Pankaj Varma's Blog: Author Pankaj Varma

Silver Haze Preface and Chapter 1

Hello Doctor, How are you?I am fine. How are you?You are the Doctor. You tell me how I am.The doctor smiled at me.Can I ask you a few questions?Sure, fire away. You are a pleasant doctor to talk to.Can you tell me your name?I am Kamala Puri. Your hospital slip says you are Neeru Sharma.Yes, that’s my name after marriage.When were you born?2nd June 1928.Are you sure?Yes. This is the date recorded in my school-leaving certificate.How old are you?Must be 60-70-80 years. I don’t know. I don’t feel that old. What year is this?Must be 1991. Or is it 2001? 2002? I don’t know!It is 2005. What month is it right now?I know that it is May. I checked the date in the newspaper in the morning. No wait. Now I remember. It is December.Is it summer or winter?I don’t know. You have a fan on in this room. It must be summer.The doctor smiled. I started againSee I made you laugh, doctor.How much is 27 minus 6?21And how much is 27 multiplied by 6?162What is your father’s name?Nek Chand Puri. Doctor, what is your father’s name?The doctor steered the conversation away from his own family history.Let us talk about you. What is your husband’s name?I remember. It is Principal Sharma. You must know him.What time is it?6:43 - there is a clock on the wall behind you.Can you spell ‘world’?            Yes. W-O-R-L-D.Now can you spell it backwards?            I can try. D-R-….. . I give upWhich city is this?            This is Ludhiana. Correct?Are you sure?            I think so.What is the name of this Hospital?            It is Brown’s Hospital.Which floor are we now?            We came up a lift. I don’t know.We went on like this for maybe a full half-hour before the doctor asked my son to join us. He started talking to my son as if I didn’t exist! But they were talking about me. I felt like I was a pet dog listening to a vet expounding my medical problems to my owner.I was devastated. The doctor told my son that I had dementia and possibly Alzheimer’s disease. He put a question mark on my hospital record against Alzheimer’s and circled dementia to emphasize it. It was irreversible, the doctor said. He suggested some medicines and some lifestyle changes that could delay the progress, but I had to face the reality that I would soon be a helpless invalid in the care of caregivers. I was shattered. I had studied psychology as a major for my graduation in college and had an idea what the doctor was talking about. Dementia is just a symptom while Alzheimer’s disease is the cause. Dementia is like fever, which only tells that the person is sick, without telling what is causing the sickness. There can be other possible causes of dementia, including vitamin deficiencies and thyroid conditions that are reversible. Dementia can also be caused by a stroke or other illnesses. Alzheimer’s disease is named after a German psychiatrist who first described this malady over a century ago even before Freud gave us his theories. What I remembered from the psychology I had studied in college was that the only way to diagnose Alzheimer’s is to rule out all other possible causes. The disease is incurable and worsens as it progresses. The symptoms are not just memory loss. I know it will lead to confusion, aggression and mood swings.
I realized that I would have to live the rest of my life in some kind of a haze. I would gradually find it difficult to look back at my own past. I would lose my short-term memory first and then my long-term memory. Life would be like a swirling mist and I would have moments of recall. I would be able to recall clearly some past events but this would again be lost in oblivion as the fog moved in again. I wouldn’t be able to peer into the future without the benefit of being able to recall my past. I realized that as my life became engulfed in deepening fog I would become like a vegetable and not know what was happening to me. It was with difficulty I got up and put on a wan smile as we left the doctor behind. I couldn’t bring myself to eat anything the whole day long as my husband, my son, my daughter-in-law, my daughter, my son-in-law kept talking about my affliction. They were trying to work out how they would have to cope with me. My children kept hugging me and telling me that they loved me but I guess they didn’t have any clue regarding how I could cope with it even though by the evening they had a fair idea how ‘they’ would all cope with my trouble.I wept in my pillow that night. I don’t think I slept at all. I mentally went over all I knew about my disease. Before it was daybreak, I had already resolved that if I had to live in other people’s care, I should always be nice to the caregivers and go out of the way to be gentle and polite. I have to accept it and live life as it comes. I know it is difficult for my caregivers. I must do something to make it easy for them.That morning I dug out an old discarded notebook and started writing. I knew writing my story would delay the progress of the disease. But more than that, I wanted to write down everything I knew while I still remembered it so that I could read it back when dementia made me forget it all. I was elated now. Dementia couldn’t rob me of my memories now because I would write them down. It was a major victory for me. *****






