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Why do bad things happen to me? – Part 2

What is bad?

This is first question I ask myself. I sincerely try to define why I call something bad. If we sit down to define the word bad it really becomes a difficult task.
1.Bad is something, which is not good for me.
2.Bad is an unexpected result.
3.Bad is an expected result, but I do not like the result.

Is it really so simple, may be there are other definitions also. I don’t think it is that simple. There are a lot of phrases, proverbs which come to my mind which help me define bad or – rather makes me understand that I cannot define what is bad.

Let us take some proverbs which are supposed to be good and guide us in life
Opposites attract – Birds of the same feather flock together.
Too many cooks spoil the broth. – Many hands make light work.

I see the proverbs that are opposite of each other. So which one of the proverbs is bad and which one is good. If I look at it closely both are good and bad depending on the perspective from which I am looking at them.

Not only with proverbs there has been instances in history, which intrigues me. There have been many instances which prove that what was good at one point of time proves to be bad at another point of time and vice-versa.

There have been many cases ranging from politics to science and technology where bad had become good and good has become bad.

Let us take politics to begin with.

Good becomes Bad
The Americans support the Mujaheddin in Afghanistan to fight the Russian oppressors. They felt they were helping democracy fight communism. They thought they were doing good. This happened in 1979-89. The Russians finally withdrew.13 years later the same Mujaheddin hit at the heart of Americas killing thousands.

Funny the good act of helping Mujahideen has turned into a bad act for the Americans in a period of 13 years.

Same is case for India under Indira Gandhi, nurtured LTTE for whatever reasons, but the same LTTE comes back to kill Rajiv Gandhi. India at one point thought they were helping Tamils in Srilanka survive.

Bad becomes Good
A simple case would be British occupation of India seems like a bad deal. But I think in the long run it is good. If India continued we would be having so many different countries in the place we call India now. Maybe Tamilnadu would have declared an armed war with Karnataka now.

But the British occupation is sole reason we are together. Only somebody really foolish can judge that being as a country together and using each strengths and weakness as complimentary to each other’s state as bad. Yes we have problems but being separate we will have bigger problems. It would be like the small countries in Africa like Namibia, Angola, Ghana which keep on fighting while people are starving to death.

Let us look at science/technology.

Good becomes Bad
The American inventor Oliver Evans designed the first refrigeration machine in 1805. He thought it was good, people will able to preserve food, hunger will be reduced etc.

In reality 1985, scientists discover the ozone, responsible for global warming, rising water, annihilation of coastal in the years to come, lesser rains. The cooling agents in the refrigerators have become unsuspecting weapons of mass destruction.

I am not advocating against technology or growth but it would have impossible at that point to judge that refrigeration can be so harmful. A blessing for mankind turned into a curse.

Bad becomes Good
Any scientist in history was termed either an anti-Christ or mad by the society till time proved otherwise. The examples are enormous. There have been cases in which the scientist had been put to death because he proposed the theory of the solar system and earth not being flat.

What seemed bad to society and people at that point have been accepted as good things that has happened in human history.

The concept of everything in this world is Maya or illusion according to Hindu philosophy.

BAD IS ABSOLUTELY RELATIVE

The statement by a westerner that ” The entire world is a stage and we are all actors doing our roles.”

Practically speaking, killing another human being is bad but not when he is an enemy soldier from across the border.

Driving slow is good but bad for a driver on the race track or driver of an ambulance taking a patient with heart attack to hospital.

So this where I end up. I find it difficult to define bad. So I question myself that “Can I judge something bad?”

Well it is a tough question. We can only judge something good or bad depending on the knowledge we have at that particular point of time.

Because as we all know the past is gone, no point in thinking or worrying about it, but it is a good teacher. History as I explained has taught us “What is good now will not always be good and what is bad will not always be bad”.

When I think through this I realize that I cannot really with full confidence judge something that has happened as bad.

When I cannot classify an event that happened as bad.The question “Why bad things happen to me?” changes to “Why things happen to me?”. Because I cannot call what had happened that day as bad anymore.

