From Khushwant Singh,s column in Tribune on 17th

THIS ABOVE ALL
I go by the stopwatch
Khushwant Singh

WITH years I have become more and more intolerant of unpunctuality. I refuse to see people who are late for their meeting with me. I am rude to those who arrive late at other peoples’ parties. Instead of minding my own business, I have made it a fetish that has afflicted me, and made my one-time friends regard me as a crackpot. They keep their distance from me. I no longer go with an ordinary watch but abide by the dictates of a stopwatch. There are many people who observe strict punctuality without boasting about it.

The most famous of this breed was Bapu Gandhi. He had a large pocket watch dangling down his dhoti. Amongst the living is Lord Swaraj Paul. He regards coming before time also improper. Whenever he visits me, he stays in his car till it is the exact time he has fixed. My notion of punctuality includes imposing it on other people as well. Most people resent my doing so and have stopped visiting me.

One incident sticks in my memory. I was in Aurangabad staying in a hotel. Next to the reception desk was a life-size picture of Sai Baba. The atmosphere was very relaxed as all the guests on holiday had come to visit the Ajanta and Ellora caves. Ajanta was two hours’ drive in one direction. Ellora was an hour’s drive in another. Guests kept different time for their meals. It was not acceptable for me. I wanted my meals on the dot. I had told the manager. He coined a name for me: Waqt ka Paband Singh (bonded slave of time). It could not be a compliment but I took it as one.

Hidden hand

A recent incident has shaken my belief in rationality. Punam Sidhu, who is an expert on matters connected with taxes, has been transferred from Chandigarh to Delhi. She rang me up and asked if she could drop in to say hello. She is good looking and brainy. I asked her to come the next day. The next afternoon Penguin (India) sent me a copy of the new edition of my novella, Burial At Sea.

I had forgotten I had dedicated it to her and her husband. If she had come a day earlier, I could not have shown her the edition. It could not be a matter of mere coincidence. Was there a hidden hand behind the incident?

Friends around the corner

Around the corner I have a friend;

In this great city that has no end;

Yet the days go by and weeks rush on;

And before I know it, a year is gone;

And I never see my old friend’s face;

For life is a swift and terrible race;

He knows I like him just as well;

As in the days when I rang his bell;

And he rang mine;

If we were younger then;
And now we are busy, tired men;

Tired of playing a foolish game;

Tired of trying to make a name;

"Tomorrow," I say, "I will call on Jim;"

"Just to show that I’m thinking of him;"

And tomorrow comes;

Tomorrow goes, and distance;

Between us grows and grows;

Around the corner, yet miles away;

Here’s a telegram, sir;

Jim died today;

And that’s what we get;

And deserve in the end;

Around the corner, a vanished friend.

(Courtesy: Henson Towne)

Whiskey

A politician was asked about his attitude towards whiskey. Here are his candid comments: "If you mean the demon drink that poisons the mind, pollutes the body and desecrates family life, then I’m against it. But if you mean the elixir of life, the shield against chill, the taxable potion that puts needed funds into public coffers, then I’m for it. This is my position and I’ll not compromise."

Money

Workers earn it, spendthrifts burn it, bankers lend it, forgers fake it, swindlers swindle it, taxes take it, people dying leave it, heirs receive it, thrifty people save it, misers crave it, rich increase it, robbers seize it, gamblers stake it —– we could use it.

(Contributed by R.P. Chaddah, Chandigarh)

Sunset Hour for The family

wednesday, january 31, 2007

The sunset hour for the family

By Punam Khaira Sidhu

For his class assignment, my younger son — all of 11 — had to visit an old age home. The cheerful unaffected young boy who put his best cub reporter foot forward emerged from the experience a sombre young man after a poignant set of interviews with the city’s senior citizens.

The old age home was clean, and the management had tried to provide a home away from home. But was it really a home? Tears clouded the eyes of the inmates in response to my son’s query: why don’t you live in your own house or with your children? Each elder was a living epitome of an emerging social trend. The days of Shravana, who carried his parents on his shoulders, are clearly in the realm of legend today.

Nothing is more debilitating for a relationship than dependence. These are not times to test the time honoured bonds of love and respect. Stresses and tensions abound in the lives of urban professionals due to hectic work schedules and children’s requirements. The first casualties of high stress are relationships with elders, perceived as redundant or unproductive.

Acquisitive consumer lifestyles, with both men and women working to support them, have meant that the authority of elders is completely undermined. Unlike in the West, where parents ask children to find their own place after they turn 18, Indian parents live each day planning and saving for their progeny. Before student loans became more easily available, almost every Indian parent effectively sacrificed the present to provide for the child’s future. Many a desire was forfeited with a smile. Wants and comforts took an altruistic backseat to fund children’s aspirations. Is it unreasonable then for them to expect to be looked after in the sunset of their lives?

