And Their SuperHappy Parents!

A Blog begun years ago as a stroll on the Funny Side of Serious Street, highlighting India's problems. Revived now by adding memories of old Bombay, including excerpts from Dreams of One Country. 

And Their Super-Happy Parents! 

And no one is happier with the genius entrepreneurs who develop SuperTots than the parents of those kids - for this newly-discovered chance to show-off to each other and the neighourhood. An utterly meaningless and time-wasting pursuit. For anyone in India who can afford it showing-off is one of the hottest of pleasures. They ignore the squalor around, the many whose lives are crushed by suffering and injustice. Is this the way India can hope to become a developed nation? Compare this India to Japan. The Japanese learnt a bitter lesson from their folly in World War II and set out to reconstruct their country. They aimed at lifting the quality of life of all their citizens. And there was no singing self-praise by either the people or leaders. No pompous pronouncements on what great things Japan would do. Twenty years later the world praised Japan’s achievements. 
India Cinemascopic: My novel Dreams of One Country - for download on I-phone, pad or computer from Amazon.com - is a panoramic story of young dreamsand ideas inspiring India's people to share and care for each other and build a truly modern nation.

Globalizing India's SuperKids!

A Blog begun years ago as a stroll on the Funny Side of Serious Street, highlighting India's problems. Revived now by adding memories of old Bombay, including excerpts from Dreams of One Country. 

 Globalizing India's SuperKids!

Here's another example of the kind of enterprise globalization is inspiring in India. Capitalizing on Indians with money, brilliant entrepreneurs have opened nurseries for under-school tots that offer to develop in the little ones more senses than the 5 all normal humans possess - in short, to turn them into SuperKids or geniuses. High fees ensure no undeserving kids of low income parents get in. And the stage is set for high dramatics.

Take one such nursery of geniuses. A showing-off competition begins each morning with big cars (Chevvies, Toyotas, Skodas -you name them) arriving at the gates, each carrying a tiny tot to school. (Most of the tots live within a ten-minute walk from the school.) Some are accompanied by one parent. Where both parents are busy making money, the tot is accompanied by a chauffeur and a retinue of attendants. Some cars stay around through the day - clearly indicating the parents have so many cars that one has been exclusively set aside for their tiny tot. The charade is repeated at school closing time.
Surely, one extra sense those kids are likely to acquire early is their parents' craving to show-off.
 
Can such utterly fruitless and time-wasting pursuits take India far on the road to development? Do such parents ever think of or desire to help any of the country's many half-starved kids?

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Tail Lights

1. India Illuminiscopic:
Check out Dreams of One Country on Amazon.com. If the novel's Revolutionary Theme - the March to a New Ek Desh India - appeals to you, you can download it on any device: I phones, pads or computers. In the 21st Century story youth lead India's people to unite as Ek Desh (One Country), to strive together and build an enlightened and truly modern nation
2. Can Happy Families Afford to Shut up?
Nothing is easier in the world than to jump to conclusions, misunderstand and add to misunderstandings. The preventive treatment is a family policy to bring up issues openly - if there is doubt, confusion or a suspicion of motive or intention. An unknown proverb: In families initial annoyance is better than lifetime rifts.

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Jukebox Junkie in old Bombay

A Blog begun years ago as a stroll on the Funny Side of Serious Street, highlighting India's problems. Revived by adding memories of old Bombay, including excerpts from Dreams of One Country.