It is a hot summer evening. I am sitting in a large first floor room of a decent size bungalow overlooking a road. There is a domestic help looking after me. I have to keep her in good humour so that she will continue to look after me. This must be my son’s house but I don’t see any member of the family around – must be busy in other parts of the house. The room is sparsely furnished but beautifully done up. The curtains are of the expensive lacy variety and are well stitched. There is a well-finished double bed with a colourful bedspread. There is no pillow in sight. I think the pillow will materialize from somewhere when it is time for me to sleep. There are two comfortable chairs in the room. I am sitting on one and the girl is sitting on the other. There is a TV set on the wall and the girl is watching some dance programme.“Can I get a cup of tea?” I ask the girl. She has a melodious name that I can’t remember just now. She stares at the TV even more intently pretending that she hasn’t heard me. I must have asked for tea too many times. People get bugged when I forget and repeat myself too often.I look at her again and try again. “That is a pretty dress you are wearing – the pink colour is very becoming on you.” She smiles. Flattery always gets me some attention. I press on, “Why don’t you make two cups of some nice tea. Then we can both sit here and sip tea while we watch your favourite programme on TV.” She looks at me in the eye and says, “You just had tea about 10 minutes ago.” She gets up, goes outside my room and brings me an old magazine. I must have read the magazine before but I don’t remember and can read it again. She then pulls the curtains apart and opens the windows before resuming her seat in front of the TV.The view from the window is breath-taking. There is very little traffic on the road. I love the twilight hours when the sky is a gorgeous riot of orange. There is a park across the road on one side. A group of schoolchildren is playing cricket in the centre of the park. A bunch of smaller kids is playing in a corner with a flying disk. Right in front of my window is a small shopping arcade. There is a little hustle and bustle but this is not a busy market place. My attention is drawn towards a corner shop occupied by a firm of caterers who cook food for weddings. Looking at the level of activity visible from my vantage point, they must have got a large order today. I can make out at least three large gas stoves with huge pans and Indian woks (karahi) on them and uniformed workers scurrying here and there, some just stirring the stuff in the pans and others bringing big buckets and basins full of materials that are being added into the pans. I notice a deep freezer near the entrance of the shop. One person is counting out frozen chicken. They sure are going to serve non-vegetarian food in this marriage, I thought. In India, or at least in these parts, a sizeable part of the population eats meat but there is a taboo on eating meat on holy occasions such as religious festivals, marriages, births and deaths. I try to recollect when I had chicken served in a wedding. Suddenly I remember – it was my own wedding many years ago!The doctor had told me that my dementia does not mean that I don’t remember things. He had explained that the brain acts like a hi-fidelity recorder that records every event, every feeling. My ailment only affects the recall and I am usually unable to recall what is recorded in my memory. I don’t know how correct that is but sometimes, once in a while, something triggers my memory and some event from the past suddenly comes alive for me. This is one such moment. I am sitting here, transfixed. My eyes are counting the chickens along with that person in the shop. But my mind is elsewhere.
**********
I looked at myself in the mirror. All I saw were dark circles around my eyes hidden behind my studious looking spectacles. Then I looked down at my well filled up figure. I was not fat, I thought, maybe I was just a little bit plump. Did I look the bride? I preen around for a while trying to pose like a bride. I tried smiling but I still did not look like a radiant picture-book bride. I shrugged my shoulders and looked around.I was in a first floor room at the back of my parent’s house in Amritsar. All the relatives had come from far and near and had been staying in the house with us for many days. In fact, my grandmother and some uncles had been there for more than a month. But that is life as usual. In 1950s it was common to have large households and have several relatives living in as guests for months at a time. We lived in a large duplex house with many interconnected rooms on both the floors. I guess privacy was not an issue those days. My eldest brother (half-brother actually) and his wife had come from Agra for the wedding and were occupying the largest room in the house, the front room on the first floor. Bhraaji, for that’s what I always called him, was his usual rotund self with a round face propped up on top of a plump torso. Bharjai ji, his wife, was fair, tall, thin and sprite. One and zero is what their shape always reminded me of. Together they made a perfect figure of ten (10).Bhraaji was the first person to greet me that morning. He was wearing a white T shirt, white shorts held up with suspenders and white tennis shoes with white socks. It was obvious that he was on his way out for his morning walk.“May this day bring you happiness! May you swell with joy! May you be blessed with a thousand sons!” He had gone on like that for a good five minutes in the quaint dialect spoken in my parent’s house, until I started blushing. His wife, Bharjai ji, soon joined him. She was wearing a white saree and rubber slippers. She also muttered a few blessings in her usual thin raspy voice before they both strutted out for their morning walk. “I am getting married and all they care for is their morning walk!” I thought. Before I could collect my thoughts, my Daddy walked in.“How is my little queen today?” he enquired as he sauntered into my room. My Daddy was a tall 5’11” with an athletic build who could dominate any gathering with his cheery smile and a twinkle in his eyes. He looked me in my eyes and asked, “Are you happy?” I returned his gaze and smiled shyly. What was I supposed to say? This was an arranged marriage and I was getting married to someone I didn’t know at all – I had met him only once in the downstairs drawing room under the watchful eyes of the two families and had not exchanged a single word with him. Here I was being hitched to him for a whole lifetime. My stomach was full of butterflies and my heart was thumping so loudly that perhaps someone in the next room could have heard the heartbeat. And here was my Daddy asking me if I was happy! “I am okay,” I said, trying to put on a smile. My Daddy did something he had never done before. He pulled me to himself and gave me a tight bear hug. We are not a family that does much by way of display of affection. I don’t remember many occasions my parents had actually hugged me. I was taken aback when my Daddy hugged me now. I had a small tear in my eye.“My little queen,” my Daddy started, carefully choosing words as he continued, “you are getting married tonight. This is the last day you can call this house your own. Tomorrow, your husband’s house will be your home.” He paused before he continued, “I want you to remember this always – we all love you and you are always welcome to come and live with us whenever you want to. You can stay with us for whatever period you want to.” He had a deadpan face now as he continued, “But remember this – if you fight with your husband or have an argument with him or his family or walk out of your new home, the doors of this house are not open for you.”I stared at his face as the enormity of his statement slowly started hitting me. I was burning my boats. I would never be able to look back again. My father had made it clear – I had to make the marriage work, no matter what. My own house – my parents’ house - was not available to me as a refuge if things did not work out. I didn’t have the faintest idea what to look forward to. What I knew about the family I was getting married into was precious little. This refugee family had emigrated from what is now Pakistan, a few years ago. My would-be husband had just got a job as a college teacher in a Government College in a city called Ludhiana. My only recollection of this place was a remark by the Irish Mother Superior of the Convent School I attended, “Girls! I will not come to your class tomorrow as I am going to Loodiaana (that was how she pronounced it).” I had no inkling where Ludhiana was but could surmise that it must not be very far away if Mother Superior had to take only one day off to go and come back. My husband-to-be had completed his Masters in Arts majoring in Economics from Government College, Lahore just before the Partition (In Punjab, we usually refer to the events of August 1947 as ‘Partition’ and not as ‘Independence’). His father had been a leading lawyer in the city of Lyallpur (now Faisalabad in Pakistan). They had huge properties in Lyallpur but had to leave everything behind when they came to this side of the partitioned India. My fiancé was now the sole breadwinner and had to support his parents and a spinster sister and, starting tomorrow, me with his salary. They were living in a rented house but my Daddy was sure that eventually, they would get a sizeable compensation for the property they had left behind in Pakistan. There was nothing much to look forward to. I was still clinging to my Daddy as he gently lowered me onto a chair by the large window overlooking the courtyard below and in the process stumbled against a small table set in front of the chair. My elder sister Poonam had crocheted the tablecloth just before she got married last year, with the idea that she would take it with her dowry. At the time of her wedding, the tablecloth was not considered good enough to send with her dowry and was left behind to adorn this table here. At that time, I had crocheted an identical tablecloth that was now a part of my dowry. The tablecloth wasn’t good enough for my sister but was good enough for my dowry. I didn’t dwell on that thought, as my Daddy was hobbling around with his stubbed toe. I made him sit down on the other chair, took his foot in my lap and gently massaged the injured toe until circulation returned.My Daddy got up, patted me on my cheek and mumbled something about the bride’s father being always the busiest person in any wedding before leaving. I looked around the room again. This wasn’t my room in this house. My room was a slightly larger room on the ground floor that I had shared with my sister Poonam before she was married and moved away. The better part of last year, I had spent with Bhraaji and Bharjai ji in the city of Agra, but after coming back from there, I had shared my room with a niece who was staying with us at that time. After a round of ceremonies last night, this room, designated as a guest room, was set up for me. I had become a guest in my own house. There are countless ceremonies in any Indian wedding. My parents were followers of Arya Samaj, a Vedic revival movement started by Swami Dayanand Saraswati over a century ago. The Arya Samaj precepts forbid idol worship and virtually all religious ceremonies consist of a ‘Havan,’ a sacred fire lit in a small metal pot called ‘Havan kund.’ Small pieces of wood from mango trees, clarified butter and an aromatic mixture called ‘samigri’ are fed into the fire to keep the fire burning. This is accompanied with chanting of Sanskrit ‘mantras’. Last evening the ceremonies consisted of the groom’s family handing over some clothes for me to wear followed by a Havan. Today’s morning ceremony involved all the ladies of the house applying sandalwood paste on my face, arms and legs as some kind of a ritual beauty aid. This was again followed by Havan. The Pundit ji who conducted the Havan had a lot of patience. All the youngsters in the house were making merry and he had to raise his voice several times and repeat several mantras just to make his voice audible.It was late for breakfast and the caterers had prepared some brunch. The caterers were occupying the courtyard and had ready a table loaded with a traditional meal. A basket full of freshly fried ‘puris’ (deep fried unleavened bread) was already on the table and a couple of cooks were frying some more in a corner. A large bowl of chickpeas, another bowl of a potato dish and a bowl of a pumpkin dish were on the table, all steaming hot. A small bowl of pickles and a salad platter were also on the table. A large bowl of sooji (semolina) halwa, a traditional sweet, completed the meal. All the several dozen relatives present there soon got busy attacking the food. I somehow didn’t feel hungry and kept sitting on a folding chair in the courtyard. After some time someone in the crowd handed me a plate with a small quantity of food piled in. I ate something but couldn’t finish the quantity on my plate. I got up and discarded the plate with the leftover food in a pile of dirty utensils in a corner. We all had some weak tea after the meal.I moved back into my guest room on the first floor. Some of the ladies in the family had volunteered to dress me up and make me ready for the wedding. I sat by the window and looked down at the caterers winding up the last meal and starting preparations for the wedding meal in the evening. My heart was pounding. To me it seemed that I was using all my will power to keep it from bursting out. I wanted to get up and run away! Run away where? Agra? Suresh? Only there was no Suresh waiting for me in Agra! There was no place to run away to. I had to stay on here and live out my life. This was my karma, my fate. My choice was only whether to accept it cheerfully or to brood about it. Slowly the ladies drifted in talking animatedly to each other. To me they seemed oblivious of all that was going on in my mind. Or perhaps they knew but did not acknowledge it to me. At least they didn’t know Suresh, which was my secret. Quickly they were all over the place, had laid out the clothes and the jewellery I had to wear in the evening. The scene shifted to the bathroom. I was given a long leisurely bath with fuller’s earth, then again with an imported scented soap. My skin was scrubbed with an earthen scrubber until it was sore. I guess the swollen pink skin was done on purpose in the belief that it will make the bride look beautiful. I put up with the long ordeal, not knowing what else to do. Everyone was chattering and giggling and laughing and making merry while I was being rubbed down – literally. It was perhaps after an eternity that I moved back to my guest room. I put on the laid out petticoat and blouse – the silk saree would be tied later.At this time, the caterer’s boy brought in a kettle full of tea, empty cups and a large platter of pakoras (fritters). Everyone got busy eating and I got some respite from their attentions. Someone poured me some tea and I took my cup and sat down in the chair closest to the window. Someone handed me a handful of pakoras. All the ladies were as boisterous as before and were joking about each other, their husbands, their mothers-in-law, their own weddings, their dresses, what each one of them would wear at the wedding tonight and so on. As a married woman, from tomorrow I will have to learn to carry on such banter myself. But today, I could get by without saying much – I needed to smile at the appropriate cues only.I looked down at the courtyard. There was feverish activity going on as a whole bevy of cooks cut vegetables, ground masalas and prepared dishes. I spied our local butcher, Ram Kaka in one corner. During morning walks with my Daddy, we had often stopped at his shop to buy mutton or chicken for Biji to cook that day. We all loved my mother’s curries and had meat dishes a couple of times every month. So, what was Ram Kaka doing here? Traditionally, the meals served in our families during religious and solemn occasions were always vegetarian. But here Ram Kaka produced a basket full of live chicken and prepared to start killing them. One of the old ladies saw my ashen face and tried to calm me. “Kamala, you are lucky,” she said. “Your new family demanded a non-vegetarian wedding feast and your Daddy agreed.” What kind of a family I was getting into? I was told that I was getting married into an Arya Samaj family just like ours. Then why this sudden love for a non-vegetarian wedding? I was getting perplexed. It was much later I found out that this demand had actually arisen from my husband’s brother-in-law. That is typical in our families – boy’s parents make demands and girl’s parents give in. Sometimes the girl’s parents give in to a demand actually made by the boy’s brother-in-law. That is how I ended up with a non-vegetarian feast on my wedding. Thank goodness! We are progressive, educated families where these demands are about such small issues, but the fact remains that even the upper echelons of our society treat daughters as a liability. I thought I was getting married without any dowry being paid, but now a realization struck me – my dowry was that basket of chicken! I was feeling a deep sense of revulsion. I looked down – Ram Kaka the butcher was at work. In a mechanical motion, his left hand would dive into the basket and come out holding the neck of a chicken. He would place the neck on a wooden block. In his right hand, he had a butcher’s machete that he would swing down on the wooden block cleanly severing the head from the rest of the body. The head would fall into a heap on one side, eyes open and the beak still trying to make some sounds. From my vantage point I could still see the fear in each eye. The headless chicken would run around for a minute or so, spewing blood all over the place, until one of Ram Kaka’s assistants would catch it and start skinning it. This was the last straw and I couldn’t take it anymore. I fainted.***I was all decked up. I was the new bride. The wedding celebrations had continued all night and in the morning, I had travelled in the chartered bus with the marriage party to Ludhiana. It was a short four hour trip and everyone was busy trying to catch a few winks to make up for the sleep deprivation from previous night. Once we reached our destination I got a chance to freshen up before I was escorted into a large room full of people. All these people were now my relatives but I didn’t know them yet. I was sitting on a two-seater sofa trying to look demure. The instructions given to me by my relatives were very explicit. Don’t look up. Don’t look anyone in the eye. Keep looking at a spot on the ground ten feet ahead. Don’t laugh. Keep smiling gently but not too much. Don’t frown. Keep your back straight. Talk only when talked to. Don’t talk very animatedly. Don’t object to anything people say, no matter how objectionable. Don’t say no – if anyone asks for anything, give willingly. I kept revising these rules in my mind.On the same sofa with me was my husband. He had that fresh-out-of-college look and didn’t look to be the college professor he was. He had that eager-to-please look which made his face very charming. The sofa was at a prominent spot in the room, the pride of the place, you would say. But the room was palpably dominated by an old man whom I quickly recognized as my father-in-law. Everyone called him Baoji. Everyone coming into the room first greeted him, touched his feet and then only talked to anyone else. You could see that he was a complete patriarch and commanded respect. He was sitting on a small wooden bench on the other side of the room. The entire seating plan in the room was grouped around him and not around us newlyweds. I quickly realized that my husband also has a large family with many siblings. My husband’s younger brother, Joginder was in College and was exactly the same age as my own brother, Sarvesh. This was the day I was meeting my new sisters-in-law. The eldest one was Sita. Her husband was the Principal of the College where my husband was teaching. I made a mental note to treat her as the boss’s wife in addition to being a sister-in-law. The next sister was my namesake Kamala who was married to an engineer in the irrigation department of the State Government. He was a follower of the Radhasoami sect of Beas and their religious head, Maharaj ji, had personally called on Baoji to fix their wedding. I learnt that the unmarried sister, Parvati, was the youngest and was working as a professor in the local women’s college.Next to me were all the women of the house. I guessed that the oldest looking was my mother-in-law whom everyone called Bhaboji. She was dressed in a white embroidered sari and was not wearing any make-up. There was a strange peaceful expression on her face – an inner bliss that was palpably visible on her face. I took an instant liking to her. Everyone was talking as is typical in Punjabi weddings. Soon the discussion shifted to how everyone in the family would distinguish between sister Kamala and me, the new bride Kamala. Soon Baoji was brought into the discussion. He listened to what sister Kamala had to say. “I won’t feel welcome in my parent’s house if I have to share my name with someone.”Baoji was quick to give his verdict, “We must give the bride a new name. Can you girls suggest a good name?”Some names were bandied about. Someone suggested Neeru. Everyone seemed to agree. No one asked my preference. No one consulted me or took my approval. There and then, I was named Neeru Sharma.***It was a busy day. All day long friends, relatives, acquaintances, and their friends kept coming in ostensibly to see the new bride but ending up making it a long social occasion. Bhaboji called me into the kitchen in the evening. “You are the new bride. As per the tradition, you have to make something sweet today,” she said. I was bewildered. I had never cooked anything in my life, let alone a meal for so many people in the house. In my parents’ house, we daughters were never expected to enter the kitchen. My mother had a full time male domestic help Fakira for almost a quarter of a century and had never needed any help in the kitchen from any of us daughters. I was wholly ignorant of what cooking was all about. I couldn’t even tell a pot from a pan. I could have wept at that time. Why did I not spend some time in the kitchen with Biji and Fakira as a part of my training for the wedding?Bhaboji knew what was going on in my mind. She was smiling as she clasped me in her arms. “Don’t worry,” she said, “you don’t have to do anything. I have made this ‘sooji’ (semolina) ka ‘halwa’ for you. Just stir this once, pour it into this bowl here and carry it in the tray to the living room where everyone is sitting. Tell everyone who asks that you made the halwa yourself with just a little help from me. Her face was smiling. Even her eyes were smiling. I hugged her like I had never hugged my own mother!
***

