Growing Up

Childhood. Raised with stories older than civilizations. Epics, the wisdom of several generations, painted on a land with variation beyond measure: a sub-continent. Handed down across countless generations, to be laid at the mercy of television animation of the 1990s, and the painted panels and thought bubbles of Amar Chitra Katha. 

Youth filled with cricket. Entire summer days devoted to emulate 5-day test matches, only to fall short by 4 days and 6 hours every single time. Glimpses of a few of the billion faces. A waddle in a beach, a hike up a mole hill, a safari through a forest, a tour of a monument, a drive through the ghats, a glimpse of snow covered peaks towering to the sky. The world expands and re-calibrates the senses. The sounds of a thousand languages transform and imbue memories. Every new syllable, a style of expression centuries old. Languages that mix and meld like rivers. Rivers that span kilometres, crossed on thundering railway carriages.

Adolescence. Mischief, with access to fire-crackers once a year, igniting flames that smoulder, fuelled by hormones, stifled by orthodoxy and housed in centres of co-education. The furnace of young adulthood crushed under the weight of tomes stacked up to the stratosphere. Loud voices preaching and promising a bright future, but a silent voice whispering that there can be no other present. Minds that wish to observe, explore, charm, fantasise, attract, appreciate and be enamoured. Minds locked inside study rooms, shackled by sermons, crippled by the burden of 40 years to come.

Young adulthood. Home is left behind in the vast hometown - but a mere dot on the map. Meeting, mingling and making merry with compatriots from several other dots. A view of the world's layers through their glimpses and mine, expanding mutually with conversations: thoughtful, fiery, vile, lewd and caustic, but honest. Friendships forged that outlast the vagaries of time, space and fortune. Battles of wits. Battles in playgrounds. Playgrounds in classrooms. Classrooms in hostels. Boundaries destroyed between night and day. Minds pampered with limitless freedom bereft of responsibility. Hands decorated with rings clasping fraudulent degrees. A rush of blood to the head and elsewhere. A corruption of Kipling among several others: "Ours is the earth and everything in it".

Leaving a trail to revisit for decades.

The Hyderabad Half Marathon.. or how I learnt to stop worrying and catch the 2 hour pacer

The Hyderabad marathon happened this fine Sunday morning, with overcast skies looking down benevolently on a city whose running culture has taken off splendidly in the last 6 years or so. I had registered for the half marathon and decided to document my experience for posterity just as I have done with the Bangalore 10k runs here and here during my first two editions.

The Run Up

Nothing much happened by way of disciplined training for the marathon. In the last couple of years, when I haven't run in a competition, I kept myself fit by doing the occasional 10k workout. Specifically, for the Hyderabad Marathon, only two warm up runs are worth mentioning. The first among these was the L&T Serene County run, where I clocked a little under 3 hours on a 27 K circuit. Having never run more than 12 km, I decided to do this one on a lark. I paced myself rather slowly and conservatively, given the uncertainty and my lack of confidence. Finishing this run strong was a welcome revelation that  the 20 Km mark wasn't much of an impediment. The second event was the Historical Hyderabad Run, a great circuit that started at a monument called Taramati Baradari and wound around the foothills of the Golconda Fort before circling back. I timed myself well in the latter half of this run, thanks to a gentleman with a good running watch. I finished the 16K circuit in a little less than 90 minutes, leading me to target the 2 hour mark for the 21 Km half marathon. The icing on the cake with this run was a renowned historian, Anuradha Reddy of INTACH, giving us an enriching walking tour of the Taramati Baradari. This run was organised by Go Heritage Runs, a UNESCO funded initiative that organises runs at historical sites.

Apart from these two events, the only training I underwent was a 5K the day before the half marathon and football/cycling on the weekends to remind my muscles that they could still function.

The Course

The Hyderabad marathon is touted to be India's toughest city marathon owing to the many undulations that its course meanders to. The course passes through Banjara Hills, a locality that lives up to its name. The half marathon course comprises two flyover climbs with a total ascent of 508 m and a descent of 480 m. Needless to say, this was a course to reckon with, where pacing one's self posed significant challenges. Giving in to the bad habits I have picked up at the day job, here are two visuals to give you a better idea.

Race Day

The half marathon was scheduled to begin at 6 AM, with a request to report 45 minutes in advance. An unfortunate circumstance saw us arrive at the start line at a few minutes past 6 AM. While I was unperturbed that the timing chip would factor in the start time, little did I realise that I would miss the bus if I didn't start on time.