 Jukebox Junkie In Old Bombay

I was in college when the first jukebox arrived in Bombay. Within months every Irani restaurant in town - from VT Station to Flora Fountain to Museum to Colaba - including the Empire, Bastani's and Leopold's - had a jukebox. In those days there were far more Irani restaurants in the city than south Indian or Udupis. People went there specially for tea, cakes, pastries, samosas and a technicolor cold drink called falooda  Anyway, I became a confirmed jukebox fan. Or a juke junkie? (I did not even spare lunch money, making up for that at home. At dinner.) Every day from college I headed out to town for the music. The jukeboxes were showpieces with flowing coloured lights. You put in a 4-anna bit and pressed the button against the song you wanted in a side-list. A mechanical arm moved the record on to the turntable. Then stereophonic sound filled the restaurant. Over mutton samosas and tea, the music enthralled me. My favourite Hindi singer was and still is Mukesh. But the piece of music on which I lavished my lunch money was Billy Vaughn's orchestra.playing Sail Along Silvery Moon.
Soon we were heading into the Rock-n-Roll era beginning with Bill Haley and the Comets. And everyone wanted to hear the new big beat music. Songs from the movie Rock Around the Clock - the story of how Rock began with Bill Haley - became chartbusters. Among the movie's songs I still remember the Platters crooning The Great Pretender.

Times changed. Not only did the fancy jukeboxes disappear, but - in an increasingly narrow-minded world - so did old Bombay's Irani restaurants.

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Tail-Lights

1. India Cinemascopic
My novel Dreams of One Country - for download on I-phone, pad or computer from Amazon.com - is a moving panorama of young dreams and ideas inspiring India's people to come together as Ek Desh (One Country) and build a truly modern nation.
2. Can Happy Families Afford to Shut up?
Nothing is easier in the world than to jump to conclusions, misunderstand and add to misunderstandings. The preventive treatment is a family policy to bring up issues openly - if there is doubt, confusion or a suspicion of motive or intention. An unknown proverb: In families initial annoyance is better than lifetime rifts.

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Busted BusStop Comedy

A Blog begun years ago as a stroll on the Funny Side of Serious Street, highlighting India's problems. Revived by adding memories of old Bombay, including excerpts from Dreams of One Country.

BUSTED BUS-STOP COMEDY

Scene: A solid steel bus-stop with a steel bench. For years it has sheltered people from sun and rain on a glass-and-glitter commercial street that was wholly residential 15 years ago. Cracked pavements and road. Leaking water mains flowing by. Litter everywhere.

Day One of Drama: The bus-stop disappears leaving 4 jagged metal stumps that can injure the unwary.

Day Two: A new aluminium bus-stop appears at the same place. Around it big banners proclaim how much good the local elected politician has done for the people - including, building new bus-stops.

Day Seven: The new bus-stop disappears, leaving 4 more jagged metal stumps. But over and around the place a shamiana has been put up. Obviously, an indication that a political rally would take place there.

Day Eight: A bus-load of gun-wielding reserve policemen are camped around the shelter-less bus-stop. Obviously, the rally had ended in a fight between rival political parties. Broken pavement stones are scattered all around.

Note: Neither the cost of breaking or building a bus-stop would come of out any politician's pocket. It would come out of public funds. This true story of vanishing bus-stops is a tiny part of the national comedy - or, rather, tragicomedy - of fooling the people that has gone on too long.

Question: Can this kind of politicians help India develop into a country like Denmark, Singapore or the US?    

Tail Lights:


1. India Cinemascopic
My novel Dreams of One Country - for download on I-phone, pad or computer from Amazon.com - is a moving panorama of young dreams and ideas inspiring India's people to come together as Ek Desh (One Country) and build a truly modern nation.

2. Finding True Happiness: Does it mean freedom from worries? In life that's virtually impossible. Making more and more money? Or being able to show-off, particularly to neighbours? Real happiness is in sharing moments of contentment with another human. We tend to forget happiness is also the satisfaction at bringing some happiness to others and, equally important, of not being the cause of unhappiness to anyone else.

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Marching to a New India

 A Blog begun years ago as a stroll on the Funny Side of Serious Street, highlighting India's problems. Revived by adding memories of old Bombay, including excerpts from Dreams of One Country.

 Marching to a New India
(Excerpt 7 - from  Aiming High, a chapter in my novel Dreams of One Country, Amazon Books.)

