Napoleon Goes to Afghanistan
Dr. Dev Prakash Sharma is a picture of erudition. He is really gifted. From schooldays he has been a keen debater with a rare gift of mixing up his arguments with Urdu couplets and coming up with a heady concoction that never misses the judges’ commendations. Today too, he is one of the most powerful management council members of the University and one who can simply demolish the opponent’s citadel with the torrent of arguments that pour out spontaneously from his mouth. He is probably the most knowledgeable as far as the University law is concerned and can quote the section, sub-section etc. of the law that applies to a given point. He is also a public speaker in great demand. Numerous inauguration ceremonies cannot be called complete till he has spoken. He gets admiring glances from one and all – “how do you read so much and keep up to date with all branches of knowledge with the kind of busy schedule that you keep?” is often the gushy question asked by members of the audience. Obviously he loves to hear the question and his standard response is a smile that somehow projects his modesty and humbleness.
This bunch of young lecturers gets a bit suspicious about his knowledge. “The guy simply concocts facts,” says one over a cup of tea.
“I think you are right,” agrees the other. “Last time that I listened to him, he spoke about Napoleon. Now I am a Napoleon buff and do not remember having ever read what he had to say.”
“But that you did not read it does not mean that it is untrue,” disagrees the third. “After all, he is very well read. Everyone says so.”
The first two look at each other. The first one speaks again. “I too have my own things to add. I have heard him speak several times on the topic that interests me. Several times he has had to say things that actually went contrary to whatever I know of the subject. I am more or less sure that he conjures things up. And since no one has ever heard about these and since he keeps saying that this information has come up very recently, everyone gets impressed by his erudition and the desire in him to learn new things inspite of the busy schedule. Also, since the information is recent and since most people are internet illiterates, no one has any way to cross check. I looked up the internet about what he said and found nothing.” The guy got tired after the long tirade and took a quick sip from his now lukewarm tea.
“Even if you are right, which I doubt, it is of no use just making allegations. Who is going to believe you? Least of all I.” says the dissenter.
The two allegers now get their heads together. A plan is invented to nail the truth about Mr. Dev Prakash Sharma. They tell the dissenter about the plan and tell him that it will be implemented the next time the guy speaks.
“But what if he speaks on a subject alien to you,” the dissenter expresses his doubt.
“It does not matter. The plan goes ahead even with that eventuality. And it actually does not matter what he speaks about. Think about it and you will understand.” The allegers are obviously enthusiastic.
“I doubt you will succeed. I think Dr. Sharma is knowledgeable and it is your goose that is going to be cooked. And to think of the deviousness of the plan. Why? There is one person in this University who cares about knowledge and he has to deal with devious people like you. No. Its your plan that is going to come unstuck.”
“Let’s have a bet then. Dr. Sharma’s win is your win. If you win, we give you a treat, if you lose, you give us one,” the allegers are confident.
“That’s unfair,” protests the dissenter. “You two together give a treat if you lose and I give it alone to you two if I lose. No way.”
The deal is struck moments later. If the dissenter wins, he gets treated twice. If the allegers win, they get treated once. The game is on.
Dr. Dev Prakash Sharma arrives to speak as a resource person in an orientation course for young lecturers. He is speaking about Napoleon again. The allegers and the dissenter exchange quick glances; as per the plan, they are sitting far apart from each other in the audience. There is again new information about napoleon that he proffers this one different from his previous lecture. The guy, it seems keeps reading all the time! It also seems that most historians are so worked up about Napoleon that they keep uncovering new information about him at a rate that even Napoleon couldn’t create.
The lecture ends. The allegers move for the kill.
“Sir,” says alleger number one, “In a very recent article that has been published in the Journal of Asiatic Studies, it has been brought to light that Napoleon in fact traveled to Afghanistan to learn the methods of torture from the tribal people there. I wanted to know from you whether you think Napoleon was sadistic.” The alleger sits down.
“Sir, before you answer,” interjects the second alleger from another row across the room, “I just wanted to say that I too have chanced across that recent article, but my colleague here is slightly off the mark. Napoleon traveled to a province that is today at the border of Iran and Afghanistan and not Afghanistan itself. But I do not think that was sadism. It was just good learning about how to make spies speak.” The second alleger sits down.
Mr. Dev Prakash Sharma looks at both the allegers and the audience in general. His face is beaming. He speaks.
“This is lovely,” he gushes. “This is what I have always been talking about and have cherished all my life. Youngsters such as these keeping abreast of the recent most happenings in their fields. These are the kind of people that make a University go ahead.”
He pauses for effect, beams commendatory smiles at both allegers and then starts again, “I too have chanced upon that article and in fact was lucky to read it. It does appear from it that Napoleon did indeed come to Afghanistan and ……………”
In the evening, the dissenter is treating the two allegers and shaking his head in disbelief and the pain of needless lightening of his pocket. The plan was deviously simple. There was no such article and napoleon never went to Afghanistan. It was just a bait to see whether Dr. Sharma swallowed it. He did and proved that most of his “recent informations” were actually the result of his culinary skills.
Deviousness has its fruits of course and the two allegers were enjoying it that evening. And Dr. Sharma should know better because he has been enjoying the academic and intangible fruits of deviousness all along.
Monday, September 3, 2007
Sunday, September 2, 2007
SCENES FROM THE INDIAN ACADEMICA: V
Kalu Sir
I am conducting a practical and the students are busy peering through microscopes when I hear a voice immediately behind me.
`Is this the physics department?’
I turn back. A boy. Clad in denims and a T- shirt, a goggle hanging carelessly through one of the belt-loops, is looking at me.
`No. This is biochemistry.’
`But Kalu sir said this was physics,’ he insists.
`Kalu sir? Who is Kalu sir?’ Now this is perplexing. I have never heard of this teacher. And even if there is one, Kalu is usually a nick name or a diminutive that a student is not expected to know or utter. Well, at least not in front of another teacher.
`Ah…, now, you know, er…., the sweeper that we have…’
`The sweeper!’ Now that makes sense. There is indeed a sweeper by the name of Kalu. But it doesn’t make sense. The boy just now said `sir.’ Now you don’t call a sweeper, ` sir!’ Or do you? I should know better. I have heard, `Shukla sir,’ and Shukla is a lower division clerk. I have heard, `Arun sir,’ and Arun is a laboratory attendant. And that reminds me……
1983. I am a second year PG student . Vinay, a fellow student from microbiology department comes over and whispers, rather confidentially, ` You know Jyoti , that girl in first year? The one who is rather plain and haughty? Well, she must be shown her place!’
`Why? What did she do?’