Once I stop calling that thing as bad. I don’t feel bad or sad about it. Please note I am not happy about it either. But I come to peace with myself and the world. I tell myself “Okay this happened this way it might have better if it had happened the way I expected it. But as history or time tells, you never know it is good or bad. So I will take this event a little easy and look forward to a better tomorrow.”

I feel relaxed after going through this thought process. I go and lie on my bed and close my eyes. More or less I am fast asleep in 5 minutes. During earlier times, I could not sleep at all.

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Why do bad things happen to me? – Part 1

Looks like it is the season for resurrecting old thoughts on this blog. It is Kumaran’s turn to write something that he wrote 10 years ago. While you enjoy the post, please check out my 8.5 minute crystal ball gazing presentation with audio from the ICT East event where i shared the stage with Infosys CEO & Wipro CFO. – Sukumar

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This is something which I wrote 10 years ago as a note to myself. Now that there is something called internet I thought will share it with other. It is a long one so breaking into 2 posts, so readers get a chance to read it. Read somewhere recently that internet users attention span is around 6 mins on a averrage nowadays. Was it Airtel which advertises – “Impateience is the new virtue”..my blood boils when I see that advertisement.

I have asked this questions to myself so many times. In fact as a child (when I was 8 years old), I had come to a conclusion that people are born to go from one form of suffering to another. Life is nothing but trouble, pain or a struggle.

There are a lot of things we aspire for in life and strive for it. Some things we get some we don’t. But always we feel that we have lost more than we gained. The losses seem to be always more than our gains.

We put so much effort into things we do to get the expected results. But when all the effort goes in vain it becomes very painful. It hurts even more when you see people less hardworking, less skilled achieving successes without any effort.

So do these bad things happen because

1. There is some big power plotting against our well-being ?
2. Is it our karma? (Fate)
3. Is it our previous birth’s sins?
4. Or am I not good enough? – Even this point can be proved as valid for all failures, I personally will accept it only in some cases. Because I feel that at hindsight after an incident it easy for people to judge that there is a better way of doing it. It is easy to say “Tendulkar should not have played that bad shot and got out, he should played it another way”. But if we can tell the same thing before he had played it , then there is some validity to that statement.

” Why? Why? Why? Why me? Why me? “.

Even after going through hours of personality development courses, self-confidence building measures we are still at the same stage. These questions eat into our peace of mind and take away our sleep. These thoughts take control over our lives that we cannot enjoy it any longer.

The Victim: For some reason we feel that we are being the victims of some cruel game that is happening. We feel helpless that we are unable to do anything about it.

The fear:A fear strikes deep into our heart. The fear that we will never be able to get what we want in life. There will be somebody or something around the corner waiting to take something that rightfully belongs to us.

Loss of hope :We start losing hope that something good will happen to us. When we lose hope of achieving success then the energy or the drive in us vanishes making us very weak and small in front of the world.

The above thoughts have troubled me so much during the past 25 years (It was 25 when I wrote it) . They trouble me today. They will trouble tomorrow also. But one good thing that has happened to me over a period of years is that how long they trouble me when something goes wrong has been reducing drastically. (Today as in 2009 I can say this statement written 10 years ago is becoming true, these things have a effect over me for a shorter period of time)

The reason that I have able to reduce the time these thoughts bother me is trying to understand some basic things which are there right before us. But in these days of run, run and run, we hardly get time to look at ourselves, forget looking at our thoughts.

What I basically do is go through a set of thoughts, which help me calm me down. I believe having peace of mind is achieved by a healthy mind.

What do I think?..in the next post.. ( hope I have the effect of mega serial episode closure when you see this..:-) 🙂 then I know I have some impact with this post)(to be continued…)

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Kasturi, Kasturi

Updated on August 6th, 2009 – Please see the “Epilog” at the very end.

This was my 1st work of fiction. I was probably 8 years old. Even though I wrote many later, this particular story is seared in my memory. I’ve been meaning to publish this for quiet some time. I’ve translated it, since the original was in Tamil – and added a little finesse & refinement to it. The story’s framework and flow of events are more or less intact.