For the uninitiated, pacing buses are seasoned long distance runners who volunteer to finish a particular race in a stipulated time for the benefit of people running around them. Each volunteer carries a flag that specifies his expected finish time, and other runners latch on to them as a means of reference very similar to how pilot fish latch on to sharks. I had intended on using the 2 hour bus to set my pace for the course, which is a challenge thanks to the terrain of the course.

The run was to start near the Hussain Sagar Lake. I was hopeful of catching breathtaking glimpses of the lake: a sight that was to inspire me to start strong and to be sustained in my mind's eye as I passed through the more mundane innards of Hyderabad. Instead, all I got was to witness the sweaty backs of about a thousand runners who had started ahead of me owing to a better sense of punctuality. As for aquatic scenery, I had to make do with a gutter running alongside the lake, whose stench was determined to fight a winning battle against my pressing need to inhale deeply.

Exit gutter, enter flyovers. The first one was a breeze thanks to the fresh pair of legs and a general sense of enthusiasm. I made sure that I didn't go way below the 6 min/km mark in order to keep my date with the 2 hour mark. I slowly overtook the three 2:30 buses that were milling in the crowded mass of runners in this section. About 3 Km into the circuit, the crowd thinned out to a comfortable stream of rather evenly paced runners. As I overtook the two chatty 2:15 buses, I was privy to their conversation:

"I thought of locking up my family and coming to the run as they threatened to not let me go. The last time around, they didn't let me go and I had to relent because it was raining."

As we moved into more residential areas, we were met with enthusiastic cheering groups all along the way. There was this old couple who had arranged a couple of chairs outside their home in order to click a well coordinated photo with one of their successors, who spared a moment in the midst of his run. There were also budding rockstars lined up on the side of the road in small stalls, playing their stuff on guitars and such. Entirely heartwarming.

On nearing the 8K mark I hit the wonderful equilibrium that every long distance runner knows so well (what I like to term the indefatigable rhythm). There is something about running together that takes one's body to a whole new level of fitness on the race day. The same pace that hurts like hell and causes muscles in the chest to painfully squirm poses no problems. This effect is compounded by finding a running companion with whom one can mutually pace, leading me to acknowledge that in the long run, it's mostly a mind game (Pardon the cheap pun).

I had settled in on a steady cadence. I usually run without my own music in order to save my equanimity from having to meddle with ill fitting earphones.In order to keep my cadence, I have found that playing a song in my head and using my thumping feet to keep rhythm is very effective. This time around, I was aided by Bombay Jayashree's beautiful OST to The Life of Pi, whose slow 7 beat rhythm is absolutely delightful. Together, the running companion and I set off to find the 2 hour bus.

Steady progress saw me pass through the workplace, after which the surroundings and landmark assumed a sense of welcome familiarity. However, with this familiarity also came the daunting realisation that the last leg of the marathon would be the toughest, as it was a steady climb of about 5 kilometers, with one god forsaken flyover. Having whizzed past these areas on mostly petrol fueled conveyances, running this stretch was extremely draining. To make matters worse, the sun began to peek out of the clouds and the 2 hour bus was nowhere in sight. The silver lining was that I found a companion for this stretch from Nagpur, who was about 15 years my senior. Nothing inspires one better than these fantastic people.

While the last stretch was hard, my running companions had helped me push on and I was poised to finish on the right side of the two hour mark. The circuit finished at the relatively flat whereabouts of the Gachibowli stadium, and I had finished in a little under 2 hours (1:56:52). I never managed to catch the 2 hour pacer, mostly owing to my delayed start, but I'm guessing that it worked to my advantage.


Ironically, I seem most inspired to run after an event like this and not before, when all that training would actually come in handy. I would look to target the 1:45:00 mark, while mulling on whether to run a full marathon this year. I was happy that I had progressed in performance from my two training runs. This would be ensued by the challenge to keep running harder to finish stronger in subsequent events by hopefully sticking to a training schedule.

Road Ramble

"In each shave lies a philosophy", wrote Somerset Maugham and quoted Haruki Murakami. While I couldn't agree more, the same applies for routine driving. During his daily ride to work, a friend developed this tendency to assign names to certain speed-breakers depending on how kind they were to the fissure that seated him on his bike. 

"These humps developed a personality of their own so that I don't lose mine." 

Deep!