My father often called us, his children, his best investments. Do these investments pay off? Or is it time for parents to shed their altruism and provide for their old age first? The elders at the old age home believed that they had been traded in by their children for materialistic considerations. For my son, whose best friend is his grandfather, this was hard to accept. Can televisions, cars and refrigerators even compare with the love and care received from our elders? The answer to this question has to be a product of the circumstances of each family and each set of individuals. One can’t be overly judgmental about these issues.

But what our generation can strive for is to resuscitate the wonderful tradition of respecting our elders. I have found that when it comes to grandchildren, elders have a natural instinct for nurture. This is why each family should reach out to grandma and pa and mend frayed emotional bonds. If, in the extreme case, you can’t get along with your own, adopt one, unhampered by the emotional baggage of relationships that have atrophied. Nothing warms the cockles of the heart and soul quite like love from grandma/pa. You have my son’s word — or rather a grandson’s word — for it!

Dutiful Sisters

RSS Feeds| SMS NEWS to 8888 for latest updates the year was 1997. mother teresa, founder of the missionaries of charity order, was ailing. she had suffered a heart attack in 1983 and then again in 1989 and wanted to be relieved of her duties. pope john paul ii advised the nuns in a letter that the missionaries should be led by a woman of deep spirituality. for eight weeks they conferred. the selection effort culminated in a closed-door vote, where 132 senior nuns elected sister nirmala, unanimously, as their new superior-general on march 13, 1997. sister nirmala, then 63, had not been groomed as a successor to lead the order. her selection left her no choice. she was born into a nepali brahmin family of bihar before converting to catholicism and was trained as a lawyer. she supervised the order’s centres in the united states and europe, and since 1979, had devoted herself to meditation and led the contemplative wing of the order. this year, on march 4, sister nirmala stopped over to spend time with her chandigarh family. as a volunteer in the home, i saw her at close quarters. sitting in the little room that serves as a reception area in shanti dan, her eyes brimmed over with unconditional love and empathy. she was dressed in the order’s uniform of a coarse white, blue-bordered, cotton sari. her small feet bore cracks and were shod in rubber chappals. but the aura surrounding her was bright with peace and purity. when she spoke she radiated love and compassion. she said, ‘‘love demands that we give until it hurts not from our abundance but from our wants’’. her message for the people was, ‘‘god loves each one of you tenderly — trust him totally and seek his will in your love. his will is to love one another as god loves you’’. this frail woman presides over 676 convents in 129 countries which today have 4,500 nuns. sister nirmala handed out what she called mother teresa’s visiting cards and narrated a story for how they came about. a visiting businessman, calling on the nobel prize-winning missionary, had apparently handed out his business card while asking for mother’s. she wrote down a prayer and handed it over to him saying, ‘‘this is my business card’’. the card reads: ‘‘the fruit of silence is prayer; the fruit of prayer is faith; the fruit of faith is love; the fruit of love is service; the fruit of service is peace’’. a visit to shanti dan rejuvenates one in spirit and mind. the poorest of the poor, the sick, and the old have a home here. babies abandoned at birth are nurtured and cared for. the stench of neglect does not enter the convent. there are smiling faces everywhere. love pervades every nook of the home, from the cabbage patch outside to the nursery with the little babies fragrant with talc. mother mary watches over the home. on taking over, sister nirmala had said, ‘‘i am in dreamland right now. it’s a big responsibility. but looking at god, and depending on prayer, i think i will be able to continue god’s work’’. seeing her guiding the local nuns, presiding over mass and hugging each inmate of the convent in her frail, caring arms, it was clear that god’s work goes on.