Father came home in his scooter, whistling “Saare Jahan Se Achcha” tunelessly as usual. Mother was watering the roses & sprinkling crushed egg shells near their roots. “Are the children back from school?” he asked Mother. “Its only 4:30 PM, you’re back early” she said.

Chari from next door appeared in his trade-mark V-neck banian. “Sir, have you heard the news? The bus drivers are on a strike. There are no buses – none at all – connecting the suburbs with the town”. Mother looked alarmed. “How will the children come back home now?” Father said lightly “Have you forgotten, Alamelu? Mani goes to school in a bicycle. Surely Kasturi will ride “doubles” with him. Don’t worry”.

Somewhat comforted, Mother went in to make coffee for Father. It was 5 PM. The aroma of the 1st decoction was filling the kitchen. Mani came home, limping & sporting an injury in his knees as usual. Kasturi did not come with him. “Mani, where’s Kasturi?” asked Father. “Isn’t the runt home already?” asked Mani, picking his nose. “No, she isn’t. There’s a bus strike. We were hoping she would hitch a ride with you” said Mother, emerging from the kitchen.

“A lot of girls from her school are walking back home. I’m sure you’ll find Kasturi with them” said Mani, helping himself to a slice of plum cake. “I’ve told you a million times to wash your hands first. And – why, you’ve scraped your knee again! What have you done this time?” shouted Father. Mani continued chewing, but maintained a tactical silence.

“Walking? Its 7 Km from here to the school!” said Mother & looked helplessly at Father. “Her legs will be swollen when she gets home”. Father patted Mother’s shoulder. “Ask her to take a day off tomorrow, then” he said, to appease her.

“I’ll make her something she likes. She’ll be very hungry when she gets home” said Mother, to no one in particular. She busied herself in the kitchen. Father moved his easy-chair to the verandah, to keep an eye on passers-by & resumed reading the paper.

Around 5:30 PM, Father spied groups of school girls inching their way back home. Their shoes were dusty & they all looked tired. Slowly the girls trickled in, in small groups, talking desultorily. Father opened the gate expecting Kasturi. But, Kasturi did not come with them. “Subha, did Kasturi walk home with you?” he asked one of the girls. “No uncle. In fact, I did not see her at all this evening” said Subha.

Mother came out, wiping her hands in a dish towel. “Did Kasturi come with the other girls?” she asked. Father hesitated. “No, not yet Alamelu” he said. “What day is it today? Perhaps there’s a special class & she’s attending it” said Mother. Father brightened a little. “Yes, that must be it. That must be it. And do you remember? She wanted to join the basketball team. She’s such a tall girl! Maybe she has basketball practice” he said.

“She’s an idiot” muttered Mani. “I bet she’s in a field somewhere, playing hop-scotch with her friends” he said. Father resumed his vigil near the gate. He remained there at 6 PM, when Mother turned the lights on. “Its getting dark, please come in” she said. “Where could that blasted girl be?” appealed Father to the gate.

That was when Father’s friend Bhatt came in, in his ancient motor bike. “Shankaran, why so glum?” he asked. “Kasturi is not back yet” Father said hesitantly. Bhatt considered the situation. “Right. Have you checked with all her class-mates? Her friends?” “No, Ganesh. I don’t know what to think” said Father. “Then, let’s make a list of her friends & visit their houses”. He dragged Father out of the house.

“Mother, why don’t we call the school?” asked Mani. “That’s an excellent idea” said Mother. She wanted to do something to keep herself busy. Mother dialed the school’s number. She had neatly written down all the important numbers in a phone book, next to the phone. She caught her breath as the phone started ringing. But no one picked up the phone.

“Let’s try again” she said to Mani. He nodded his head solemnly. At the 4th attempt, the peon picked up the phone. “Madam, there’s no one in the school. Only me & the Watchman” he said. “What about the children?” asked Mother, fighting to keep her voice even. “The students, the teachers – they all left long time back, Madam” said the peon. “When exactly?” asked Mother. “Long time back, Madam. I told you already. Shall I cut the call now, Madam?” said the peon irritably & hung up the phone.