The roads have been an inspiring thinking space. I have written about this on two previous occasions. (Here on a bus ride to work and here when this blog was still incipient)

Music and roads compliment each other very well, even in the cacophony that is an Indian street. This applies even better to two wheeler driving. The helmet and the blaring of horns provides a perfectly secluded shell for singing without being sung to. Move over, bathroom singing! 

But rhythm takes the cake as far as the roads go. Especially at traffic signals. Those blinking indicators of two vehicles, with their frequencies differing so subtly, make for delightful observation on how they are seemingly synchronous one moment but are completely out of sync 30 seconds later.

On watching Whiplash, one scene that amazed me was where Fletcher (J.K Simmons) asks the drummer to tap a particular frequency. Yesterday, a realisation that dawned upon me was that nearly anyone can do this with a little effort. How? 

Almost everyone can easily count seconds, and hence to a tempo of 60 BPM. Now, split those intervals evenly and one can easily arrive at multiples (120, 180 etc.). A little math yields other beats like 90 and 150. In case one needs to cross check any time, the countdown at the traffic signal makes for a perfect point of reference. 

I now pronounce the problem of getting caught at an untimely red light solved.

Shades of corruption

A short story based on a real life conversation that I was privy to after an enjoyable run in the park.

The tea leaves floated amidst the boiling water, leaching their flavour into what was to be Kishen Lal's next customer's relief from the numbing cold. A well intentioned, yet miserly old man, the customer haggled over the increase in price of 1 Re for a cup of tea, arguing that a Rupee was all that he paid for an entire glass, with a few pakoras thrown in when he started working in 1966. After finishing the beverage, he asked Kishen how long a gas cylinder lasted. On finding out that it lasted only a week, he proceeded to offer Kishen advice on how he should exchange his gas burner for the stove his wife used at home because a gas cylinder lasted nearly two months that way. The old man further quipped that his consulting talents, from which the world of business could vastly benefit, were wasted on household chores handed down by the wife, whose tone had acquired a new-found sense of authority after his retirement. Kishen politely nodded and waited till the old man was out of earshot before he exchanged a knowing smile with Karim, a fruit seller with whom he shared his kiosk on the footpath.

The city of Delhi had provided Kishen a tough means for survival for over a decade now, since his luck had run out in his home town in Uttar Pradesh. The hope of a better life that had dragged Kishen to this city was exemplified in his various beliefs. He was the migrant, one who exchanges the familiarity and comfort of his village for the opportunity that presents itself in the milling crowds of the city. He picked up that day's newspaper and looked at the headlines. It reminded him that a party positioned as a champion against corruption had defied incredible odds and swept to power in the Delhi assembly. He lifted his eyes from the usually disappointing piece of paper and glanced at Karim with a glint in his eye.

Karim Khan was an old Delhi resident in every sense. His ancestors had inhabited the city for as long as anyone could remember. His family, a mirror of the turmoil and strife that had torn the glorious city apart in the last three centuries, had now befallen difficult times. As he eked out a survival on the footpath, Karim harboured the condescension and cynicism that the old Delhi wala had for the migrant. His sense of arrogance was rooted as much in the city's long standing heritage as it was in the smattering of Urdu poetry that he could dabble in. Karim then noticed Kishen smiling at him.

Kishen said, "Did I not tell you that they would come to power? It is always good to have a sense of optimism. After all, what are we without Hope, the unacknowledged goddess that sustains us all?"

Karim replied, "One government has replaced another. Our lives will continue to be the same. I don't understand what you are happy about."

"But don't you think the people have chosen a new voice? A fresh perspective? Don't you think this is a welcome change after being let down for 60 years?"

"My family has stayed here for the last 500 years. Pardon me, but I don't see anything significant happening in the next five years. Could you name one thing that could change for the better?"

This was easy for Kishen. The wave of public scams of proportions that would never make sense to tea sellers and fruit vendors had rocked the entire country. The new party had risen to prominence riding on the wave of outrage that these scams had sparked in the entire nation. The agenda in the campaign that the new party had most prominently highlighted was to eliminate corruption in the government. He reminded Karim of this promise that had been made.

"What?", Karim said. "Are you of the opinion that voting them in is going to remove corruption? My dear naive migrant, corruption is a die hard habit that is deeply rooted in our very selves. Choosing another name and symbol is not going to change that. The average Dilliwala is corrupt to the bone."