`She called Ingle an attendant. Just like that. They were doing this experiment, see. Now she needs something, or probably doesn’t quite know how to handle this instrument. So she looks at Ingle and says, “ Hey, attendant! Come here please.” Now is that right ? I mean Ingle is an attendant. OK. But just because he is an attendant, does it give you the right to call him an attendant? I mean, should you , just like that, call him an attendant?’
Yeah. Right. Pithy question. Point to ponder. Do you call an attendant an attendant? If you don’t, then what do you call him?
I Know now. You call him `sir.’ As you would call a peon, `sir.’ As you would call a sweeper, `sir.’ As you have always called a teacher, `sir.’
The teachers don’t like it. There is talk in the staff room and it is clear that they are peeved. But all meaning in the debate is lost the moment they reach this consensus: punish the students, or, it’s moderate variant: tell the students they are doing it wrong, that `sir’ is an epithet reserved for the teachers only. Unknown to them, the students have got it absolutely right. It is the teachers who have got it wrong.
Erudition and knowledge separates teachers from non-teaching employees. This used to be the only pedestal which the teachers could climb and were respectfully called ‘sir’ for this reason. If they are now not interested in climbing this pedestal, or have trained their eyes on some other pedestal, the distinction between them and others withers.
The students are now referring to everyone elder to them and an employee of the college as ‘Sir.’ At least they are oblivious to any other difference between clerks and teachers and, now even between sweepers and teachers. Is there a difference?
I am conducting a practical and the students are busy peering through microscopes when I hear a voice immediately behind me.
`Is this the physics department?’
I turn back. A boy. Clad in denims and a T- shirt, a goggle hanging carelessly through one of the belt-loops, is looking at me.
`No. This is biochemistry.’
`But Kalu sir said this was physics,’ he insists.
`Kalu sir? Who is Kalu sir?’ Now this is perplexing. I have never heard of this teacher. And even if there is one, Kalu is usually a nick name or a diminutive that a student is not expected to know or utter. Well, at least not in front of another teacher.
`Ah…, now, you know, er…., the sweeper that we have…’
`The sweeper!’ Now that makes sense. There is indeed a sweeper by the name of Kalu. But it doesn’t make sense. The boy just now said `sir.’ Now you don’t call a sweeper, ` sir!’ Or do you? I should know better. I have heard, `Shukla sir,’ and Shukla is a lower division clerk. I have heard, `Arun sir,’ and Arun is a laboratory attendant. And that reminds me……
1983. I am a second year PG student . Vinay, a fellow student from microbiology department comes over and whispers, rather confidentially, ` You know Jyoti , that girl in first year? The one who is rather plain and haughty? Well, she must be shown her place!’
`Why? What did she do?’
`She called Ingle an attendant. Just like that. They were doing this experiment, see. Now she needs something, or probably doesn’t quite know how to handle this instrument. So she looks at Ingle and says, “ Hey, attendant! Come here please.” Now is that right ? I mean Ingle is an attendant. OK. But just because he is an attendant, does it give you the right to call him an attendant? I mean, should you , just like that, call him an attendant?’
Yeah. Right. Pithy question. Point to ponder. Do you call an attendant an attendant? If you don’t, then what do you call him?
I Know now. You call him `sir.’ As you would call a peon, `sir.’ As you would call a sweeper, `sir.’ As you have always called a teacher, `sir.’
The teachers don’t like it. There is talk in the staff room and it is clear that they are peeved. But all meaning in the debate is lost the moment they reach this consensus: punish the students, or, it’s moderate variant: tell the students they are doing it wrong, that `sir’ is an epithet reserved for the teachers only. Unknown to them, the students have got it absolutely right. It is the teachers who have got it wrong.
Erudition and knowledge separates teachers from non-teaching employees. This used to be the only pedestal which the teachers could climb and were respectfully called ‘sir’ for this reason. If they are now not interested in climbing this pedestal, or have trained their eyes on some other pedestal, the distinction between them and others withers.
The students are now referring to everyone elder to them and an employee of the college as ‘Sir.’ At least they are oblivious to any other difference between clerks and teachers and, now even between sweepers and teachers. Is there a difference?
Thursday, August 30, 2007
SCENES FROM THE INDIAN ACADEMICA: IV
The Super Ph.D.
Politics is the art of the possible. Look what becomes possible then, when the new VC is a purely political appointment. He feels slightly perturbed by the fact that he doesn’t have a Ph.D. His first move comes when a function is organised to felicitate his appointment.
“People say Meghe (his surname) is not a Ph.D.,” he pauses for effect here. Looks around like a lion surveying the jungle. “But Meghe is superPh.D. After all, he has known poverty!” Most teachers clap. For some these are words dripping with wisdom. For some others, it is a matter of etiquette. A leader delivers a punch-line. One has to clap.
The VC is now ensconced in his office. His next move comes quickly. It is in the form of a show-cause notice to all the heads of the departments and it packs more punch.
Are you in a position to certify that every single copy of all the journals that you receive in your department has been read completely by all the teachers and research scholars in the department? If not, show-cause why the subscription to these journals should not be stopped.
Etiquette also demands that every single letter of your leader be treated with respect and replied to even more respectfully, even if it may not deserve it. Most heads replied that it was neither possible nor desirable for every single member to read every single journal completely. They agreed that they were in no position to certify what the VC had demanded to be certified. They did not tell him that people read articles surrounding their interests in the journals and not the whole journals. They did not tell him that he did not know anything about research and as such should not bother others who did. Etiquette. Protocol. Respect for authority. All the virtues. All the virtues that clothe cowardice.
The VC allowed the subscriptions to lapse. The heads got into a huddle. But they had to be careful. There were some among them who were rumoured to be informers. There were no protests. The journals didn’t come. Research in all departments got crippled. And still there was no protest. We are great people. We do not give up our culture so easily. If our culture teaches us respect for authority, that is what the authority will get. It doesn’t matter in the least whether those in authority deserve it or not. Should it?
Cally
Another VC comes. This one is, physically also, very small. One only has to keep a flower vase in front of him to hide him completely from the audience in any function. Problems arise only when he rises to deliver the speech. Right now, he is reading a speech. The function is to mark the opening of a new department of biotechnology.
`The current decade belongs to biotechnology,’ he says reading the speech that, no doubt, has been prepared by someone else, ` and the next century will belong even more to this nascent field. It is my ardent hope that our country becomes biotechnology,’ here he turns the page, fumbles, and then continues, `cally rich.’ He goes on with the next sentence.
`Cally? What is cally?’ asks someone in the audience.