Ten days later Norman got the letter he had anxiously waited for. Three pages long, with post-scripts added over several days. Priya told him to be strong - for his family’s sake and her. The last page described an unexpected event. On reaching Allahabad she had learnt that Jaiprakash Narayan was on a short visit to the city for medical tests. She went to see him with an elderly lady, Uncleji’s relation, who knew JP from their college days. Priya thanked Jaiprakashji for arousing hope in the people. She gave him a copy of Aiming High’s summary and said the book’s stories described the grassroots realities stifling the country. And it outlined steps essential for India to progress and find a place of honour in the world. As she was leaving, Priya mentioned she hoped to get an opportunity to do something useful for his campaign. JP asked some questions about her educational background. Then he told her the man dealing with the press at the main Patna office would welcome a good assistant. A day later Priya accepted JP’s offer.

Uncleji had no objections to her working for JP, but told her to stay with his younger brother Ganshyam’s family in Patna. Ganshyam managed Jha’s factories in Bihar. She was relieved to escape a confrontation with Uncleji. Radheshyam Jha was close to the ruling party. But he also had the reputation of having a foot in every camp.

A post-script from Patna was more news. JP had given the book summary to a British journalist. A Harold Wynant. Or Winant? She was unsure of the spelling. ‘And just today,’ Priya wrote, ‘barely one week after joining the Patna office, JP has assigned me a different job – to coordinate activities of Chatra Sangarsh, the movement’s youth wing across the country. JP said it’s more important work. So I’m busy, my love.’

In his reply Norman said he was reeling at the turn of events in her life. In closing he said her love was the one wondrous event of his life. He addressed it to her office.

                                                                     

On Dasara morning a loudspeaker near Himalay blared out Hindi film songs. During this festival people honour their tools of work and possessions. Most of the cars on the road were washed and garlanded with stringed mango leaves and marigold, the few big imported ones more flower-decked than the rest. One more opportunity, Norman knew, for our haves to flaunt. Over the Himalay lawns a squadron of dragon flies, coppery in the sun, performed aerobatics. He was under the shower when he remembered Cy was leaving that day. While rushing out he picked a letter dropped by the postman that had gone under a stool. It was from Priya. He went by taxi, yet missed the flight. Sorry, Cy, he thought. Having come so close to Juhu Norman wanted to see Priyasmeet again. He crossed the footbridge near Santacruz station and got a bus to the beach.

Inside the cottage gate cannas splashed colour. A car stood in the driveway. Maybe her parents are here, he thought. He ambled along the hedge, peeping in through leafy chinks like a shy intruder. He tried, but could not quite recall the view from the verandah. How inexorably yesterdays fade in memory, he thought. An unseen mower clacked away, spicing the air with the sappy scent of grass. He walked down the path to the beach, trampling a tangle of ipomoea creepers with mauve trumpet flowers. Over the sea white wings moved languidly. Low tide spread unhurriedly on the sand. He sat in the lookout tower’s shade and read Priya’s letter. Wynant had told JP that a London agent would see the MS.    

She wrote: ‘This is our chance. Please finish Aiming High. Norman, I miss you all the time. I hear you singing. And in mind’s eye I see the little gestures that become you. Your shrug. And the quick smile. If I concentrate too much your face fades away. But I thank God for every memory. My dearest, do you know where these lines are from?

“How like a winter hath my absence been

From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!

What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen!”

A Shakespeare sonnet? Norman stopped reading and inhaled deeply. The sea air was not anaesthetic. He stood up. Afar, a tern dive-bombed into the water for fish - in a tiny burst of whiteness. It rose again to join the low-flying flock. Above Creado’s shack he saw Priyasmeet’s tiled roof. A fleeting year? he wondered. Was it all? Our story’s end? No! No! No! He walked on and re-read the verse she had quoted. In the sea wind rushing in his ears he heard the lines faintly. In Priya’s voice.