Karim continued, resorting to his artistic side for emphasis, "Corruption is the grease that oils the otherwise painfully slow mechanism that goes by the name of bureaucracy in India. It is this tangled web of corruption that holds this entire country's commercial fabric. Now the fabric and the web are interwoven and inseparable. How can one start a hotel or acquire rights to a plot of land in the absence of a bribe? In fact, is it not ironical that you and I, who are having this conversation on a public footpath after setting up shops on it are in blatant violation of the law of this land?"

Karim ended his sanctimonious tirade with a sardonic smile and looked at Kishen. Kishen bowed his head slightly as a bead of perspiration rolled down his forehead in spite of the wintry weather. What his cynical companion had expressed very bluntly seemed to be the harsh truth. He replied in his characteristically simple words, "I agree. We are all corrupt like the ministers and the industrialists that we read about. I also agree that in its absence, I might have as well perished without hope in a village in UP that nobody has heard of. That is right. I am corrupt. I am corrupt because it is essential for my survival and the one square meal that I eat everyday. However, is there not a distinction between greed and desperation? While arabs of rupees are being pilfered, can you not see that we are corrupt merely to feed our stomachs a couple of rotis after a hard day's toil?"

The heavy silence that ensued was punctuated by the arrival of a traffic constable at the scene.

The Delhi dilemma

The upcoming elections in Delhi promises to be a very exciting contest between two parties (I'm completely discounting any effect that the Congress could have on the outcome).The BJP, on the one hand, seeks to ride the much celebrated Modi wave, while the AAP on the other, intends to obstruct the saffron juggernaut with its promise of transparency and populism. Hence, I chose to mark my return to this blog after what represents an era in blogging chronology to present an objective analysis on what would be a good choice for a prospective voter. The intent behind this analysis is more for enhancing my understanding of the capital's political atmosphere than as a pretension on which is the better voting choice. Your criticism is graciously solicited in the comments below.

Methodology

In order to arrive at a decision, I have chosen four parameters on the basis of which I would assign a score to each of these parties. Further I have assigned different weights to these parameters to arrive at a final score and a decision. I have tried my best to reach an objective decision on how these parties would score in each of these parameters.

The parameters chosen are:

1. Vision - What the party seeks to do in its term: Includes the intentions of the leaders of the party, the manifesto and the various subjects on which the parties have chosen to highlight (Eg: Women's saftey)

2. Experience - What each party's leaders bring to the table on the basis of their past experience in governance and their track record.

3. Team Chemistry - How the team gels in the run up to the elections could be used a fair estimation of how coherently they would function during their term in office. Also, Delhi is a state that is highly dependent on central government. This must be factored in.

4. Transparency - How clean their governance would be whilst in power. A score is arrived at by looking at the manifestos, the issues they highlight during pre-poll speeches and openness with sources of party funding and expenditure.

The weightage attached to each of these parameters is tabulated below:

Parameter	Weight
Vision	30%
Experience	25%
Team Chemistry	25%
Transparency	20%

Scoring

Vision:

The BJP, in recent times, has sought to distance itself from the Hindutva agendas that were a hallmark of its campaigns in the past. They have instead chosen to project the upcoming term as another cog in the wheel of Narendra Modi's mammoth machinery. Their chief ministerial candidate has a track record of being an achiever who has overcome the odds to become the first woman IPS officer and gone on to build a name for herself during her tenure. However, the BJP vision lacks any concrete steps on what it seeks to do in the national capital. The fact that an outsider who has been a fiercely vocal critic of the BJP has assumed the title of its chief ministerial candidate a mere month before the election does not sit very well with a long term vision. The BJP's new-found habit of choosing not to release its election manifesto until the eleventh hour doesn't help its cause at all.
The only instance where the party has elaborated on what it seeks to do in power is captured in what Kiran Bedi calls her 6P agenda for Delhi, albeit very loosely. What the people of the state need are not abstractions, but concrete measures.

The BJP scores 3/10 on its vision.