The door bell rang. Mani & Mother raced to the front door. But it was not Kasturi. It was their next-door neighbors, the Charis, with some mangoes in a basket. “My brother-in-law from Salem brought these mangoes, Alamelu. We brought some for your kids. Why – whatever’s the matter?”. For Mother had started sobbing. “Kasturi is not back from school yet” she managed to say. “Where is Shankaran?” asked Chari. “I’m right here” said Father, coming in with Bhatt. It was 7 PM.

“What did her class-mates say?” asked Mother. Father crashed to the sofa. Ever efficient, Bhatt took over. “Why don’t you two have a glass of water?” he offered. “Where is my daughter?” asked Mother, shrilly. Bhatt wiped his face with his hand-kerchief. “She was with some of them initially, when they started walking from the school. They were in a large group. Somewhere along the way, they lost track of her. Kasturi did not arrive with them” he finished reluctantly.

No one spoke for a while. “Perhaps we should go to the school?” offered Mrs Chari. “The peon is a lazy bum, he could be lying without checking all the class-rooms & play-grounds” she added. “Yes, yes, we should check the school” said Mother fervently. So, it was arranged. Mother rode with Chari in his scooter to the school. The school wore a deserted look. “Maybe we should call her name loudly?” asked Chari, averting his eyes from Mother. “KASTURI! KASTURI!” they yelled, as they moved from room to room, floor to floor.

But there was no one in the school. Near the playground, they found a man, stacking Cosco balls in a bin. “How can I help you?” he asked them. “I’m the basketball coach” he clarified. “We are looking for our girl – Kasturi. From VI B” said Mother hesitantly. “Kasturi? I know no girl by that name” said the coach. “You see, Sir. The situation is like this. The child hasn’t returned home yet” said Chari. “My God. Shouldn’t you have checked the school earlier?” asked the coach. “The athletes -” began Mother. “They all left 45 minutes back, Madam. And I assure you, Kasturi did not leave with them” said the coach, not unsympathetically.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me” he said, starting his bike. “Where is the child?” asked Chari, bewildered.

It was 8 PM when they came home. The temple bells were chiming in. Father was still lying in the sofa when they came in. “Any news of Kasturi?” he asked. Mother sighed. “Shankaran, why don’t we call on her Class Teacher & the Headmistress? I’m sure they’ll know about special classes” said Bhatt. “For lack of anything better to do” said Father, getting into the pillion of Bhatt’s bike.

Mrs Bhatt came in with her son Madhav, looking worried. “Alamelu, my husband relayed the news to me. Is there any update?” she asked. Mother started sobbing. “Please don’t worry. God is great” said Mrs Bhatt, hugging Mother. “Shall I make us all some tea?” she volunteered. Madhav & Mani started a desultory game of Carroms. “Yes, we should pray to Lord Balaji in Tirupati” said Chari. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten to pay your respects to the Gods. And the Lord works in mysterious ways” he added.

It was 8:30 PM when Father & Bhatt came back. “We spoke to the Headmistress. She was angry that we were bothering her at an untimely hour. But she says that special classes are held only for the 10th grade” said Bhatt. “And anyway, no special classes were held today” added Father, flinging himself onto the easy-chair.

Mani & Madhav stood near the gate & scanned the road. “You know, sometimes if you want to see someone & you meditate their name for a few minutes – Bingo, they’ll arrive” said Madhav confidently. “Really?” asked Mani. “Oh yes, it has worked for me many, many times” said Madhav. Kasturi, Kasturi, Kasturi. They meditated. But Kasturi did not come.

It was almost 9 PM. “Isn’t it dinner-time? Why don’t we all eat?” asked Mrs Chari. But, no one felt like eating. “Mani, Madhav – why don’t you have some food with my daughters?” asked the tactful Mrs Chari & led the children to her kitchen. There was still no sign of Kasturi.

“Perhaps we should retrace the path the child would have taken. The most likely path” said Mrs Bhatt. “Shankaran, Alamelu – both of you are tired. Why don’t I look for the child?” asked Bhatt. Mother’s face was pale. “No, I’ll come with you” she said resolutely. “I’m also coming with you” said Father. He looked suddenly older.

And so they went. Calling her name, “KASTURI! KASTURI! KASTURI!” once every few minutes. Stopping along the way. Peering at intersections. But, Kasturi did not come.