`He means “biotechnologically”. Only “cally” is on another page and the hyphen connecting it to “biotechnology” on the previous page. The idiot cannot connect it.” his friend advises.
That’s right. When there is a disconnect between academics and those governing academics, such pygmies rise and address the audience.
Politics is the art of the possible. Look what becomes possible then, when the new VC is a purely political appointment. He feels slightly perturbed by the fact that he doesn’t have a Ph.D. His first move comes when a function is organised to felicitate his appointment.
“People say Meghe (his surname) is not a Ph.D.,” he pauses for effect here. Looks around like a lion surveying the jungle. “But Meghe is superPh.D. After all, he has known poverty!” Most teachers clap. For some these are words dripping with wisdom. For some others, it is a matter of etiquette. A leader delivers a punch-line. One has to clap.
The VC is now ensconced in his office. His next move comes quickly. It is in the form of a show-cause notice to all the heads of the departments and it packs more punch.
Are you in a position to certify that every single copy of all the journals that you receive in your department has been read completely by all the teachers and research scholars in the department? If not, show-cause why the subscription to these journals should not be stopped.
Etiquette also demands that every single letter of your leader be treated with respect and replied to even more respectfully, even if it may not deserve it. Most heads replied that it was neither possible nor desirable for every single member to read every single journal completely. They agreed that they were in no position to certify what the VC had demanded to be certified. They did not tell him that people read articles surrounding their interests in the journals and not the whole journals. They did not tell him that he did not know anything about research and as such should not bother others who did. Etiquette. Protocol. Respect for authority. All the virtues. All the virtues that clothe cowardice.
The VC allowed the subscriptions to lapse. The heads got into a huddle. But they had to be careful. There were some among them who were rumoured to be informers. There were no protests. The journals didn’t come. Research in all departments got crippled. And still there was no protest. We are great people. We do not give up our culture so easily. If our culture teaches us respect for authority, that is what the authority will get. It doesn’t matter in the least whether those in authority deserve it or not. Should it?
Cally
Another VC comes. This one is, physically also, very small. One only has to keep a flower vase in front of him to hide him completely from the audience in any function. Problems arise only when he rises to deliver the speech. Right now, he is reading a speech. The function is to mark the opening of a new department of biotechnology.
`The current decade belongs to biotechnology,’ he says reading the speech that, no doubt, has been prepared by someone else, ` and the next century will belong even more to this nascent field. It is my ardent hope that our country becomes biotechnology,’ here he turns the page, fumbles, and then continues, `cally rich.’ He goes on with the next sentence.
`Cally? What is cally?’ asks someone in the audience.
`He means “biotechnologically”. Only “cally” is on another page and the hyphen connecting it to “biotechnology” on the previous page. The idiot cannot connect it.” his friend advises.
That’s right. When there is a disconnect between academics and those governing academics, such pygmies rise and address the audience.
I WANT MY CHILDREN TO GET OUT OF THIS NATION
I am a father of two children, both just out of adolescence and pursuing their bachelor’s degree. Both my children are better than average, and both want to live in India and work here. I, however, want them to move out and stay away for the rest of their lives or at least the better parts of their lives.
This is not what I have always wanted for them. I am also a teacher, teaching biochemistry to college students for the past twenty years. The last class that I engaged for all outgoing batches till last year was about telling them what this country has done for them as far as their education was concerned and just why they should return to India after a few years abroad. I am also proud to say that a huge number of my students went abroad to the best of the institutes and, more importantly, returned to work and to give to India whatever they can. From last year I have stopped telling them this. Instead, I now tell them to go out and stay out! And that is exactly what I wish for my own children.
What has changed for me to shift stance one hundred and eighty degrees? Let us see.
What is happening at Agra and Gohana today? Just recall what happened at Rajasthan just a few months ago. Recall what happened at several towns in Vidarbha as a repercussion to Khairlanji murders a month or so before that. Recall what happened at Delhi and then in several major cities a few months back in response to the government’s debatable proposals for compulsory reservations to OBCs in the cream of the Indian institutions.
I am not going to raise your standard questions repeated ad nauseum by the media personalities and the emotional inanities of the reporters of the electronic media where even couplets and full poems come handy to push a point. Ghalib, Iqbal, Meer, Firaq, Sarveshvar Dayal Saxena all come handy to establish the point that these reporters want to make. When even rationality has taken a back seat it is just too much to expect discussion on a trend that is obviously developing. I have grown so disgusted with the entire coverage that I have virtually stopped watching news on TV except for hearing the headlines.
What is happening in Gohana today? A ‘dalit’ has been murdered. That is indeed bad. Murder of any young person, regardless of caste, is bad. But since when have we started reacting to a murder in a manner that more deaths take place? In the media, this is a murder of a dalit by people belonging to other castes. But is it certain that a dalit was killed because he was a dalit? If he was killed because of some other matter which did not involve bias against his caste, is the media correct in branding it a muder of a dalit? Does such branding not anger people of the same caste and spill the protest over to other towns and villages? Is media not responsible in such cases? Are the dalits right in protesting in this manner everytime the slightest atrocity seems to have been committed? I am not saying that atrocities are not committed. That will be turning a blind eye to something that is unpardonable and does happen. What I am asking and what I believe the people and the media should ask is whether it is correct to hold entire cities to ransom everytime even a slight perceived atrocity is committed? Are these not the questions all of us should be asking ourselves? More so the media people and the politicians?
Forget Gohana. May be I am utterly wrong in seeing it the way it should be seen and may be it is really a dalit’s murder by upper caste people just because he was a dalit. Let us discuss Agra. Four people of one religion were killed when a badly driven truck overran them. There was a festival on the day and these youths were going back home having attended a function. When such an event happens, it is always sad and tempers do run high. In my own city I have seen people getting hold of the truck, burning it down, catching hold of the driver and beating him to pulp, blocking that road not allowing the bodies to be taken away for postmortem and cremation and generally protesting against the state of the roads, the rash driving and such things. But I am yet to see a whole city held to ransom over such an incident. I am yet to see petrol pumps, shops, other trucks which have done nothing, motorcycles, scooters, other establishments being burnt down because a few persons have been killed in an accident. Agreed that all 4 persons in Agra belonged to one single religion. But everyone who dies in an accident belongs to one religion or other. And, have there never been accidental deaths previously on a festival day? Do you think that the anger of people of any religious community boils over spontaneously to such an extent that an entire city burns and all work comes to a standstill? It can happen, it happens all the time, but not over accidental deaths. Violence and arson on this scale over accidental deaths can only be engineered. And yet, is the media asking this question? If it is, I have not seen, heard or read them asking this question. Are politicians talking constructively over this? No. It can be a politically wrong question to ask what with everyone bothered about the minority votes and one party bothered about the majority votes. But since when has the media started bothering about what is politically correct?