                                                                

They paid little for Dad’s lifetime of service to the railways - just about covered his debts. Worse, an officer created impediments to collect a bribe. Four months passed before the Himalay flat was transferred to a company executive. The rent-and-pugdee system was giving way to self-owned flats. With a down payment Norman got a fifth floor cubby-hole near Priyasmeet. A room, kitchen and bath. He placed the remaining forty-five thousand in a fixed deposit for Mums at a Mussoorie bank.

In her next letter Priya wrote: ‘Uncleji is hard to predict. He hasn’t said a harsh word to me since that day in Bombay. Of course, his brother keeps a hawk’s eye on me here in Patna. I’m quite sure Uncleji expects to see a patch-up with Rajinder. But I want no part of that family. My parents gave up the Goregaon bungalow and are living at Priyasmeet. You may pass them on the beach without knowing who they are.

‘Truly, my dearest, I can’t see enough to believe there’s a future for us. But I carry a flame of hope. Emotions are so strange. So binding. You and me. And I love my parents to distraction despite hating what they did as part of the system.

‘Norman, in JP I see nobility and trust. In today’s circumstances both can be weaknesses. He encourages me to speak about my views on issues. I talk to him honestly. My work is increasing. Later, I’ll be travelling often. So you’ll have to write care of Asha Tiwari, a girl who works with me at the office. You can trust her.’

                                                                   

Norman kept Priya informed of the book’s progress. His friend Leo was the model for the lead character of half the stories. Priya listed a few other state-of-the-country issues that occurred to her, which he could consider writing about.

                                                                    

Norman recalled Dad’s cynicism about JP while reading a Priya letter full of admiration for the man. She wrote: ‘Huge crowds attend his meetings. Common people love him. He himself admits his efforts to get zamindars, the big land owners, to be kind to their poor brethren had failed. But years of walking from village to village had taught him how our poor and low castes were exploited. JP believes his movement will grow strong if he lives for another five years. If not, others like me (Yes, my love, he said it.) should continue his mission. He wants an awakened people to clean up public life. He said neither the people nor the leaders realized that self-rule was far more difficult than winning freedom. Many of our politicians took the easier way. To burn and destroy was easy. To misuse freedom was easy. To divide a people with anger or hate was easy. But to build a country was impossible - unless everyone shared the responsibility. (In italics only for this blog post.)'                                                                

   

Norman completed the book in five months of hard work. Two more months went in redacting and finalizing the manuscript. He sent it to Priya. At July end 1974 he signed on with the agent introduced by the British journalist. That November the book found a home. The publisher suggested several editorial changes. More work. 

Events are racing, he thought. To the point where I expect something new in each letter from Priya. He wrote to her he could not stop rubbing his eyes at the circumstances now driving them both. ‘My precious one, where are we headed?’ he asked.                                                                 

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Priya sought Norman’s ideas on making the youth movement truly vibrant and purposeful for the country’s future. She would have liked nothing better than to work with him as a team. That was not possible in the near future. Not till she was free of the Jhas. Besides, Cy had told her what Norman was going through.   

In the Patna unit of the Chatra Sangharsh, she started a discussion group called Ek Desh or One Country, the title of Norman’s short story. JP approved the step. He asked all Sangharsh units to form Ek Desh groups to debate humanitarian values and progressive ideas. A month later Priya discussed with JP the pros and cons of starting a political party of youth to push for positive change in the country. JP was against his movement entering politics. He believed in motivating the people to bring about change. Her argument was that change was difficult in a vast land with so much counter-productive thinking. To lift India to new heights required a government, one with vision, one led by a bold, trusted and inspiring leader. Priya referred to Ataturk modernizing Turkey. ‘Now we have you,’ she said.                                                               

After three meetings Priya wrote to Norman that JP remained unconvinced. ‘He sees logic in my views and sincerity in my dedication to the country. But he’s determined to keep his movement outside party politics. In that case, I told him, I would have to think of doing it myself. He did not get angry, but said he would not be a part of it. He asked her to be cautious, because politics can easily destroy character. On the other hand he’s dismayed that there are many opposition parties, divided by ideology and pettiness. He is keen to see them come together for a common cause – to save and protect the people of this country. That’s his other concern: to try to transform Indian politics.’

