and I did try to break a few records in that area! But, as a passage from my diary recalls, through all the patterns that make up the tapestry that is life, there runs a thread of gold – treasured memories and the practices that make us what we are.

And yes, I have plenty of anecdotes about ‘Growing up Grant’. Let’s see what memory dredges up next!

Timelines

Amid the gore and bluster of the daily news, a headline caught my eye – ‘Most US students think Beethoven was a dog’!! Every movie buff and dog-addict would know the lovable St. Bernard and I let out a hearty chuckle (and ‘boo’ to those who indulged in a cynical snigger). The original must be turning in his grave to the resounding clash of cymbals!

The article concludes: ‘…for US students who got their bachelor’s degree this year, Germany was never divided, professional athletes have always competed in the Olympics, there have always been reality shows and smoking has never been allowed on US airlines…’

This got me thinking about timelines and about how lucky I am to have straddled two centuries – the 20^th and 21^st!

Many little things - and some not so little things - help us appreciate the particular span of time that we inhabit.

For example, I grew up in the time before television which has allowed me to realise the value of a good book and the fun of evening badminton sessions (strictly non-pro) with friends. Typewriters were mechanical; this meant that you needed to be painstakingly accurate if you did not want to repeat the work you had already done. There was no spell-check or autocorrect or memory. Adapting to the computer was a snap – it has to play catch up with my typing instead! Sewing machines had to be pedaled, clothes scrubbed on a washboard and masala ground by hand – daily exercise guaranteed. Now that I am older, I can blissfully give thanks for my motorized Singer©, ‘automatic’ washing machine and food processor (although the breakdown rate is higher!). Doing things the hard way taught me discipline and precision; doing things the easy way has taught me appreciation of the inventive mind!

We have evolved and how: upcountry in the fifties, the milkman would visit with cow in tow, swatch of grass and aluminum can – milk came straight from the udder. Today, milk comes in a tetrapaks, duly pasteurized. In earlier times, meat and fish came fresh off the block wrapped in yesterday’s newspaper (roasted chana still does!); today, such food comes cling-filmed and frozen. Change is convenient even if it is not always good for us.

My generation has lived through marvelous breakthroughs in science and history; DNA has been decoded, man has visited the moon, the Internet and mobile phones have become a way of life, the Iron curtain and Berlin wall have been dismantled, some dictatorships have been replaced by democracies – the list is a long one, too long to be accommodated here.

We have seen leaders come and leaders go: the Popes from Pius XII to Benedict XVI, Adenauer to Merkel, de Gaulle to Sarkosy, Eisenhower to Obama, Churchill to Cameron (while the same Queen is still going strong!), Khrushchev to Putin, Shah Reza Pahlavi to Ahmadinejad, Nehru to Manmohan Singh – some cast a long shadow, each left a legacy either to be admired or deplored.

So much has happened!

For today’s graduate, the present will have to be more fascinating than the past, considering the strides that technology has made and the accelerting opportunities for growth. They will eventually learn that the past is prologue to the future and they will make the acquaintance, perchance, of the music, literature and pastimes that enthralled an earlier generation.

In the meantime, my contemporaries can thank technology and enjoy the opportunity to listen to ‘live concert’ quality recordings in the comfort of home. Beethoven – the original – lives again and how!