What happened at Khairlanji in Vidarbha? Although there are whispers that the muders of dalits in that village were actually a result of long standing land dispute, it is more or less agreed that these people were murdered because of caste reasons. I do not want a debate over this and I agree that this was what happened because it does happen even in an India which is far more educated and is supposedly living in the 21st century. What I want to talk about is the method in which protests were made. First of all the protests were made months after the episode occurred so that one cannot even in their wildest imagination call them spontaneous and therefore due to genuine public ire. Then again, the protests occurred in cities and towns far removed from the place where the incidence occurred. On top of all this, stones were pelted at people’s residences without any rhyme or reason. But what was most scaring was that we, and many people like us, knew the night before where the attacks will take place the next day! The plan was hatched at different places and the news filtered from there to us so that we could warn several of our students beforehand to not to venture in those localities that day! Business stopped, movement stopped and nothing got achieved. What did the media do? Nothing, except accentuating the caste angle. Should they not have talked about the planned nature of the attacks?
What has Arjun Singh done in this recent past? Does anyone in his right mind think he has acted to the benefit of any caste in this nation? Is it that all so called OBCs are deprived of chances? I do not think so. I know many OBCs who are very highly educated for generations now and quite rich too. And the portion of such OBCs is not miniscule. Was it not undue haste on the part of Arjun Singh? Was it not only right to have collected the figures of OBCs truly deprived and then to have acted if at all any action was needed? What was his reply to the meritorious students whose agitation was spontaneous? Was his reply not of a tone that reflected scant regard for merit? Did his action and the poor and predictable response of all parties ever hungry for all kinds of votes not divide Indians on the caste basis further? What did the media do?
Okay. Let me come from a different angle. Let’s forget the politicians and the media. What are the academicians doing? Should they not at least write about these things. Should they not protest against the methods of these protests and the attempt by the Indian parliamentarians to divide the nation? Should they not take some symbolic action which hurts where it counts?
Finally, should we not be asking these questions seriously? Should the media not be doing something about this? Where has the media of Ramnath Goenka’s caliber gone? Is it that they too have learnt the security of political correctness and want to hide in that cocoon for obvious benefits? Have the profits become so important, the TRPs so important, the government favour so important that all responsibilities can be shrugged off? There is a lot at stake. Will we allow all the recent progress and the promise of future progress to be sacrificed at the altar of ill advised actions such as these?
If this is what it is to be, I cannot at least be a liar. I cannot tell my students to return to India and work for it. I may as well ask them to waste their lives. If science can be served by them better living in other nations, so be it. If India does not want to benefit from the merit and creativity of its youngsters, so be it. I want my children – biological and otherwise – to get out of this nation!
I have stopped taking that last class.
This is not what I have always wanted for them. I am also a teacher, teaching biochemistry to college students for the past twenty years. The last class that I engaged for all outgoing batches till last year was about telling them what this country has done for them as far as their education was concerned and just why they should return to India after a few years abroad. I am also proud to say that a huge number of my students went abroad to the best of the institutes and, more importantly, returned to work and to give to India whatever they can. From last year I have stopped telling them this. Instead, I now tell them to go out and stay out! And that is exactly what I wish for my own children.
What has changed for me to shift stance one hundred and eighty degrees? Let us see.
What is happening at Agra and Gohana today? Just recall what happened at Rajasthan just a few months ago. Recall what happened at several towns in Vidarbha as a repercussion to Khairlanji murders a month or so before that. Recall what happened at Delhi and then in several major cities a few months back in response to the government’s debatable proposals for compulsory reservations to OBCs in the cream of the Indian institutions.
I am not going to raise your standard questions repeated ad nauseum by the media personalities and the emotional inanities of the reporters of the electronic media where even couplets and full poems come handy to push a point. Ghalib, Iqbal, Meer, Firaq, Sarveshvar Dayal Saxena all come handy to establish the point that these reporters want to make. When even rationality has taken a back seat it is just too much to expect discussion on a trend that is obviously developing. I have grown so disgusted with the entire coverage that I have virtually stopped watching news on TV except for hearing the headlines.
What is happening in Gohana today? A ‘dalit’ has been murdered. That is indeed bad. Murder of any young person, regardless of caste, is bad. But since when have we started reacting to a murder in a manner that more deaths take place? In the media, this is a murder of a dalit by people belonging to other castes. But is it certain that a dalit was killed because he was a dalit? If he was killed because of some other matter which did not involve bias against his caste, is the media correct in branding it a muder of a dalit? Does such branding not anger people of the same caste and spill the protest over to other towns and villages? Is media not responsible in such cases? Are the dalits right in protesting in this manner everytime the slightest atrocity seems to have been committed? I am not saying that atrocities are not committed. That will be turning a blind eye to something that is unpardonable and does happen. What I am asking and what I believe the people and the media should ask is whether it is correct to hold entire cities to ransom everytime even a slight perceived atrocity is committed? Are these not the questions all of us should be asking ourselves? More so the media people and the politicians?
Forget Gohana. May be I am utterly wrong in seeing it the way it should be seen and may be it is really a dalit’s murder by upper caste people just because he was a dalit. Let us discuss Agra. Four people of one religion were killed when a badly driven truck overran them. There was a festival on the day and these youths were going back home having attended a function. When such an event happens, it is always sad and tempers do run high. In my own city I have seen people getting hold of the truck, burning it down, catching hold of the driver and beating him to pulp, blocking that road not allowing the bodies to be taken away for postmortem and cremation and generally protesting against the state of the roads, the rash driving and such things. But I am yet to see a whole city held to ransom over such an incident. I am yet to see petrol pumps, shops, other trucks which have done nothing, motorcycles, scooters, other establishments being burnt down because a few persons have been killed in an accident. Agreed that all 4 persons in Agra belonged to one single religion. But everyone who dies in an accident belongs to one religion or other. And, have there never been accidental deaths previously on a festival day? Do you think that the anger of people of any religious community boils over spontaneously to such an extent that an entire city burns and all work comes to a standstill? It can happen, it happens all the time, but not over accidental deaths. Violence and arson on this scale over accidental deaths can only be engineered. And yet, is the media asking this question? If it is, I have not seen, heard or read them asking this question. Are politicians talking constructively over this? No. It can be a politically wrong question to ask what with everyone bothered about the minority votes and one party bothered about the majority votes. But since when has the media started bothering about what is politically correct?