In the midst of her work for JP, Priya made plans to start a new party. She discussed ideas with some of the Sangarsh’s student leaders. In letters to Norman she elicited his opinion on the steps she was considering and some suggestions by students.

Ek Desh’s launch in March 1975 went unnoticed by the media. All initial members were from JP’s youth wing, the Chatra Sangharsh. In the months that followed Priya and a band of young men and women met and explained Ek Desh’s objectives to youth groups - in states like Bihar, Maharashtra and Gujarat where the Sangarsh was strong. She wrote to Norman that Uncleji too did not approve of the direction she was taking, but did not try to stop her. ‘Norman, I keep wishing you were here. Can you believe it, my love? Just months ago it was Quixotic tilting. Wishful thinking. Now I’m at the hub of a nascent national movement of youth dedicated to building the dream we call One Country.’

        

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Tail-Lights:

India Illuminiscopic:
Check out Dreams of One Country by Jagjit (and John Daniel).  If the novel's Revolutionary Theme - the March to a New Ek Desh India - appeals to you, you can download it from Amazon.com. on any device: I phones, pads or computers. In our story of a 21st Century India, youth lead the people to unite as Ek Desh (One Country). It's the story of striving to transform India into an enlightened and truly modern nation

2. TipTop Health Tip

The idea must be learnt preferably in youth. It's scientifically proven that - in addition to a diet that includes a variety of vegetables and some fruit every day - exercise reduces the incidence of major problems like heart disease and cancers. Other benefits too. It stimulates body defence and immune systems, sharpens mental activity, acts as a mood elevator and contributes to positive thinking. About half hour daily, five days a week. Exercise works over a period of time. (Don't expect results tomorrow.) And it should be aerobic exercise that makes the heart pump faster, the lungs work harder. Walking around joking with friends, laughter sessions, sitting in a pretty yoga pose or waving Feng Shui flags in slow motion can be mind relaxing, but it's fooling oneself to call that exercise. Those are ways of pretending you're exercising while avoiding the hard work. It has to be jogging if you like to travel while exercising or a treadmill if you don't want to see the landscape changing. And let me tell you, as you go on with it you won't feel it's hard work. You'll enjoy it.

The benefits of exercise are described in our book Doctor at Home - by Jagjit Daniel and John Daniel.

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WorldWar2: Old Bombay

A Blog begun years ago as a stroll on the Funny Side of Serious Street, highlighting India's problems. Revived by adding memories of old Bombay, including excerpts from Dreams of One Country.

World War II in Old Bombay

For me, as a child, watching the street below from the common balcony on the third floor of the 5-storey tenements on Dadar Main Road was fun. The Krishna Vishranti Graha hotel right in front and the two Irani restaurants at the corner would compete in blaring out film music on their radios. The local goondah's men would play crazy pranks on the road. But when they did things like knocking off a lame beggar's walking stick and then stood around laughing at the man's misery, I would fume at their meanness.

Those were the days of World War II. The Japanese army was racing north after knocking the British out of Singapore. Every now and then the air raid siren would start its winding music - sounding like the world's biggest saxophone. WAACs of the Women's Auxiliary Army Corps (British, some Indians - mostly Anglo-Indians, all smart in jacket-and-skirt uniforms) and members of the air raid patrol wearing ARP armbands would shoo away people. Streets would empty. If it was nighttime all the street gaslights were put off and dark curtains were drawn across windows. I was thrilled to watch searchlights crisscrossing the skies and the Divali-like flares, explosions and showers of light as antiaircraft guns opened up on some suspicious object. Possibly groups of birds! The Japanese never tried to bomb Bombay.
In the evenings I would hang hang around the balcony to see my father returning from work. Some days he was late, and the longer I had to wait the more I worried. Then the boys ran by shouting 'Clojingggdalaay!' ('Closing Daily!') and sold slips of paper giving the last digit of the American cotton selling price for the day. (The last digits of the opening ('Opaaandalaay!'yelled the boys) and closing prices of American cotton were used for organized gambling across the city those days.) That meant it was past nine, and I would run to my mother for some kind of assurance. What a moment of relief (of joy) it was when my father finally appeared at the street corner!