The AAP has been founded by people who had carved out for themselves successful careers in the public space outside of political intentions. They then chose to give up those careers to be the change their frustrated selves wanted to see in Indian politics. 2 years from their date of founding, they have been on a roller-coaster ride where an unexpected turn of events saw them in power as a part of a weak coalition government only to be maligned after Arvind Kejriwal resigned in a mere 49 days. In recent times, the party has been far more measured in making pre-poll promises and has drifted slowly from transparency to populism in its campaign slogans. The recently released AAP manifesto exemplifies this shift, where plenty of promises have been made without any specific deadlines or the means to explain the government's wherewithal to execute them when in power. However, it is still a start, as most of the intentions seem rightly placed. Some of the promising agendas mentioned in the manifesto include decentralisation of administration to Mohalla Sabhas and Gram Sabhas,  an audit of power and water companies supplying to Delhi and instituting local bodies for enhancing woman safety. With a population of more than 16 million, Delhi is more populous than 11 of India's other states, making the request for full statehood a legitimate one. However, the means to implement these ideas hasn't been spelt out and some sweeping and arbitrary promises, such as making schools and healthcare services on par with the private sector are rather unconvincing. A more detailed breakdown of the manifesto is available here.

The AAP gets 6.5/10 for its vision.

Experience:

With roots that date back to the Bharatiya Jan Sangh, the BJP leadership has plenty of veteran leaders at the centre, with the prime minister at the helm. However, the same cannot be said of the BJP's Delhi unit. Having been out of power for 15 years in the state, the party's struggle to find a chief ministerial candidate saw it resorting to bring in an inexperienced outsider merely a month before the elections. In spite of all these constraints the state unit would definitely benefit from the advice and direction of leaders in the centre. Recent victories across the country has made BJP the party that rules the majority of India's states.

The BJP scores a 6/10 for experience.

Where the BJP lacks in vision, the AAP falls short in experience. Its resignation after 49 days in power and the absence of leaders with political experience leaves the AAP wanting in this criterion. The only consolation that the party has is that many of its senior leaders have served in the public space. This lack of experience is sure to haunt the government in dealing with both the people as well as administrative officials such as bureaucrats and state government employees. In recent times, the party has laid emphasis on its performance in office during its 49 day tenure as the proof of the pudding. The pudding, however, seems half baked at best.

The AAP scores 3/10 for its experience or its sore lack thereof.

Team Chemistry:

An already fractioned segment of the BJP, its Delhi state unit seems torn apart completely after the introduction of Kiran Bedi as the chief ministerial candidate. A lot of clamour has erupted from the rank and file of the party and this discontent has freely spilt into the media exposing the disunity of the BJP camp. Even as I type this out, Bedi's election campaign in charge, Narendra Tandon, has tendered his resignation over differences with her. Kiran Bedi's reputation as a loose cannon and her evident lack of a vision or a plan of action for the state hasn't helped matters with party colleagues having to justify her remarks, which have constantly been attacked by the AAP. In addition to BJP's CM candidate, disillusioned former AAP members who have now joined the party are seen as  opportunists by the party and public. The only saving grace is the party's presence at the centre, which is important for the heavily subsidised state.

The BJP team scores 3/10 for its dismal Team Chemistry.

The AAP has had its share of differences to sift through, with Arvind Kejriwal's leadership style coming under question on several occasions. This has resulted in the exit of high profile members such as Shazia Ilmi and Capt. Gopinath, culminating in a full blown crisis in June 2014, with Kejriwal and Yogendra Yadav falling out with each other. That the party has weathered that crisis and held it together to emerge as a challenger for the Delhi elections seems to indicate that its team chemistry is on the mend, but this sentiment is challenged yet again with its patron Shanti Bhusan seeming to indicate that all the AAP could do with better leadership.

The AAP scores 4/10 for its Team Chemistry

Transparency:

Both the Congress and the BJP had come down for incisive attacks for their lack of transparency and unwillingness to tackle corruption. That the India Against Corruption movement had to do its job in highlighting corruption in the central government does not speak of very highly of its resolve. An Economist article points to how more than 91.3% of the party's campaign funds for the general elections came from unlisted sources. As a long standing player in Indian politics, the BJP knows every trick in the book when it comes to purchasing votes. The party is also fielding the maximum number of candidates with criminal offences against them during this election. However, this measure does not differentiate on the basis of the gravity of the offences the candidates have been booked for. The fact that a crusader against corruption and an officer with a clean reputation leads the charge is the silver lining in the BJP's case.

The BJP scores a 5/10 for its transparency.

While the AAP has been founded on the principles of transparency in governance, a few recent reports seem to indicate their drift towards opportunism on abandoning this pedestal. With 23 tainted candidates in the fray and the candidate with the second largest declared assets, Parmila Tokar, the AAP can no longer be seen as a bastion for transparency. However, the party continues to publicly declare its source of funds on its website. As opposed to its opposition, the AAP has no track record of corruption in public service among its members, ensuring that it has an edge where transparency is concerned.