What happened at Khairlanji in Vidarbha? Although there are whispers that the muders of dalits in that village were actually a result of long standing land dispute, it is more or less agreed that these people were murdered because of caste reasons. I do not want a debate over this and I agree that this was what happened because it does happen even in an India which is far more educated and is supposedly living in the 21st century. What I want to talk about is the method in which protests were made. First of all the protests were made months after the episode occurred so that one cannot even in their wildest imagination call them spontaneous and therefore due to genuine public ire. Then again, the protests occurred in cities and towns far removed from the place where the incidence occurred. On top of all this, stones were pelted at people’s residences without any rhyme or reason. But what was most scaring was that we, and many people like us, knew the night before where the attacks will take place the next day! The plan was hatched at different places and the news filtered from there to us so that we could warn several of our students beforehand to not to venture in those localities that day! Business stopped, movement stopped and nothing got achieved. What did the media do? Nothing, except accentuating the caste angle. Should they not have talked about the planned nature of the attacks?
What has Arjun Singh done in this recent past? Does anyone in his right mind think he has acted to the benefit of any caste in this nation? Is it that all so called OBCs are deprived of chances? I do not think so. I know many OBCs who are very highly educated for generations now and quite rich too. And the portion of such OBCs is not miniscule. Was it not undue haste on the part of Arjun Singh? Was it not only right to have collected the figures of OBCs truly deprived and then to have acted if at all any action was needed? What was his reply to the meritorious students whose agitation was spontaneous? Was his reply not of a tone that reflected scant regard for merit? Did his action and the poor and predictable response of all parties ever hungry for all kinds of votes not divide Indians on the caste basis further? What did the media do?
Okay. Let me come from a different angle. Let’s forget the politicians and the media. What are the academicians doing? Should they not at least write about these things. Should they not protest against the methods of these protests and the attempt by the Indian parliamentarians to divide the nation? Should they not take some symbolic action which hurts where it counts?
Finally, should we not be asking these questions seriously? Should the media not be doing something about this? Where has the media of Ramnath Goenka’s caliber gone? Is it that they too have learnt the security of political correctness and want to hide in that cocoon for obvious benefits? Have the profits become so important, the TRPs so important, the government favour so important that all responsibilities can be shrugged off? There is a lot at stake. Will we allow all the recent progress and the promise of future progress to be sacrificed at the altar of ill advised actions such as these?
If this is what it is to be, I cannot at least be a liar. I cannot tell my students to return to India and work for it. I may as well ask them to waste their lives. If science can be served by them better living in other nations, so be it. If India does not want to benefit from the merit and creativity of its youngsters, so be it. I want my children – biological and otherwise – to get out of this nation!
I have stopped taking that last class.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
OUR FIRST TRIP TO BANDHAVGARH: THE FIRST MORNING IN JUNGLE
All through our visits to the jungles over these past eleven years or so, there is a sort of record that we have created: The very first trip we take inside the jungle we see a tiger and the same is true for the last trip. My friends who have been as mad about the jungles as we are and have been going to the jungles more frequently are jealous of us because the same thing does not happen to them. May be it happens to us because we do not go to the jungle to see just the tiger – we love everything that the jungle has to offer, the flora, the fauna, the ambience, the smells and the sounds. Or may be it happens to us because we have been plain lucky and that this luck will vane as all good times come to an end. Whatever, we are happy while it lasts. This first trip to Bandhavgarh was no different as far as this pattern was concerned.
We were wiser this time around from our earlier experience of the Kanha winter. Wiser in a manner that city-dwellers are, not wise as far as the jungle is concerned. We had taken some thermal clothing with us and felt secure wearing it. Maitreyi, however, is a girl in her own league – she was still shivering and had covered herself with whatever was available till only her eyes were visible in the face. There was a long queue of jeeps in front of the entry gate and guides and tourists were busy filling up the forms and paying money to obtain entry passes. This is one disadvantage of coming to a jungle during the Christmas holidays – it is the busiest season and so you have to pay extra tariffs at the hotels and pay higher charges for entry and then suffer from a crowd of tourists inside the jungle. You have to move to the remote parts if you crave the silence of the jungle. There is another irritating aspect that one has to put up with – the dust blown by the jeeps in front of you. Unless you cover your head with a scarf or a cap, fine dust settles in your hair and by the time you get out, you are a dirty red head.
The sun was just rising when our guide returned with the entry card and our jeep moved. The guard opened the barrier and we moved in. Slightly ahead, we turned left and moved into the densest fog I have ever experienced. You could not see anything just 3-4 feet away! For the city-dwellers, very new to the jungle, this is a potential thrilling point. There can be a tiger sitting just about 5 feet away from you and you wouldn’t even see it! Having been to the jungle so many times since that day, we can laugh at that thrilling notion that we entertained that day. First and foremost, we have come to understand one thing – the tigers do not make a move so early. Most of the times that we have observed tigers in the morning trip, it has been well after 7 and before 9. Secondly, a tiger is not going to rest on the pathway itself when it hears a jeep approaching – it will take cover much before. Of course, there are exceptions to every rule that you make. Tigers can come out virtually at any time morning or night – they are as unpredictable as human beings. Tigers do rest on the dusty pathway – their body marks are visible as you drive through the jungle. But overall, the likelihood of a tiger resting on the pathway just 5 feet away from you at just around 6 AM on a winter morning is next to nil.
As the sun came out and gradually gained confidence, the veil of fog lifted and lying before us was a jungle so different from Kanha that all the distance from Nagpur seemed utterly worthwhile. If Kanha was a gentle melody, Bandhavgarh was a music that experimented with the absolute high and the absolute low pitch. The terrain was mountainous interrupted by meadows and small stretches of flat land. The Sal trees were abundant along with bamboo. There were Indian ghost trees in all their white glory, Kusum and several other colorful trees. Even the flat lands were not entirely flat. Sudden low ridges rose from nowhere at all. Also, it was colder.