Presenting Pankaj Varma:

Presenting Pankaj Varma: 

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Some 5 star reviews on Amazon

Some 5-Star reviews on Amazon

“Silver Haze by Pankaj Varma is a Mirror of its Times! A five star classic to be kept prominently on the bookshelf!” -Deepak Menon Internationally Published Author of Award Winning Books 

"Silver Haze transported me… fascinating look at the history and culture of India before and after Independence, and a touching story about the life of an Indian woman" - J. Weaver(Hampshire, UK) Goodreads Author 

“Written from the heart.” - Varsha Uke Nagpal, Blogger and Author 

“A poignant sweep through a family's tribulations through 4 generations.” - An Amazon Customer 

“SIMPLY UNPUTDOWNABLE!!! …Could identify easily with the protagonist” - Ranjana Bharij

“Very enjoyable read” - Brinda Ganesh 

“A Beautifully Told Story” - Robert Fear, Author of Fred's Diary 1981 

“A fabulous read!” - Vidya Murthy Lahir 

“A very rich story, wonderfully written!” - Zainab Zaidi 

“Simply awesome!!” - Garima Setia, Maastricht, NL 

Read first 21 pages of my five star biographical novel Silver Haze for FREE. Download  at http://t.co/44WABPHAT9

Some 5-Star reviews on Amazon“Silver Haze by Pankaj Varma...

Some 5-Star reviews on Amazon

“Silver Haze by Pankaj Varma is a Mirror of its Times! A five star classic to be kept prominently on the bookshelf!” -Deepak Menon Internationally Published Author of Award Winning Books 

"Silver Haze transported me… fascinating look at the history and culture of India before and after Independence, and a touching story about the life of an Indian woman" - J. Weaver(Hampshire, UK) Goodreads Author 

“Written from the heart.” - Varsha Uke Nagpal, Blogger and Author 

“A poignant sweep through a family's tribulations through 4 generations.” - An Amazon Customer 

“SIMPLY UNPUTDOWNABLE!!! …Could identify easily with the protagonist” - Ranjana Bharij

“Very enjoyable read” - Brinda Ganesh 

“A Beautifully Told Story” - Robert Fear, Author of Fred's Diary 1981 

“A fabulous read!” - Vidya Murthy Lahir 

“A very rich story, wonderfully written!” - Zainab Zaidi 

“Simply awesome!!” - Garima Setia, Maastricht, NL 

Read first 21 pages of my five star biographical novel Silver Haze for FREE. Download  at http://t.co/44WABPHAT9

Silver Haze - Five star review on Goodreads

A five star review on Goodreads:Jun 27, 2014J.L. Weaver rated it 5 of 5 starsSilver Haze transported me. As I relaxed at home in England, drinking coffee and reading this novel, something exciting happened. I found myself standing in a dusty lane in India, clinging to my new friends while we fought off a pack of ferocious dogs. (view spoiler) but the real hero in this story is Kamala - daughter, wife, mother and grandmother. It was a fascinating look at the history and culture of India before and after Independence, and a touching story about the life of an Indian woman. Mr Varma has preserved these moments (based loosely on real events) beautifully within the pages of his book. The next time I see a red flower, I will be reminded of this story and Kamala.(less)
Check it out at:https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/2...

Silver Haze

Silver Haze by Pankaj VarmaAvailable in US at: Amazon.com, pbshopus, BooKnackrh, 
super_star_seller, brandnewgoodsus
Available in India at: Amazon.in, BookAdda, YHD, uRead, Atlantic Publishers & Distributors
5 five star reviews.
Most Helpful Customer Reviews on Amazon.com 

5.0 out of 5 stars
Silver Haze by Pankaj Varma is a Mirror of its Times! A five star classic to be kept prominently on the bookshelf! 14 June 2014

Deepak Menon - Published on Amazon.com
Format:Kindle Edition|Verified Purchase

Silver Haze,written by Pankaj Varma is one of the really noteworthy additions to English Literature which I have read in many years. Basing his story on recollections of the past by his mother, who is dj8iagnosed with Alzhiemers Disease, and is losing her memory by and by, Pankaj has delved into her notebook and his own memory of what she told about her life, and has produced a masterpiece – this book exemplifies the most intense definition of literature viz “It is a Mirror of the Times”. While reading it the reader will shift into a time warp taking him or her back to the days long gone; the lost ethics; the way girls were kept by the parents and literally had no say in their marriages or future; the strict rules by which the house was run; the rebels amongst the younger generation vainly striving to make a difference to the world, yet with perspectives far removed from the actual conditions prevailing in pre and post partition of the Indian subcontinent. Oh what can one write about such a beautifully written book? I have no words to express how delighted I am by this classic and have no hesitation in describing it as one of the best works of fictionalised real life of the decade. I strongly recommend this book to every one and award it a well deserved 5 Star, which I am sure will be only amongst the first of many more!
Deepak Menon (Author)
[...]
Dehradun, India


5.0 out of 5 stars
A fabulous read! 4 June 2014
By Vidya Murthy Lahiri - Published on Amazon.com
Format:Kindle Edition|Verified Purchase

This is such a lovely read that you simply cannot put it down! Neeru /Kamala is an amazingly lady that you would want to personally get to know..


5.0 out of 5 stars
SIMPLY UNPUTDOWNABLE!!! 4 June 2014
By Ranjana Bharij - Published on Amazon.com
Format:Paperback
If you buy this book when you have some other commitment, you are sure to miss the other commitment, so engrossing it is....simply unputdownable! Could identify easily with the protagonist.Most Helpful Customer Reviews on Amazon.in5.0 out of 5 stars  Simply awesome!!  10 June 2014By Garima SetiaFormat:PaperbackAwesome book! Keeps you guessing about what happens next! I enjoyed every moment of it and found it difficult to put down before reaching the end.
5.0 out of 5 starsWritten from the heart. 7 June 2014By varsha uke nagpalFormat:Kindle EditionIt is a book written straight from the heart. Kamala is a girl who was educated and could think for herself, but the social structure of the times made her fall in line with what was expected of her. Her will, her desire, her thinking was all lost in her willingness to adjust with her circumstances. She is the quintessential Indian woman who was growing up in a country which was still trying to get liberated not only politically but also socially.The male dominated society of India, did not allow women to think for themselves.They had separate domains, where again they did not have the liberty to decide a lot of things. Like Kamala is the mistress of her kitchen but the menu is decided by her husband!Perhaps stifling of thoughts, always trying to adjust, worrying and not being able to voice her concerns must have made her persona suffer.A really well written tribute from a son to his mother.About the Book
Diagnosed with dementia and possible Alzheimer’s, she faces the prospect of a steady decline in her mental functions. She starts writing down her story, writing down everything she knows while she still remembers it so that she can read it back when dementia makes her forget it all. She is elated that dementia cannot rob her of memories now because she has it all written down. It is a major victory for her as she tries to combat the onslaught of her disease. Her story has been re-written by her son to present this touching narrative straight from the heart.This fascinating and intriguing story spans a major part of the 20th century in North India and depicts the hurdles faced by an educated girl before and after marriage. It gives an unusual insight into India-that-was, reflecting the social mores of that time. A must read for everyone connected with India and for anyone who has a loved one suffering from dementia.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Pankaj Varma is an MSc (Hons School) in Physics. He started out as a Probationary Officer in State Bank of India and retired as a Deputy General Manager in a career spanning four decades. He now lives in Panchkula (Chandigarh) with his wife and his mother. He is a prolific writer and has written several books and training material for his bank as well as for other institutes. This is his first novel.
You can buy both print book and e-book at

http://www.amazon.in/Silver-Haze-Pank...

or at:
http://www.amazon.com/Silver-Haze-Pankaj-Varma-ebook/dp/B00KNM9K2O
or
http://www.amazon.com/Silver-Haze-Pankaj-Varma/dp/1499686595

Please do write a review on Amazon after reading the book.