It was 10 PM when they came back home, exhausted. “What happened?” asked Chari. But, he knew the answer already. “Perhaps we should inform the police tomorrow?” he asked. His voice was hoarse. “I’m leaving the entrance lights on” said Mother. “Please, all of you, have something to eat & go to bed. I’m waiting for Kasturi” she said.

But Kasturi did not come.

Please remember that this story was written when there were no cell phones. The story takes place in a small town, like Mysore or Thanjavur. There are not many people on the streets, traffic is non-existent and the streets wear a deserted look after 7 PM. Unless you are in the market area, which passed as the “down-town”. Even there, most activity ceased after 9 PM.

Many of us took the city bus to travel from the suburbs to the school. Bus strikes were not uncommon. We would trudge along, taking the long commute back home on foot, school bags, water bottle and lunch box in tow.

“So, what happened to Kasturi?” asked my mom after reading the story, back when I wrote it. “I don’t know” I said. “You don’t know? What do you mean? You must have had at least the germ of an idea when you wrote it” – she said. “Nope, sorry mom” I said.

Mom looked at the story again. Presently she said “I feel bad for Kasturi”. I shrugged. My job ended with creating the story.

Epilog – If you want to know more about the ending, read the comments section. If you’re still not satisfied, click here.

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Is erudition a problem?

While you enjoy Abdul’s post below, please checkout my guest post on RK’s blog – Has twitter killed blogging & How to blog in the age of Twitter.  – Sukumar

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“Larding your conversations with small bits of erudition is more likely to irritate than to win friends and influence people.” – Stanley Fish as quoted in NYTimes.

From Class V onwards I studied Hindi for my second language in school. However, Tamil as the medium of conversation and medaipeccchu around me never ceased to fascinate me. Among them were the speeches of one of our Tamil Pandits Mr. Swaminathan. I was bowled over by the mastery of the language but was also simply transfixed by the power and speed of his delivery. Today I would consider him an erudite presence simply because I did not know the word erudite well enough then to use it.

That school student went onto attend several years later a workshop on ‘legislative processes.’ I was left well-confused at the end of the workshop, when speaker after speaker, or rather trainer after trainer, called the participants of the workshop as “erudite.” I was scratching my head as to beyond a comment or two by the well-meaning participant as to what they had said that could be considered erudite.

As Stanley Fish’s sharp comment raises the question: is erudition of any use these days? Whether it is business or the academy or society, the clamour by our citizenry is clear: give us knowledge that is useful. The first problem is how do we define knowledge that is useful? Is it only technology or science and technology or those plus the arts, humanities and social sciences and those plus that of theology and divinity. There is of course, the discipline of the history of ideas at which we all converge, have a stake but is an interest-area that is yet to enter the popular domain. Things have reached a stage of dispensability that not just the humanities but the conventional physics, chemistry and biology departments are coming under threat from funding crunches because they have neither anything more erudite to offer or are no longer considered useful.

One wonders what the Sir Isaac Newton’s up in the stars would be thinking. Add to it the processes of globalization that have added to the confusion. Everything that is profound /eternal and even the repository of modern knowledge has to be reduced to sound and visual bytes over the media, if not over cyberspace in order to gain TRPs. Erudition is headed to be reduced to a competition for eyeballs. So, while some would contend that globalization has actually expanded the vistas for knowledge, I would think it has actually shrunk that space. Parents are worried about the TV fixation of their children even if it is over the innocuous cartoon and animation channels.

Story-telling by parents/adults to the children about the great warriors, legends, Mahatmas, the scientists and the scholars is passé. There does not seem to be any inspiration found outside the electronic medium. However, are the parents themselves any better role-models for their children with their regular consumption of inane, hysterical and retrograde soap-operas? This is not to say that regurgitating ancient wisdom for 21st century media is bad but can we afford it to stop there or lose the originals. Or did I hear someone say that McLuhan style that the ‘medium is the message?’