There is nothing much to write about how we spotted the tiger. As we moved on, around 9 AM, from a distance we saw about 10 jeeps collected at a single spot. Our driver too headed to the same spot. The terrain was mountainous and we gained and lost the sight of the jeeps below us. Then as we turned round a bend, we came to the melee of jeeps and there, walking on the ridge alongside the path, was a full grown male tiger. I cannot say that I enjoyed the sight. While the tiger was wonderful, the jeeps were moving all the time along with the tiger and also antagonistic to each other to secure for their clients the best possible view. There were tourists with cameras connected to long telescopic sights trying to get the tiger as close as possible. Many of these were obviously rich and arrogant. Their loud voices and insolence almost completely drained the pleasure for me. Also, the jumbled up voices, the cries of children, the shouts of elders, the loud conversation between the drivers and the guides and the ecstatic shouts of several mothers to their children to watch the great beast as if they needed these to see the thing, created an environment that is no different from any tourist place in any city of the overpopulated India. I watched the tiger because there was nothing else to do but my heart was not in it. Also, getting to see a tiger without tracking it from the alarm calls of frightened animals and from the pug marks does not hold any charm for me. Maitreyi and Udayan were too young to think on these lines but today, when they have grown up, the excitement of tracking or the possibility of the great beast very nearby due to the sounds from the jungle beyond or because of the fresh pugmarks can be seen on their faces quite plainly. All these elements were missing and that reduced the pleasure considerably.
The tiger moved off and became invisible and jeeps dispersed almost immediately and the silence ruled again. More differences became obvious now. The guides in kanha are far better. They want to show you as many things as possible. In Bandhavgarh, once you have seen the tiger, you are expected by the guides to lose all interest. We did but not because we were not interested in the other things. We did because of the attitude of the guide.
The landscape in Bandhavgarh is more varied as compared to Kanha, the flora may also be more diverse, but the faunal diversity is much more in Kanha. There is an abundance of birds there which we did not get to see in Bandhavgarh. Also, the phenomenal number of deer and the variety of species of deer was also something that we did not see in Bandhavgarh.
Having said that, there was one thing that we experienced in Bandhavgarh that we had not in Kanha. But about that I will write in the next post on this issue.
We were wiser this time around from our earlier experience of the Kanha winter. Wiser in a manner that city-dwellers are, not wise as far as the jungle is concerned. We had taken some thermal clothing with us and felt secure wearing it. Maitreyi, however, is a girl in her own league – she was still shivering and had covered herself with whatever was available till only her eyes were visible in the face. There was a long queue of jeeps in front of the entry gate and guides and tourists were busy filling up the forms and paying money to obtain entry passes. This is one disadvantage of coming to a jungle during the Christmas holidays – it is the busiest season and so you have to pay extra tariffs at the hotels and pay higher charges for entry and then suffer from a crowd of tourists inside the jungle. You have to move to the remote parts if you crave the silence of the jungle. There is another irritating aspect that one has to put up with – the dust blown by the jeeps in front of you. Unless you cover your head with a scarf or a cap, fine dust settles in your hair and by the time you get out, you are a dirty red head.
The sun was just rising when our guide returned with the entry card and our jeep moved. The guard opened the barrier and we moved in. Slightly ahead, we turned left and moved into the densest fog I have ever experienced. You could not see anything just 3-4 feet away! For the city-dwellers, very new to the jungle, this is a potential thrilling point. There can be a tiger sitting just about 5 feet away from you and you wouldn’t even see it! Having been to the jungle so many times since that day, we can laugh at that thrilling notion that we entertained that day. First and foremost, we have come to understand one thing – the tigers do not make a move so early. Most of the times that we have observed tigers in the morning trip, it has been well after 7 and before 9. Secondly, a tiger is not going to rest on the pathway itself when it hears a jeep approaching – it will take cover much before. Of course, there are exceptions to every rule that you make. Tigers can come out virtually at any time morning or night – they are as unpredictable as human beings. Tigers do rest on the dusty pathway – their body marks are visible as you drive through the jungle. But overall, the likelihood of a tiger resting on the pathway just 5 feet away from you at just around 6 AM on a winter morning is next to nil.
As the sun came out and gradually gained confidence, the veil of fog lifted and lying before us was a jungle so different from Kanha that all the distance from Nagpur seemed utterly worthwhile. If Kanha was a gentle melody, Bandhavgarh was a music that experimented with the absolute high and the absolute low pitch. The terrain was mountainous interrupted by meadows and small stretches of flat land. The Sal trees were abundant along with bamboo. There were Indian ghost trees in all their white glory, Kusum and several other colorful trees. Even the flat lands were not entirely flat. Sudden low ridges rose from nowhere at all. Also, it was colder.
There is nothing much to write about how we spotted the tiger. As we moved on, around 9 AM, from a distance we saw about 10 jeeps collected at a single spot. Our driver too headed to the same spot. The terrain was mountainous and we gained and lost the sight of the jeeps below us. Then as we turned round a bend, we came to the melee of jeeps and there, walking on the ridge alongside the path, was a full grown male tiger. I cannot say that I enjoyed the sight. While the tiger was wonderful, the jeeps were moving all the time along with the tiger and also antagonistic to each other to secure for their clients the best possible view. There were tourists with cameras connected to long telescopic sights trying to get the tiger as close as possible. Many of these were obviously rich and arrogant. Their loud voices and insolence almost completely drained the pleasure for me. Also, the jumbled up voices, the cries of children, the shouts of elders, the loud conversation between the drivers and the guides and the ecstatic shouts of several mothers to their children to watch the great beast as if they needed these to see the thing, created an environment that is no different from any tourist place in any city of the overpopulated India. I watched the tiger because there was nothing else to do but my heart was not in it. Also, getting to see a tiger without tracking it from the alarm calls of frightened animals and from the pug marks does not hold any charm for me. Maitreyi and Udayan were too young to think on these lines but today, when they have grown up, the excitement of tracking or the possibility of the great beast very nearby due to the sounds from the jungle beyond or because of the fresh pugmarks can be seen on their faces quite plainly. All these elements were missing and that reduced the pleasure considerably.
The tiger moved off and became invisible and jeeps dispersed almost immediately and the silence ruled again. More differences became obvious now. The guides in kanha are far better. They want to show you as many things as possible. In Bandhavgarh, once you have seen the tiger, you are expected by the guides to lose all interest. We did but not because we were not interested in the other things. We did because of the attitude of the guide.
The landscape in Bandhavgarh is more varied as compared to Kanha, the flora may also be more diverse, but the faunal diversity is much more in Kanha. There is an abundance of birds there which we did not get to see in Bandhavgarh. Also, the phenomenal number of deer and the variety of species of deer was also something that we did not see in Bandhavgarh.
Having said that, there was one thing that we experienced in Bandhavgarh that we had not in Kanha. But about that I will write in the next post on this issue.
Sunday, August 26, 2007
WHY I STOPPED MEDITATING
If you see an ass standing right in the middle of a busy road, one leg pulled slightly up, neck down, oblivious of blaring horns or the busy traffic trying to get around it and getting irritated in the process, do not think that it is deep in meditation although that is exactly what it looks to be doing in the first glance. It is actually sleeping and just being a complete ass.