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Tail Lights:
1. India Cinemascopic
My novel Dreams of One Country - for download on I-phone, pad or computer from Amazon.com - is a moving panorama of young dreams and ideas inspiring India's people to come together as Ek Desh (One Country) and build a truly modern nation.
2. A Happy Marriage
Everyone wants to be happily married...not married-and-harried! The most important ingredient for a happy marriage is love.The most important ingredient for love is for the partners to be the very best of friends.
The most important ingredient to be the best of friends is to accept each other as equals or equal partners - for neither to try to belittle, dominate or walk over the other or the other's family.

Needless to say, the reverse ideas are the perfect formula for an unhappy marriage!

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Juhu SunsetGlow Story

A Blog begun years ago as a stroll on the Funny Side of Serious Street, highlighting India's problems. Revived by adding memories of old Bombay, including excerpts from Dreams of One Country.

A Juhu SunsetGlow Story

(Excerpt 6 - from  A Three-day Lifetime, another chapter in Dreams of One Country - Amazon Books. There are many scenes of old Bombay in the novel, a story of young dreams and fresh ideas inspiring the people to unite, to build an India dedicated to humane and progressive ideas - indeed, to join the most developed countries of the world, like Denmark and the U.S.)

Priya placed an LP on a portable player she had brought. Begum Akhtar’s dreamy ghazals bridged their silences. She lay on him, snuggling in his arms.

After sunset they walked barefoot in the tide’s wash. A red gash showed where the sun had gone. He asked her the meaning of a ghazal’s refrain rewinding in his mind - Meyrey humnufus, meyrey humnawah, mujhey dosth bankey dagah na dey. A kiss cut off her explanation. Tidewater curled around their feet.

They found a seaside restaurant with a garden and ordered dinner. Coconut fronds dipped below the eaves like a giant bird’s pintails. In the distance shore lights danced on the waves. ‘Norman? I feel we’ve always been together,’ she said. 

‘Man and wife in the universal reality. So said Jack Kerouac.’

‘Who? Oh, the beat writer.’

A waiter gave them the evening paper. In a speech Prime Minister Indira Gandhi had again claimed great achievements.

‘I used to admire her,’ said Priya. ‘When the Grand Alliance threatened to defeat her, Papa and I were worried. After coming to Bombay we had to re-register to vote. A helpful local Congress leader took our forms. On election day we found our names missing. We learnt that the leader had charged poor illiterates to fill forms, but hadn’t submitted any. He pocketed campaign funds too. At his victory meeting Mrs Gandhi praised his patriotism. He’s now President of the Slum Dwellers’ Union. His goondah enforcers collect rent from slums. He and a builder opened a new hospital. Just a matriculate, but he is the hospital’s head. We heard rumours of nurses getting pregnant. A lady doctor resigned accusing him of molesting her. Nothing happens to him. I lost faith in Indira. If she supported such parasites, what hope have our poor?’

‘Their hope…as a great man said in another context…is as weak as soup…’

‘Made from the shadow of a pigeon that died of starvation.’

‘Right!’ he exclaimed, delighted she had quoted Lincoln back at him.

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Tail Lights
1. India Cinemascopic
My novel Dreams of One Country - for download on I-phone, pad or computer from Amazon.com - is a moving panorama of young dreams and ideas inspiring India's people to come together as Ek Desh (One Country) and build a truly modern nation.
2. Face Values Can Deceive: Whether it's people or events try not to jump to conclusions by Face Values. Look beyond sur-faces.In case of people what you initially see may be their cosmetic faces. In case of events look beyond the surface ripples. The deeper undercurrents are those which move events in different directions and determine their outcome.