Will Men Learn to Respect Women?

Will Men Learn to Respect Women?An evolutionary perspectiveRecent incidents in Delhi and elsewhere have brought to the fore the asymmetry between the treatment of men and women in our society. A lot has appeared in the press on this subject, projecting various view-points. I try to present here a perspective from the backdrop of the theory of evolution. My objective is to explain behavior as it is evolving so that we get an insight into the shape of things to come. Evolutionary biology says that we are descended from ape like primates driven by the Darwinian principle of Survival of the Fittest. The entire evolutionary story has one theme, survival, and explains to a large extent why we are what we are. The story is about reproduction and mixing up of the parent genes to yield a variety of traits (or genes, if you prefer). Darwin postulated that only those variations survive which give the offspring a better chance of coping with the environment. The changes start as small subtle changes in behavior or other characteristics and get wired into the DNA in a few generations. Darwin had presumed this to be a slow continuous process but today we believe that this is a rather jerky process as the species change dramatically within a few generations in rapidly changing environments. For example, scientists now believe that a cataclysmic event led to the extinction of most dinosaurs at the end of the Mesozoic Era. The mammals became the dominant vertebrates within a few generations to fill the gap created. At other times when the environment is more stable, we have long periods of no major evolutionary change. Man had gone through a period of high evolutionary activity several millennia ago when man made the transition from hunter-gatherer to farmer-settler. It seems we are going through one such rapidly changing phase again now. Early manLet us start with the paleolithic man. The earlier stages of evolution in this era had already brought out differences between males and females of mammals. The female is dependent on the male for food and survival in the extended child bearing and child rearing phases – often giving the males the upper edge in the relationship (Note that cave paintings rarely depict a woman hunting).There is also an asymmetry in the reproduction process viz. the female produces only a few dozen eggs during her entire lifetime but the male produces literally millions of sperms. The eggs are comparatively large and packed with nutrients in addition to the genetic DNA material and move comparatively slowly. The sperm, in comparison are small, mobile and contain only the minimum essential genetic information. This biological difference has governed the process of selection of partners by the two sexes since that time. The females have scarce resources (eggs) and have to invest heavily in child-birth and are thus choosier and want to let only the best sperms come near them (They wait for Mr. Right to come along). The quality of sperms is figured out on the basis of how healthy looking and well-built the man is and his ability to hunt and lead men. The man has a virtually unlimited supply of sperms and can afford to be more profligate, squandering his sperms at all opportunities (reminiscent of Casanova). Survival of his genes require that he should have as many sex partners as he can, counting on all those females who seem capable of child-bearing and child rearing.There is another major difference between man and earlier primates. In primates, as in all lower animals the sex act is performed solely for the purpose of procreation. The female primarily cares for the new born before and after birth. The male’s role often ends with delivery of sperms but in many species, including man, extends to protecting the mother and child and participating in the care of the young ones. Evolution now required that mother and father should be bonded together so that they raise the children through the long years of child rearing (extending into decades). The bonding is achieved by making the sex act pleasurable and making it available independent of child bearing. The able bodied adult male can perform the act any time round the year even a few hours after the last act. The female can perform the act repeated for some 26 days in a month even though she can conceive a child only on 2-3 days in the month.Economic ManThe transition from hunter-gatherer to farmer - settler was a major evolutionary change and required man to live in communities. Thus man evolved into the Economic Man, whose focus changed from physical survival to economic survival. This required a man to be the bread - earner and work outside the home to raise enough money for the family. The womenfolk were required to run the house and raise the family. This is beautifully summed up in the title of a Seinfeld standup comedy “Men Hunt and Women Nest”. Apart from looking after the house and the children, women did work on the farm were a “producer” in the economic sense but their role continued to be secondary. The family became the unit for the fight for survival and evolution depended primarily on economic survival rather than on physical survival.The male, in his role as the bread winner, was in a commanding position. It was no longer necessary for the man to be physically attractive – it was enough if he had the money. Even the most grotesque specimens could pick the most desirable brides with their access to money. Sexual exploits of the kings of old serve to illustrate this point. The woman became a thing to be bought and sold to the highest bidder, a mere chattel. There is a history of “bride price” in every civilization (North India seems to be the only exception where bride’s parents pay a dowry). With progress in agriculture and advent of specialization, the Economic Man had to live in progressively larger communities and this resulted in more frequent clashes over their women. The male libido still had the roving eye and required a new conquest every now and then. The rich now had slaves and armies to conquer the lady love and defend her from other male predators. This recourse was not available to the poorer folks. This was about the time that religion and morality were invented in different civilizations. The moral code, with or without invoking a fear of God, essentially forbade sex without society’s approval through customs of marriage, forbade sexual relationships with close relatives, required a certain amount of celibacy, and often (not always) encouraged monogamy. The society’s rules now also controlled aggression (e.g. do not fight in the presence of superiors) and led to control over acceptable forms of language and conduct (civilized behavior). In many societies the women were now locked up in purdah and harems and kept out of sight of all other men. Instead of a Casanova looking for as many women he can find, the gender stereotype that now emerges is that the male is the large aggressive animal ready to take on other males of the species to secure the favours of the chosen female. The female is looking for and evaluating the best male available for fathering her brood. The female is not aggressive but can be dominating and can go to any lengths for the safety of her progeny.
Modern ManThese changes had come in several millennia ago. There were small incremental changes but no major evolutionary change for a long time. We now believe we are now undergoing a major change and are transforming ourselves into a, for want of a better word, Modern Man. The change started accelerating about a century ago and we do not yet have any idea how long this phase will last. The major difference between the Economic Man and the Modern Man is that Survival is not an issue anymore. With increase in income levels even economic survival has ceased to be a major driver for a substantial portion of the human society.  The society and the governments do everything within their power to make sure each person’s genes are able to survive and multiply irrespective of whether the genes are “fittest” or not. The trend started several centuries ago, notably with the advent of printing press, universal education, and industrial revolution but has picked up speed only in the 20th Century. The first major driver was Freudian psychology which helped dismantle the moral code of the Economic Man. The second was the large scale induction of women in the work force, led primarily by the two world wars in the last century. The third was the invention of the contraceptives which effectively delinked sexual activity from reproduction. The entire process has been further accelerated by scientific and social advances which have provided better childcare, medical care, care of orphans, and financial aid to the poor (dole) and so on. With survival no longer an issue, the improving economic status of the majority of people ensure that an increasing number of people now do not need jobs just for survival. This reduction in dependency is reflected in a work culture where people take more sabbaticals than ever before, take longer holidays, often taking longer breaks between jobs. These people are ready to do a job only on their own terms and are ready to throw in the towel at the smallest issue. This behavior is more common in countries with higher per capita incomes and is catching on in other countries as the incomes rise. Their wages are also fixed more and more on market related issues and the concept of subsistence wages has practically vanished, even in poorer economies. Savings have lost their relevance which explains to a large extent the popularity of buy-now-pay-later lifestyles around the world. The proliferation of credit cards and personal loans are a testimony to this trend. People across the globe have substantially more time at their disposal than ever before. In part this is because of lower commitment to their jobs (because of lower dependency on jobs for survival) and partly because scientific innovations have dramatically reduced drudgery both at home and in the workplace. The rising income has also contributed to this trend by making these drudgery reducing gadgets more affordable.Earlier generations would have used a part of their surplus time for self-development (e.g. learning new skills) in a bid to improve their chances of survival, or for working harder to earn and save some extra money. With survival no longer an issue, these activities are on the decline. Instead people want to use all their spare time to “feel good”. Thus activities becoming popular are: hobbies, sports, games, holidaying and partying, none of which contribute significantly to survival (economic or otherwise) but improve the quality of life. Time spent with sex partners falls in this category of time structuring.
Alpha MalesIn the wild, many animals live in a social structure where the most powerful male in the group is decided by either simple play-fights or even very aggressive battles. The current alpha male must defend his ranking from younger members. When he is too old or not strong enough to win, he loses his position in the group. The result of this is that the alpha male usually has more opportunity to mate with the available females. This system developed because strong males will produce young which have a better chance for survival. In human context alpha male refers to an aggressive, highly-ranked man in a human group.The alpha males were important in the evolutionary scheme of things in the caveman society. As the economic man flourished the code of ethics, the new morality, the entire religious system worked to suppress this aggressiveness. Even the rich had to behave in a gentlemanly fashion and treat the women with some degree of respect. But the innate aggression which was hard-wired into the genes over several hundred millennia was still there and heightened the male aggression.  With survival now taking a back seat the modern man no longer needs the gender stereotypes. True, the modern woman still has to go through the pangs of childbirth and breast feeding, but with far fewer childbirths than before (lower child mortality rates) and with better facilities (baby sitters, daycares etc.), she can practice time structuring and achievement motivation with the same zeal as her male counterpart without thinking of mere survival. She is able to hold her own against the next man. But the genetic differences are still at work and make their presence felt in myriad ways. For example, men watch and talk about sports as a way of fighting off aggression, an activity many women find useless. Women are more likely to share their inner thoughts and private matters with their good friends compared to men. In the selection of mates, men find it harder to show their aggression on other males to win the affections of the girl and often end up showing aggression on the object of their affections (there is a rape in US every 5 minutes). Even though these gender based traits are no longer required, these can be expected to continue for a considerable period of time since there is no evolutionary pressure to change these traits. If evolutionary pressure cannot do it, the only way to curb gender based violence is to do what man did at the time of advent of the economic man: build a strong moral or religious social structure which will be able to inhibit the animal in the man. This may be more difficult this time as the educated man is more self-centric and less compliant. So we have an uphill task to build a society where men and women are more equal and where they can live and love end enjoy. Meanwhile it is Vive la différence