What is the problem with erudition? Erudite interventions are perceived as ‘heavy’, they may make one think and they might intervene in the way we organize our life. We have passed Gen-X, Gen-Y and Gen-Next and now we are thinking about Gen-Z. So erudition is emerging to be a different kind of space it seems. It is to be safely contained within lecture halls of universities or debating societies or certain platforms dedicated for that purpose. Perhaps it was always that way and this post might be flogging a dead horse.

Does erudition have something of a preachy-preachy tone to it or are people just intimidated that there is someone out there who might have some wisdom different from theirs and has a perspective on a subject dear to him/her? SME’s or Subject-matter experts are doted upon within industry. Is not an erudite person simply an SME on a particular field plus that special something? What is that special something: call it commitment or effort or wisdom, that person has chosen to break barriers through knowledge.

It is no one’s contention that all conversation must be erudite and we should all be serious all the time. Some of the most erudite interventions can and have happened over humour. Sir Winston Churchill was a classic example of an erudite man who is humorous. Slightly different but of that genre is Mr. Khushwant Singh. There are yet so many examples of satirists who were erudite in their interventions. Surely there would emerge erudite people among Gen-Z who would make people stand up and listen.

Part of the problem with erudition is its boring. One can get very impatient with erudition. Of what use is (un)solicited gyan? It is a sedative like no other in the hands of the untrained and the disinterested. So, what are our priorities? Why do we moan about so many social problems the moment we step out of our homes and offices onto the roads and wish for alternatives to decadent politicos?  Why are we today effectively  clamoring for “thought leaders” rather than politicians, those who can provide “solutions” to our economic, political and social problems.

I think we have reached a stage where we are dismissive about knowledge. There is one more problem with certain forms of erudition. If you have it, flaunt it. However, most erudite people are of a modest variety. The world often passes by erudition. The brushing aside of erudition to what avail? The honest answer is I don’t know. The generation after Gen-Z or beginning with Gen-Z might make haste to claim ownership of that erudition or the global intellectual heritage that is truly ours and useful to boot. At least, that’s my dream. 🙂

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DA War

It all started because I wanted to be a fighter pilot. Tummy-achingly badly. They say women love a guy in a uniform. Since I’m one sandwich short of a picnic, I wanted to be the guy in the uniform. Chuck the guy out. Gimme the uniform. And not for dry cleaning.

I want you to know that I’m superbly qualified. War is an endurance test. As a kid, I endured my elder brother. I could match him punch for punch, pummel for pummel. Never once did I bite the dust. There’s no evidence to the contrary, least-ways.

War is all about know-how. My head was bursting with know-how. Because I had seen many war movies, with plenty of guns going bang-bang-bang in unison, the woo-woo-woo of bombs dropping, bomb shelters, Blitzkrieg, Kristallnacht and Indiana Jones. And Star Wars. I wasn’t ruling out inter-galactic warfare.

I decided to give a wide-berth to the know-whys. A good soldier doesn’t care why a war is fought. As long as there’s plenty of action, one gets back without missing pieces, preferably outside a coffin & gets the Presidential Medal for Valor. “Why” is distracting and tangential, when you’re in the quest for Valor.

I equipped myself with single-minded, one might say, obsessive zeal. When my parents weren’t buzzing around, I traveled on the steps of a railway compartment, like Frank Sinatra (Von Ryan’s Express). I occupied the seat next to the drivers on cars and buses, since Riding Shotgun sounded downright dangerous, like the stuff Lucky Luke or Cisco Kid did.

The element of surprise can win or lose wars. I ambushed the neighborhood roosters and goats with water balloons. A particularly vindictive beast chased me across a hillock once. With scant disregard for my noble intentions. I fell headlong on brambles & scraped my knee. I accepted my battle scars with grave dignity.

They told me that WWII was over, but I wasn’t taking any risks. I memorized choice German phrases like Schnell Franz, Das Boot, Das Boot! (39 Steps). I pored over old newspaper reports on The Bay of Pigs and got Cardona and Castro mixed up.

I did suffer pangs of conscience, from time to time. My inner voice cackled forth like a Hyena. A Soldier? Did you say Soulja? Girl, you crack me up! You stand 5′ 4” in your socks. You are not Dolph Lundgren’s doppelgänger, I’ll say that! Your last visit to a gym was 30 days ago, when you tripped over your shoe-lace & 3 fingers of your left hand touched the gym floor – accidentally. I hate my conscience, the fly in my ointment.