That is also why I have stopped all attempts at meditating. Most of the times I go to sleep just a few minutes into the attempt and wake up completely refreshed and feeling guilty at the same time.
But the real trouble arises when I don’t fall asleep. This is what happened the last time I tried to meditate:
Deep inhalation …… retain the breath inside for sometime ……. Slow exhalation …. Deep inhalation….. retain the breath inside for sometime ……. Slow exhalation …. Deep inhalation ….retain the breath inside for sometime… exhale saying Ooooommmmmmmmm ………. Inhalation ….. Ooooooommmmmmmm ………. The goddamn management cannot do this to me….. Ooooooommmmmm……… The next time he says that, I am gonna get him, the bastard …….. Ooooommmmm ……. What does he think of himself? ……No no, this not the way to go, I am supposed to be having pleasant thoughts …… Oooooooommmmmmm ……. Ooooooooommmmmmm …….. think of Kanha forest … you love that and those thoughts will be pleasant …… Ooooommmm …. There are hills all around ….. I am sitting in Kishori’s jeep ….. Oooooommmmm …… The jeep is descending from Digdola part of the forest …. Wow … the scenery is breathtaking ….. Oooooommmmm….. there is the Sonph meadow visible in the distance ….. Ooooommmmm…….. how serene it looks ……… Ooooommmm……….. sqeak…… sqeeeeeeeeeeeeeek….. goddamn Kishori ….. why does he not do something about his brakes ….. for the past 4 years they have been like this ….. Ooooommmmmm……… if there is an alarm call, you can’t hear it over this din ……. Oooooommmmmm …. And his teeth ….. all tobacco stained …. Never sit near him ……… his breath must be foul …. Take a deep breath ….. Ooooommmmm …. Shit ………… the guy has been having gas trouble ……. Never sit behind him either ……. Ooooommmmmm ……… you must change your driver the next time you visit Kanha …. Oooommmmmm…… it’s useless to go in his jeep …….. Oooommmm …IT’S USELESS TO MEDITATE.
A voice says you can’t give up like that. Try again. “If at first you don’t succeed, try again!” that is how the poem went from your English textbook in the 8th standard. So, try again.
Ooooommmmm……. Oommmmmm ……….. Oooommmmmmm ………. “If at first you don’t succeed, try again!” ……Ooooommmmm ….. “If at first you don’t succeed, try again!” ………. Ooooommmm …… “If at first…” Pathak sir’s voice repeating the poem again and again …….. Ooooommmmm ….. the guy beat me up so bad ….. Ooooommmm …. What did he think of himself? …….. Ooooommmm … if he was so bloody good, what was he doing teaching high school …… Ooooommmmm …… My back hurt for three days after that thrashing I received … oooommmm . Ssallla, idiot, …….. AVINASH, STOP BEING AN ASS. GET UP. DON’T TRY MEDITATING AGAIN, EVER!
That is also why I have stopped all attempts at meditating. Most of the times I go to sleep just a few minutes into the attempt and wake up completely refreshed and feeling guilty at the same time.
But the real trouble arises when I don’t fall asleep. This is what happened the last time I tried to meditate:
Deep inhalation …… retain the breath inside for sometime ……. Slow exhalation …. Deep inhalation….. retain the breath inside for sometime ……. Slow exhalation …. Deep inhalation ….retain the breath inside for sometime… exhale saying Ooooommmmmmmmm ………. Inhalation ….. Ooooooommmmmmmm ………. The goddamn management cannot do this to me….. Ooooooommmmmm……… The next time he says that, I am gonna get him, the bastard …….. Ooooommmmm ……. What does he think of himself? ……No no, this not the way to go, I am supposed to be having pleasant thoughts …… Oooooooommmmmmm ……. Ooooooooommmmmmm …….. think of Kanha forest … you love that and those thoughts will be pleasant …… Ooooommmm …. There are hills all around ….. I am sitting in Kishori’s jeep ….. Oooooommmmm …… The jeep is descending from Digdola part of the forest …. Wow … the scenery is breathtaking ….. Oooooommmmm….. there is the Sonph meadow visible in the distance ….. Ooooommmmm…….. how serene it looks ……… Ooooommmm……….. sqeak…… sqeeeeeeeeeeeeeek….. goddamn Kishori ….. why does he not do something about his brakes ….. for the past 4 years they have been like this ….. Ooooommmmmm……… if there is an alarm call, you can’t hear it over this din ……. Oooooommmmmm …. And his teeth ….. all tobacco stained …. Never sit near him ……… his breath must be foul …. Take a deep breath ….. Ooooommmmm …. Shit ………… the guy has been having gas trouble ……. Never sit behind him either ……. Ooooommmmmm ……… you must change your driver the next time you visit Kanha …. Oooommmmmm…… it’s useless to go in his jeep …….. Oooommmm …IT’S USELESS TO MEDITATE.
A voice says you can’t give up like that. Try again. “If at first you don’t succeed, try again!” that is how the poem went from your English textbook in the 8th standard. So, try again.
Ooooommmmm……. Oommmmmm ……….. Oooommmmmmm ………. “If at first you don’t succeed, try again!” ……Ooooommmmm ….. “If at first you don’t succeed, try again!” ………. Ooooommmm …… “If at first…” Pathak sir’s voice repeating the poem again and again …….. Ooooommmmm ….. the guy beat me up so bad ….. Ooooommmm …. What did he think of himself? …….. Ooooommmm … if he was so bloody good, what was he doing teaching high school …… Ooooommmmm …… My back hurt for three days after that thrashing I received … oooommmm . Ssallla, idiot, …….. AVINASH, STOP BEING AN ASS. GET UP. DON’T TRY MEDITATING AGAIN, EVER!
KANHA: SUMMER VS. WINTER
Most of the time we have visited the jungles, we have done so in the winters. We love winters. But then that has not been the only reason for our winter trips. The reason is more practical – I have Christmas holidays during that time, my children too had their winter holidays coinciding with Christmas holidays while they were in School and Kakoli can take leave. The jungle winters are harsher than the city winters, especially when the city in question is Nagpur. But we have come to love even these winters however harsh they may be.
One of my friends always goes to the jungle in summers. The reasons are simple. First, winters are too much for him. Secondly, everyone will tell you that you spot the animals, including the tiger, more easily during summer. There is a paucity of water and so the animals have to move and that is why you spot them easily and in more numbers. For us these reasons have no meaning because we love winters and have been exceptionally lucky to have witnessed scenes that more seasoned tourists have not seen.