On Punjabi Food

As a part of my job, my wife and I have been traveling a lot and have been staying in different hotels in various places. It is the same story everywhere. About three days after we check into the hotel, the chef spots us as what the hotel people euphemistically call “long term guests” (Like investment brokers the hotel managers idea of long term is 36 hours). He will saunter over to the table where we are trying to catch the attention of the waiter. The conversation often goes like this:
“Hello I am Chef such-and-such in this hotel. How are you enjoying your stay with us?” He is only the Chef – no point talking to him about the mix-up in the room service order in the afternoon.
“Oh! Great” we both say, “We are enjoying our stay very much.”
Small talk ensues. “How long are you going to stay with us?” “We are here for another couple of weeks.” “Where are you from?” “Chandigarh”
Suddenly his face will light up. “Can I cook up some Punjabi Food for you?”
Before we can protest he has already signed us up to dine on Kadhi-Chawal or Rajma or some other dish, which he believes, is Punjabi Food. Next day we dutifully turn up for that special food he has laid out for us. We even compliment the Chef (after all complaints to the Chef can be hazardous to your health). But, not once has this fare managed to revive our nostalgia for the kind of foods we have grown up with.

Same thing happens when people invite us over for dinner and serve Punjabi Food. So what is Punjabi Food all about? I guess I am as qualified as anybody to answer this question, having been born and brought up in Ludhiana, which is right in the heart of Punjab. Having lived several years (decades) outside Punjab with frequent visits to parents/ in-laws in Punjab enables me to take a more objective view. I am fortunate that my wife is a wonderful cook and is proficient in a variety of cuisines. We often have food from various parts of the country/world – I guess that makes me just the right person to talk about Punjabi Food and its nuances. So here goes.

Chicken is in

Butter Chicken is to Punjab what Chicken Tikka Masala is to London – a revered dish clamoring for the status of a national dish. Tandoori Chicken is the next most popular – it’s great as a snack and should be served straight out of the tandoor. But Punjabi food is not just about non-vegetarian food. In fact there are a lot of veggies in Punjab. My wife is from a vegetarian family who don’t even let an egg enter their house.

Paneer is Vegetarian

Go to any Punjabi do – while there is chicken for the non-vegetarians, there is paneer (cottage cheese) for the vegetarians. Or else it is some mushroom dish or many times both. Sometimes eating cottage cheese so frequently becomes a bore even though it does come in lots of forms – there is shahi paneer, paneer in virtually every form of curry, paneer in Pulaos and even salads. There are paneer pakoras and paneer parathas too. It may be added fried or un-fried in all these dishes – in a powdery scrambled form or in neatly cut cubes.

Tomatoes and Onions

These are perhaps the most important part of Punjabi cuisine. My cousin’s wife (a non-punjabi) once told me “It is so easy to cook up Punjabi Food! Just add a lot of tomatoes and onions!!” She could have added ginger and garlic also. After living outside Punjab for so many years, whenever we visit my parents in Ludhiana, the quantity of onions & tomatoes they buy every day does seem scandalous. Except for desserts, these items find a place in almost every dish – parathas, salads, main dishes, vegetables, and chicken dishes, whatever.

Jeera (cumin) does the trick

Years ago, before I got married, I was sharing a flat with friends when I started cooking. My friend Iyer had grown up in Delhi and considered himself quite a Punjabi (he spoke Punjabi language quite well). But when it came to cooking, we soon discovered what the North-South divide was all about. In the kind of elementary cooking we were doing in those days, I found I could adapt many of his favorite dishes by just replacing Rai (poppy seeds) with Jeera (Cumin) and vice versa. Over the years I realized this is a kind of a trademark for Punjabi Food – lots of Jeera. There are a whole variety of things where Jeera is used – in practically all dishes, in rice, as a drink as Jal Jeera. Roast Ground Jeera is used in various Raitas. You can never go wrong with Jeera if you are cooking Punjabi Food.

Food is Always Served Hot

We Punjabis have a fetish about food being served fresh from the fire. No lukewarm stuff will do. In most Punjabi households, the housewife (with or without the help of servants) will actually make the chapattis or the tandoori rotis while the family is eating and dish out one roti at a time as they are cooked. As a kid I remember when we did not feel like making rotis at home I had to carry some dough (kneaded atta) and a casserole (to carry the rotis back home in) and a towel (to wrap the rotis before putting them in the container) to the neighborhood tandoor and wait in the blistering sun while the old lady there silently transformed that gooey dough into delicious rotis (with, very literally, the sweat of her brows). The idea of a celebration at home was going out and buying some jalebis in the evening – the trick, I had learnt, was to ride my bicycle like hell from the sweetmeat shop back home, transfer the jalebis into a plate and get everyone to start eating while they were still hot enough to burn your mouth. The College was mostly about the tuck-shop (canteen), where everybody ate large quantities of extra large freshly prepared overstuffed straight-from-the-furnace samosas and warm (almost boiling hot) gulab-jamuns. I have not had such hot samosas anywhere else but microwaving gulab-jamuns with some sugar syrup comes quite close.