We all know physique is of no consequence when you have the instinct for war.  Consequences, Mate? Sure, let’s talk about that. Your astigmatism is so bad, that chances are, if you aim for Pakistan, you might – just might – hit Kazakhstan. With very unpleasant consequences for the Kazakhs.

I wonder if my TV remote would work on my conscience. How do you expect to kill your enemies? Once they see you, they may die laughing. A sound strategy! But – What is this, the War Zone or the Comedy Central channel? I hastily pressed the “Mute” button.

Watch carefully, for this is not a tale that ends happily, with me flying sorties on enemy terrain. Instead of driving in a scorching desert in an All-Terrain Vehicle, with an AK-47 slung carelessly on my torso, I’m tethered to a computer. I became the square peg that fits nowhere yet flits everywhere. They call me a – Software Engineer. Le Sigh.

Let’s cut to the chase and swallow the bitter almonds. In India, women are not permitted to engage in active combat. When I graduated from Engineering School, women could be in Quality Assurance, Military Engineering, Education, Nursing, Survey of India. Whoopee. Hope you didn’t fall off your seats in excitement. A Desk job, safe and secure. They could have snapped a ball & chain on my ankles and flung me head-first into the Mariana Trench. I could have faced impending doom with steely determination, amidst growing despair (Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca, watching the aircrafts take-off).

But this post is not about Women in the Armed Forces. This is not how I wanted this post to turn out. It has floundered like a blind, drunken blue whale on a very foggy day. The narrative took a nose-dive as soon as we got the title out of the way. I haven’t conveyed the essence. And we all know that the essence is of the essence.

Don’t paw the ground ferociously, I ain’t whining about Indian Armed Forces. Not yet. At least, not in this post. I see the tide turning slowly and steadily. In the near future, India plans to induct women in the Border Security Force – with limited active combat. That’s a start.

Towards the end comes meaning, or what’s left of it. I sometimes reflect over the intellectual & moral void in developing nations, the older nations. And I’m reminded of a ruined chapel. Its past grandeur, its spirit. It evokes pathos, not pride. Can these fragments of dusty magnificence be put together? By whom? This leads to quiet desperation & an almost bestial fortitude. For what cannot be changed must be borne.

What ails our nations? Its time we listened to What the Thunder Said: DA. A single syllable. What could it possibly mean? DA. Could it be Datta (Give) – Sacrificing ourselves for a larger cause? DA. Is it Dayadhvam (Compassion) – Sympathizing and standing up for those weaker than ourselves? DA. Perhaps it is Damyata (Discipline) – Exercising Self-Control and will-power?

DA. Its what you make of it.

The above passage is from T.S.Eliot’s The Wasteland. He referred to many earlier works to write his master-piece, most notably the Brihadaranya Upanishad. Datta, Dayadhvam, Damyata: Prajapati‘s teachings to his children – the Devas, the Humans and the Asuras.

I don’t deify war. Nor do I look at the taking of life, any life, in a cavalier manner. Yet, I sometimes wonder if Conscription will teach people to be Citizens. I confess I don’t know the answer, but I think it will infuse discipline. Maybe even inculcate DA.

Perhaps then, people will think twice before jumping the red. Perhaps they’ll not cheat on taxes. Perhaps they’ll have mercy on the less fortunate. Perhaps. Without hope, where does life leave us?

As a person that takes discipline to heart, my fascination for the Armed Forces is but natural. We don’t need to be Secret Agents or War Heroes to be disciplined. It can be practiced right here, right at home. The Holy Grail is gathering dust, atop the ruined chapel. No one will hand it to us, perhaps we’ve lost it forever. There’s no point in waiting for the Messiah. There’s no earthly use in rhapsodizing over the past.

But I know this. The answer to the human condition is in you & me. We can limp forward, away from this decrepit state, towards peace. If we imbibe DA. That is a precondition. For there can be no Human Rights without Human Responsibilities.