Therefore, when this friend of mine persuaded me to go with him to the Kanha National Park in the summer, I was quite excited. First and foremost, I wanted to see how the jungle looks in the summer. Secondly, I was not going out with my wife. And changing the partner is always exciting even if it be of the same sex (do not get dirty ideas in your mind now).
The things were different right from the word go.
First things first. This was mid-May. The month that you associate with heat that singes you and even the morning sun spews fire. When we entered the forest early in the morning, it was cool. So cool in fact that you could have worn a light sweater.
The jungle was not dry. Kanha is a mixed jungle predominantly of Sal and Bamboo. None of these dry off in the summer. There were a few trees that were dry but that was all. The rest of it was green. But the green was not van Gogh green – it was a shade much lighter, as if a very little yellow had been mixed in it by the artist. There was the dark yellow of the Amaltas in full bloom that you do not see in the winters. The grass looked like the hair of an ultramodern girl – blond edges to the brunette mass. The air was lighter and dryer and went easily down your trachea. The winter smell was completely gone and a smell that sat lightly in your lungs had replaced that. The dust of the road was loose and flew behind us more lightly and farther hazing out the scene behind us.
But the surprise was the festival of sounds. The winter jungle is quiet. If there are sounds, they are mostly of the jeeps moving around, or the human sounds of the excited tourists or of the birds that are happy all year round. But even from where we were staying, I could here loud, piercing sounds right early in the morning. Since I had never heard these sounds before, I was at a loss for what they were. The guide had been with me countless times in earlier trips and so thought that I was quite knowledgeable. He kept his own counsel. I had to ask him and then he seemed to understand that this was the first time I had been out in the summer. These were the rutting calls, he informed me. Rutting calls of the deer stags. Rutting calls of Barasingha. These were different from each other and within minutes I could tell the difference. Right from the morning, these animals were busy announcing to their females that their current hormone levels were quite high. That they were in the mood. This was the biggest contrast from the winter jungle.
This particular summer, there were hordes of Bison to be seen almost everywhere. The guide told me that this is not a summer phenomenon. It is just this summer that you are seeing so many near the roads. But we were exceptionally lucky. The barking deer, which so shy and elusive in the normal circumstances, had decided that they wanted us to see them. We saw so many and at such close quarters that all the books and all the descriptions of their shyness in them appeared to be a pack of lies.
The summer eventually becomes evident. In winters you can roam about in the open jeep even in the afternoons. By 10 Am, however, we felt that the heat was enough for us to start back towards the gate.
Back at the resort, it was still cool in the shade of the large Halda tree in front of the canteen where we ordered a beer each and sat sipping and enjoying the view. This done, we thought, we should wash and then come back for lunch.
The resort has half the rooms air-conditioned and the other half air-cooled. In these other rooms, noisy desert coolers are fitted outside one of the windows. Their bottom tray is always kept full of water. As we walked back, we saw a langur going towards the rooms. When we turned the corner we saw something that you do not see in the winter. The langur was sitting on the edge of the bottom tray and was drinking water from it.
It is definitely true that they are our ancestors. Like us, these langurs find out perfectly relevant but unmeant uses for things that have been designed for a completely different purpose.
One of my friends always goes to the jungle in summers. The reasons are simple. First, winters are too much for him. Secondly, everyone will tell you that you spot the animals, including the tiger, more easily during summer. There is a paucity of water and so the animals have to move and that is why you spot them easily and in more numbers. For us these reasons have no meaning because we love winters and have been exceptionally lucky to have witnessed scenes that more seasoned tourists have not seen.
Therefore, when this friend of mine persuaded me to go with him to the Kanha National Park in the summer, I was quite excited. First and foremost, I wanted to see how the jungle looks in the summer. Secondly, I was not going out with my wife. And changing the partner is always exciting even if it be of the same sex (do not get dirty ideas in your mind now).
The things were different right from the word go.
First things first. This was mid-May. The month that you associate with heat that singes you and even the morning sun spews fire. When we entered the forest early in the morning, it was cool. So cool in fact that you could have worn a light sweater.
The jungle was not dry. Kanha is a mixed jungle predominantly of Sal and Bamboo. None of these dry off in the summer. There were a few trees that were dry but that was all. The rest of it was green. But the green was not van Gogh green – it was a shade much lighter, as if a very little yellow had been mixed in it by the artist. There was the dark yellow of the Amaltas in full bloom that you do not see in the winters. The grass looked like the hair of an ultramodern girl – blond edges to the brunette mass. The air was lighter and dryer and went easily down your trachea. The winter smell was completely gone and a smell that sat lightly in your lungs had replaced that. The dust of the road was loose and flew behind us more lightly and farther hazing out the scene behind us.
But the surprise was the festival of sounds. The winter jungle is quiet. If there are sounds, they are mostly of the jeeps moving around, or the human sounds of the excited tourists or of the birds that are happy all year round. But even from where we were staying, I could here loud, piercing sounds right early in the morning. Since I had never heard these sounds before, I was at a loss for what they were. The guide had been with me countless times in earlier trips and so thought that I was quite knowledgeable. He kept his own counsel. I had to ask him and then he seemed to understand that this was the first time I had been out in the summer. These were the rutting calls, he informed me. Rutting calls of the deer stags. Rutting calls of Barasingha. These were different from each other and within minutes I could tell the difference. Right from the morning, these animals were busy announcing to their females that their current hormone levels were quite high. That they were in the mood. This was the biggest contrast from the winter jungle.
This particular summer, there were hordes of Bison to be seen almost everywhere. The guide told me that this is not a summer phenomenon. It is just this summer that you are seeing so many near the roads. But we were exceptionally lucky. The barking deer, which so shy and elusive in the normal circumstances, had decided that they wanted us to see them. We saw so many and at such close quarters that all the books and all the descriptions of their shyness in them appeared to be a pack of lies.
The summer eventually becomes evident. In winters you can roam about in the open jeep even in the afternoons. By 10 Am, however, we felt that the heat was enough for us to start back towards the gate.
Back at the resort, it was still cool in the shade of the large Halda tree in front of the canteen where we ordered a beer each and sat sipping and enjoying the view. This done, we thought, we should wash and then come back for lunch.
The resort has half the rooms air-conditioned and the other half air-cooled. In these other rooms, noisy desert coolers are fitted outside one of the windows. Their bottom tray is always kept full of water. As we walked back, we saw a langur going towards the rooms. When we turned the corner we saw something that you do not see in the winter. The langur was sitting on the edge of the bottom tray and was drinking water from it.
It is definitely true that they are our ancestors. Like us, these langurs find out perfectly relevant but unmeant uses for things that have been designed for a completely different purpose.
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