Food must be freshly cooked

Most Punjabi food tastes great when it is freshly cooked. Some dishes (like the yellow moong daal) require being cooked minutes before they are served. All breads, all tandoori dishes must be cooked fresh and served immediately. No reheating ever. In Punjabi weddings and feasts, even though food is served buffet style, everyone has food at the same time – you don’t have the custom of laying out the food and people coming in and eating over a period of time (hours in some communities). The caterers will bring all the ingredients and cook there on the site in such a way that main dishes are all ready at the same time. There are, of course, exceptions to the rule: Daal Makhani (Kali Daal) and Sarson ka saag taste better if cooked the previous day.

How many dishes?

A fallout of the Punjabi penchant for hot freshly cooked food is that there are larger helpings and fewer dishes in any meal compared to cuisines from other parts of the country, whether it is a small family meal, entertaining guests at home or a more elaborate feast. On occasions where other communities will serve you dozens of dishes (sometimes in bird shit quantities), the Punjabi meal might have just over half a dozen dishes. Even then many people will not take all the dishes on offer. For example, my sister won’t touch any other dish if Rajma and Rice are served (even I do that sometimes). Another fallout is that large buffet meals (where a large variety of dishes are kept warm for hours) are not conducive to Punjabi Food. Maybe that is why, none of the Punjabi dishes were popular in the elaborate buffet meals at any of the starred hotels in South India where we stayed, but were available on all their a la carte menus.

Oil Yes! Frying No!! – We are Punjabis!

It’s actually quite easy to cook Punjabi dishes. There are only a limited number of things that need frying. Vegetables are often cooked by just dunking them (with tomatoes and onions) in a cauldron and cooking till they are done (you might have to dry off the extra water). The vegetables are usually left a little under-done, as my mother often insists, so that you can actually taste the original taste of the vegetable. This does not prevent people from having a lot of oil or ghee that can be added later. Often only the curry paste (you guessed it – onions and tomatoes ground to a paste) is fried in many curries. The tadka in the daal is the fried onion & tomatoes. The Jeera is usually fried.

Choice of Breads

No meal is complete without some kind of Bread. It can be a variety of things including phulkas, parathas, tandoori rotis or parathas, naans, or kulchas. They can all be plain or stuffed. The only condition is – they must be served hot. I may also mention Makki ki roti, which must be cooked within minutes of kneading – so much so that you have to knead separately for each roti.

Choice of Daals

In most parts of the country, people are content to eat the same daal (lentil) day after day. Not so in Punjab. Most households will have about a half a dozen different daals and will usually eat a different daal with every meal. Besides Rajma and Chole (the white ones and the black ones), there is Moong whole (green daal), Moong washed (or, more properly, peeled broken green gram – the yellow daal), Maah (Urd in other states) whole – black daal, Urd washed (yellow again), Masar whole (black), Masar washed (also called Malika Masar) – pink daal, as also soyabeans, Makhanbeans and a whole lot of lesser known daals. There are also unpeeled broken daals available. Many places will serve you a mixed cocktail of daals – you can buy from the grocer daal panchrunga a mixture of 5 different daals.

Hostel Food

Hostel in Chandigarh was a good representation of the Punjabi food. The menu was always Rajma-Chawal (thrice a week), Kadhi-Chawal (twice), Chole with Puris and Chawal (twice) for lunch. Dinner was a variety of daals (a different daal every day of the week), chicken/mutton curry (3-4 times a week). Every meal had fresh-from-the-fire rotis or phulkas (so hot you could burn your fingers), a choice of dahi or lassi. The hostel food was not expensive and the contractors used very little cooking oil. (How we wish we could get that kind of food now when we are both trying to keep our respective weights in check while still enjoying the rich hotel food.) Each and every boy in the hostel used to bring out a small box of desi ghee (clarified butter) and dollop a large helping (several tablespoons) into each dish before eating it. The hostel mess had that desi ghee fragrance all the time.

Punjabi Desserts

Any discussion of Punjabi Food is not complete without mentioning the desserts. The most notable is the gajar ka halwa (Gajrela) when carrots are in season). The traditional recipes start with a lot of milk and khoya and keep cooking with shredded carrots till it all dries up leaving a concentrated solid. It is a heavy and tedious dish requiring hours of cooking time. Another important dessert is the suji ka halwa. The kind given out in the Sikh Gurdwara (Karah Prasad) is lovingly prepared with lots of desi ghee and a mixture of Suji and Atta. Any time, occasion or no occasion, is the time to celebrate the Punjabi dessert.

On Caste Based Reservation

Reservations
Are we on the right path?
Were our founding fathers right in starting reservations?
What should be done?

This is a controversy that has generated quite some heat whenever it has been raised. In the old Mandal days, a heated agitation by the entire student community went unheeded by the political masters of the day. There is a growing feeling that the issue will keep coming up again and again until a viable and just solution acceptable to all is found. I have a suggestion for just such a solution that seems just and viable. But first, let me discuss some of the issues involved. Let us take up these issues one by one.

Is reservation really required?
The original argument runs like this:
· SC/ST have faced centuries of oppression. You need to give them special treatment to make up for all those lost centuries?
· The OBCs did not face oppression in the same way as the SC/ST but they have suffered from systematic disadvantage in accessing higher education and middle class jobs. To quote: Number of graduates is 253 out of every 1000 upper caste Hindus while it is only 86 per 1000 OBCs (Source: National Sample Survey).
The presupposition is that this is not a result of any natural difference in IQ or in a desire to pursue education but reflects only unequal opportunities.

Is caste oppression and untouchability a case for reservation?
Oppression in the past generations cannot be an argument for reservations for the new generations. Our founding fathers built our constitution with a promise of equality of opportunity irrespective of caste, creed, gender and religion. They made a small mistake. They put in reservation. They allowed this aberration (yes, that’s what they thought it is) for only 10 years and for only 10%. They did not realize that our power hungry politicians would use vote bank politics to divide and rule. The aberration has been extended beyond the original period many fold over and has been extended to OBCs and other categories. You may recall that the country’s early leaders had mandated that caste should not be a parameter recoded in the ten-yearly census, which is why no one has a good estimate of the OBCs in the country.

Is backwardness a case for intervention?
Any community that has been left behind in social, economic, and educational opportunities needs help from the more progressive communities. It is the duty of every citizen, as well as a responsibility of the Government, to narrow down these differences between communities.

However, this does not entitle anyone to snatch other people’s rights. Reservation amounts to snatching the legitimate right of the meritorious and can never be condoned.

Are Brahmins the Dalits of today?
It is true. We hear stories – all the workers at Sulabh Shonchalayas in Delhi are Brahmins. Almost 75% of the coolies in Delhi Railway Station are Brahmins. Further away, 75% of the rickshaw pullers in Varanasi are Brahmins. It is very difficult to identify which castes are really the oppressed. The reservation issue has only fractured the Hindu society. The politicians are the only gainers in this exercise.

What about economic backwardness?
Economic Backwardness is the easiest to identify. However, there is an inherent flaw – low income/wealth is the result of economic decisions taken by the family and does not represent social oppression. However, continued deprivation for over several generations should be a criterion for any systematic help from the society.