sunday, january 4, 2009

The Steel frame

House of steel frame

It is perhaps an understatement to say that joining the IAS, is the dream of every young middle class Indian. And therefore every aspirant to this premier service, dreams of walking up the road to the Lal Bahadur Shastri Academy, Mussoorie, as I did on a sunny October afternoon.The Lal Bahadur Shastri National Academy for Administration(LBSNAA) is located in the old Charleville Hotel. Ruskin Bond writes that the locals always referred to it as the ‘Charley-Billy’ Hotel, which he thought was an obvious mispronunciation. But the laugh was really on him, because according to the records, the original owner had two sons, Charley and Billy, and he had named the hotel after them.
The LBSNAA comprises three distinct, picture-book campuses: Charleville for the probationers, Glenheys for the staff and Indira Bhawan for the mid-service courses. After the fire in 1984, the Karmashila Block was reconstructed and now accommodates the auditorium, library and computer lab. There is an open air theatre as well, set right amidst the clouds, with the Mussoorie skyline for a backdrop. The Mess is run by a trainee officers committee and there is a fine dining hall. The crazy walkways and endless steps connecting the main hostels Ganga, Kaveri (the girls block) and Narmada, mean aching calves and sore ankles for the probationers in their first few weeks.
The road to LBSNAA is long and arduous. Over 1 lakh aspirants take the Civil Services Preliminary exam conducted by the UPSC in June each year. Just 7000 qualify for the mains in December. I600 odd get called for the interview leg in May, while only 400 odd are finally selected for the IAS, IFS, IPS, IRS IAAS, CISF, Customs, IFtS, IRTS, IPOS, and other allied services. I checked out the profile of the batch selected in 2001 on the LBSAA website. Details of the 2002 batch had not yet been uploaded. 38% were below 25 years while 55% were in the 25-30 age group. Of the batch of 226 probationers, who took the Foundation Course here, 164 were male while 62 were female. 143 came from an urban background, while only 62 were from rural India.
Just outside LBSNAA used to be Baretto’s, now replaced by a Chopsticks and of course the Ganga Dhaba and Midway Restaurant that provide a respite when probationers tire of campus food. The owner of the provision store just outside the Indira Campus is a doppelganger of Hans Raj Hans. Hari tailor still stitches bandgalas for scrawny young probationers. The stationery store just outside the Academy is where every probationer gets his first service letterhead printed. The Academy is the venue for many probationer twosomes. Some relationships mature into marriages and enduring friendships. Batch after batch, of trained officers, leave the portals of this Academy to provide India its permanent civil service.
Punam Khaira Sidhu Posted: Feb 22, 2003 at 0000 hrs IST

published originally in Indian express

Catty tales

Catty Tales

by Punam Khaira Sidhu

OUR training hall could accommodate 50 participants. But we had visiting officer trainees who wanted to sit in on a lecture by a former Chief Information Commissioner. All was fine, with the capacity audience of 65, until the speaker took the mike. Then, the electricity went off and in the pitch darkness of the hall, without the hum of airconditioning, we heard the mewing of cats. While we waited for the electricity to be restored, an angry cat descended from the false ceiling and prowled ferociously. “Can I have a candle,” said our unflustered speaker, “so that everyone can see my face, and then I can get on”.

After the candle-lit lecture on the RTI Act got under way we decided to tackle the threat to the health and safety of the participants. From BSNL’s helpline at 197 we got the Municipal Commissioner’s (MC’s) number. The MC is guarded, like all civil servants, by a powerful PA. He informed us that the MC had been posted out. “What about his successor,” I asked. “Oh, the panel is being considered – it will take time, madam,” advised the PA. So I told him about our immediate problem with the cat and its litter and he very kindly put me onto the health department of the MC.

The health officer was in a meeting, but assured us that he would depute someone. Soon there was a smart bureaucratic person in our building, who informed us that while the Punjab Municipal Corporation Act, 1976, as applicable to Chandigarh, specifically mentioned dogs, cats fell in a grey area. “It depends on whether this is a pet cat or a wild cat? If it’s a pet it is the responsibility of the owner. If it’s a wild cat, then it’s the responsibility of the forest and wildlife department”.

So I was on Graham Bell’s invention to the forest department. “I’m sorry,” said the forest official, “our jurisdiction is limited to wild animals that stray into the city and the chances of a wild cat straying so deep into the city are remote”. But how does one tell a wild cat from a domesticated cat, I queried. “Oh, why don’t you call someone from Chhatbir Zoo,” advised our forester. Unfortunately, Chhatbir Zoo had no staff to spare. So they advised that we contact the municipal corporation.

We were back to where we’d started, on a path we had already traversed. Then someone suggested we contact the People for Animals (PFA). The PFA assured us of a visit from their animal catcher, but also apologised that unless the animals were sick, they couldn’t take them into their hospital. But they agreed to drop the strays on the city outskirts.

The PFA man came and informed us dourly, that he could catch the kittens but not the cat. He also admonished us “heartless taxmen” severely for separating the kittens from their mother and told us, quite unequivocally, that the kittens would undoubtedly be killed by wild animals on the city outskirts. Suddenly, it wasn’t about the health and safety of the participants, but about a mother and her young.

It was the day after Mother’s Day and on a day when the rest of the world was celebrating motherhood we ‘heartless taxmen’ decided to forget about health and safety, and let the cat and its kittens be.

Source Link: http://www.tribuneindia.com

I’m glad my kids didn’t have A Tiger Mom !