What about reservations for sportsmen, war widows etc.?
We already have some reservations for sportsmen, war widows, army men’s families, freedom fighter’s families and others. There has been no open public controversy on this issue only because the number of seats reserved for them in most institutes is miniscule. Our feedback at college level is that many of these special category students are not able to integrate into the mainstream and have low self-esteem that results in problems in making friends, problems in relating to their peer group and in adjusting with the environment. They are often ostracized by their peers and can be exposed to sometimes very cruel jokes. The percentage of dropouts is also usually high. Exactly the same kind of feedback is available for SC/ST and for OBC students. It is apparent that reservations as such do not achieve the intended purpose.

What about reservation for the rich?
Many professional colleges already have some seats marked as Management Quota, Donation seats, NRI seats etc. These students have their own set of problems. At many places these students demand and get special privileges – right to misbehave with teachers and other students, right to bunk classes, and a right to flaunt their expensive toys (cars, mobiles and so on). These institutes usually do it because they are cash starved but they know they cannot build a good institute on donations – you need merit.

What about mediocrity?
An educational institute is only as good as its students and its teachers. We cannot have any world-class colleges, schools, and institutes unless we get the best people. Reservations in education and jobs cut both ways – the level of both teachers and the students both goes down. Are we going to be content with making mediocre doctors, engineers and managers? We need to build world-class institutes to be able to get ahead in this world.

Will increasing seats in IIT solve anything?
The present debate in the country is revolving around the government’s offer to reserve seats in IITs and IIMs by creating additional seats in equal number – an offer that has not been accepted by the student community. The issue here should be whether we can still project IITs and IIMs as world-class institutes with this change. If we can increase the number of seats so dramatically and still keep up the quality, why hasn’t the Government done it already, over a period of time, instead of doing it now suddenly as a knee jerk reaction? The number of seats in each institute should be determined by the demand, the infrastructure available, the availability of faculty of requisite stature, and availability of a good pool of students. It has nothing to do with reservation! If the politicians want that students with lower merit should be admitted to these institutes, it might be a better idea to open separate IITs and IIMs for them, instead of allowing the standards in existing institutes to suffer.

Is reservation the only form of intervention?
The above arguments suggest that there is a need for a social intervention or “affirmative action”. It only suggests that people and government machinery should take some action and policy interventions may be required. These arguments do not suggest reservation per se.

Up to what level should reservations go? School? College? Professional Institutes? Jobs? Promotions? Senior positions? CEOs?
We have seen that reservations are against the principle of equality of opportunity, reduce the quality of our institutions, create problems for the people intended to be helped and promote mediocrity. It is obvious that reservations cannot be advocated at any level, even at junior school level. It may be more practical to open separate special institutes for the disadvantaged.

Are there alternative models of intervention?
Reservation is not the only way – there are a number of things that the society and the Government can do to mitigate the hardship faced by the backward. Some of these are:
· To encourage people from backward communities to make it to top institutes like IITs, IIMs, and Medical Colleges, Government should give special subsidy to the coaching institute whose students from the challenged communities get selected in the competitive examinations. And this subsidy should be substantial enough to make these coaching classes go out and seek out the students from these communities, run special classes for them and get them selected (someone in my office was suggesting 1.5 to two times the fees the coaching institutes charge normally).
· There should be scholarships for the students from the challenged communities. These scholarships should be attractive enough to minimize dropouts. Such scholarship can also take the form of free tuition, free books, access to libraries and special coaching classes besides free meals and other cost of living expenses. These incentives should start from junior school itself for the meritorious.
· We already have separate welfare societies for different religious communities. These societies often run schools, colleges, institutes, and even universities where they give preference to people from their own communities. Thus you have Christian Colleges, Muslim Colleges, Sikh Colleges, Jain institutes etc. at so many places in the country. All these religious communities have effectively ensured that they are not educationally disadvantaged. I suggest the same concept can be promoted with the backward communities. With some nudging from the Government, the many Yadava societies (presently already operating marriage halls at many locations) can come forward to open schools and colleges.

What should we do?
The present agitation has an ugly aspect – reports suggest that the agitating students are ostracizing the reserved category students in their classes as a part of their current agitation. This is doing more harm than good. They are playing right into the hands of the politicians. They need to be more understanding towards the less privileged – as a first step I suggest opening dialogue with all the reserved category students and convincing them about the benefits of a no-reservation policy.

The Temple run by Beaureucracy

We were in Tirupati for a week. The very first day we went up to Tirumala for a darshan of Lord Venkateshwara (also known as Balaji). We were told that almost sixty thousand to a hundred thousand people visit the shrine every day. Its all well organized and you don’t feel any traffic constriction on the way – just the miles of queues that are standard in most Indian temples. But the queues move in an orderly fashion and you can feel the excellent traffic management and man management in action.

The darshan itself is brief. The rules are simple. You have to keep your cell phone switched off (I presume a security requirement). You can’t wear or carry any flowers (All flowers must be used to adorn the God). There is no distinction of caste and everone is welcome, but if you have money to give or are a VIP you can jump the queue. You don’t refer to it as a statue – it is the God himself you are having the darshan of. You see the God from a distance and move on with the queue.

Out of the thousands and thousands of people who come here every hour, there must be quite a few who have come here, like me, for the first time. I was a little disappointed that there is practically no effort visible to spread the message of Balaji. Even the story of Balaji I could decipher only in fragments. The best source of information was the Sound & Light Show at the Chandragiri Fort (with commentary in Amitabh Bachhan’s voice) close to Tirupati. Somehow, I felt that the temple, the temple authorities, and perhaps the whole local populace were in some kind of a conspiracy to keep their secrets only among the already existing devotees. Then I thought – here is a temple (and a deity) that has lasted the test of time. It has seen so many political economic and social upheavals but has gone on from strength to strength – making it the richest religious body in the world, exceeding even the Roman Catholic Church! It has certainly no need to market itself – not now and not at any time in the past. Maybe it is this reluctance to induce new devotees that has been why it has been able to survive and flourish through trials and tribulations.

The temple is run by Tirumala Tirupati Devasthanam (or TTD for short). An IAS Officer heads TTD. The whole management is with IAS Officers and officers from the Allied Services. I believe it is run like any other beaurucracy. I could see the tender notices, re-notifications and the like in the local newspapers every day! The TTD is rich. The temple is practically covered with a solid sheet of gold. I am told all the local banks scurry to get a slice of the pie, the fat deposits estimated in billions of Rupees. What is the TTD doing with the money it has? The local people were all praise that TTD had spent some funds for providing amenities for the devotees, improving road conditions and the like. TTD builds and maintains temples at other places also, but all this expenditure is a small portion of the inflow. On the whole, TTD is just sitting there getting richer. My taxi driver summed it up beautifully – “TTD is doing everything to increase its income. Well, that’s what a good, well-oiled beaurucracy is supposed to do – isn’t it?”

I guess he is right – you can see evidence of TTDs efforts to get more devotees to come more frequently. You can see TTD’s initiatives like package tours that include travel, hotel stay and darshan. There are also initiatives like e-hundi, an initiative that enables you to make your donation through ATMs and Internet Banking without actually coming up to Tirumala. I found the use of the word hundi a little disconcerting – in North India a hundi is a promissory note or an IOU but here it is the collection box.

I would have been more comfortable to see the TTD use a much larger portion of the funds at its disposal for removing poverty and implementing social projects that will bring give back to the society what the society has given to the temple. Or, maybe the beaureucrats at TTD think that that is the work for their colleagues in other departments of the Government.