WHEN PISA test results showed that Shanghai students’ scores were far ahead of American students, President Obama referred to it as a “Sputnik Moment” — “the humbling realization that another country is pulling ahead in a contest we have become used to winning”. In this scenario comes Yale Professor Army Chua’s book “Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mom”, a ‘politically incorrect’ account of how she raised her daughters with a disciplinarian upbringing, Chinese style. And while it’s got Americans introspecting their parenting styles, Indian parents are using it to strengthen their own mission-mode upbringing of their kids. And that’s got me worried, because I was raised by a “Tiger Dad”.

We all turn into our parents as we grow older and I did too. So there I was, a ‘Tiger Mom’ pushing her kids to work towards A’s, play the guitar, tennis, golf and work at calligraphy and math. But I had not reckoned with the boys’ genes and their ‘Laidback Leo’ father. They had soon replaced my teeth with dentures!. ‘Laidback Leo’, loves, supports and does not judge- B’s and C’s are happily accepted and in fact the boys chide him  for not having higher expectation of them. He is proud of their well-rounded personalities and their high emotional quotients (EQs). And the boys love him and would die for him.

When they were growing up, we dreaded PTAs where we got routinely pulled up for the boys’ “attitude” and pranks. But the same ‘attitude’ has helped them excel and adapt to situations, without, parental supervision even while kids raised by ‘Tiger’ parents have floundered. I constantly seek approval, while my boys have a self esteem, you cannot dent. The answer to Chua’s Battle Hymn should be the “Lullaby of the Laidback lion” –my spouse’s ‘politically correct’, account of parenting his progeny, American style. Childhood is a time of ‘nurture’ – why turn it into a ‘battle’?

Indian and Chinese kids grow up with such odds (we are 1 billion plus) that competition is built into their DNA. But it is perhaps incorrect, like Chua, to assume strength when children are fragile in every way. Let the fire in a child’s belly decide where he puts the bar. Would it be fair for a parent to place the bar and push until the child has fractured both legs trying to cross it?

‘Tiger Mom’ or ‘Laidback Lion’ – the jury’s still out. But history is witness that innovation and creativity can be stifled by too much discipline. Bill Gates, Michael Dell and Zuckerberg rejected degrees for creativity- a Chinese Mom would have coerced them into submission and insisted that they finish college, get their degree and put in some piano practice as well!

Of RTE, BMWs and Lamborghinis

FRIDAY, JANUARY 28, 2011

Of RTE, BMWs and Lamborghinis by Punam Khaira Sidhu

You haven’t written for a long time”, says my mother. I am an inspirational writer and I need to feel to write. I write when something moves me with joy, hope or despair, and of late like all the other “aam aadmis” in this country I’ve just been too shell-shocked with scam after scam hitting our collective conscience. It’s a crisis of faith; no one is sure who to believe in anymore.
The bureaucrats and politicians were always the black sheep but we believed in the judiciary, we believed in the Press, and we believed in some corporate houses whose pristine reputations of ethical conduct had been built up over decades. As the entire North Western Region faced the onslaught of a cold foggy winter, I was dwelling in this numbed state of unfeeling inertia.
And then in the New Year I was jerked out of my somnolence by an incident at the traffic lights. There we stood waiting for the lights to turn from red to amber. The rush of women and children hiking their wares congregated towards the waiting vehicles. Soon there was a bright-eyed youngster, tapping on my window, selling maps for his school fees. What about the Right to Education (RTE) and free and compulsory education, I wondered.
“Buy a map, God will bless you”, he intoned. And then, more hopefully, “Buy, God will bless you with a good husband”. He continued in the same vein, all the while watching my expressions and gauging my reactions carefully —“Buy please, God bless your children”, and then looking at the squat sarkari Ambassador he tried again, “buy please, God will bless you with a big car”. That certainly hit the right vein and catching the gleam in my eyes he quickly realised it too. So the blessings for a big car rained thick and fast and — soon he was blessing me with a Mercedes-S Class no less, and then half question-half blessing a BMW-7 series, ya phir Lamborghini? That was what got me out of my numbness.
I couldn’t help being awed by the potential of the Indian dream as I’m sure are CEOs like Michael Bassermann, Helmut Panke and Stefan Winkelmann and others buying into the India story. The Cassandras can take a hike — look at the brand awareness coupled with the size of the market that this country constitutes: A population of 1 billion of whom 80 per cent are bright young things like my BMW boy. And this is even before the RTE has even been implemented. Let education empower these youngsters and fuel their drive to strive ahead and the only way this country can go is up and ahead.
As long as we have these resources in place, all we need is to keep the faith and be vigilant and draw inspiration from men of conscience like J Gopikrishna who broke the 2G scam. Suddenly I’m filled with the warmth and cheer of the holiday season and the infinite blessings of a wonderful New Year.