The AAP scores a 6/10 in terns of transparency.

The Results

In order to ascertain the final score, the individual scores for each criteria are multiplied with the weightage.

The BJP scores   3 x 0.3 + 6 x 0.25 + 3 x 0.25 + 4 x 0.20 = 4.15

The AAP scores  6 x 0.3 + 3 x 0.25 + 4 x 0.25 + 6 x 0.20 = 4.75

It is seen that the AAP wins this analysis by a nose. This whole exercise was pertinent only because I could not separate these parties by much, which is reflected in the results of the analysis. Hence, it became necessary for me to breakdown my assessment objectively and assign weights.

In conclusion, I'm willing to afford the AAP another chance after their first 49 day debacle. It is not as if the BJP has been without its chances in all these years. Besides, Kejriwal has had the courage to own up his mistake publicly, which the country's political class is extremely averse to today. Further, the AAP campaign seems to mirror the clarity and purpose that the BJP government had during the general elections, with "Ab ki baar Modi sarkar" being replaced with "Paanch Saal Kejriwal." While the BJP posters in the Delhi Metro and its roadside hoardings sport the solitary saffron figure of Modi overshadowing everything else (Big Brother anyone?), I'm willing to lay my wager on a fresh perspective in which I can see a bit of my own idealistic tendencies reflected.

The Leak in the Pipeline

A short story I submitted to the FMS college magazine -

Maya held a plastic pot on her head as she precariously walked on the pipe. The pipe spanned across a city drain, about 20 meters wide. The city’s sewage flowed underneath, eclipsed by thick clumps of water hyacinths. Herons waded in the noxious muck, hunting for the creatures that thrive on it. As she alighted from the pipe, there were no onlookers to cheer, whistle and reward her show of daredevilry. Instead, she had harvested a quantum of fresh water, which was sufficient to sustain her family for the next few hours. 

The circular pipeline, with a diameter of 4 feet, carried water from a faraway river to benefit the residents of the city. Ironically, while villagers bordering the river had to walk a few kilometres to harness its life giving liquid, the residents of the city, a hundred kilometres away, could access it with a simple twist of their expensive Jaquar taps. The portion of the pipe that spanned across the gutter had a leaky valve in the middle. The PWD engineers turned a blind eye to the leak; the relative inaccessibility of the spot gave them a convenient excuse. They had mercifully done so for two years now, and enabled Maya, Balwant and their toddler to live off it.

The first few journeys across the pipeline were harrowing. Maya had to leave behind her new-born baby in her tent, at the mercy of the other inhabitants of the pavement: stray dogs, vagabonds and the occasional traffic policeman. She had to carefully balance the pot on her head with one hand while holding her ghagra up shin-high to avoid tripping over it while crossing. The passage of two years had consequently replaced fear with steely courage. Desperation begets bravery.   

Maya was 18 years of age and nursing a new-born baby when she was forced out of her village in Rajasthan, to eke out a living. A few neighbouring families had narrated promising stories of prosperity in the cities of south India. Balwant, accompanied by Maya, had ambled to the railway station, caught the first train that was rumoured to head south, and got off after a couple of days at a railway station that seemed big enough to serve a city. Only by chance did it happen to be Bangalore; landing in Chennai, Hyderabad or Vishakhapatnam would have made no real difference. At least Bangalore’s weather is a shade kinder to the plight of a people who live in tattered tents that line its footpaths.

They managed to get on by selling knick-knacks on the pavement. A formidable variety of helmets, kick scooters, teddy bears and replicas of Venus De Milo made of plaster of Paris greeted passers-by. Their business attracted the attention of the local traffic policeman, who was their biggest source of expenditure. They also had to give him the occasional toy to keep him mollified. The law can be sadistically cruel to people who have been the victims of centuries of lawlessness.

One fine morning, Sharat Chandra happened to chance upon the leaky pipeline on his morning walk. He noticed the steady trickle of pure water drip down to be mixed with the sewage below. Chandra was a well-intentioned elderly gentleman who had recently retired from his occupation. He was now determined to put his newfound time and the little vitality that age had spared him for the cause of the common good. Later that day, he called at the local corporation office and requested to meet the engineer-in-charge. The engineer wasn’t at the office as he had gone to attend to some urgent repairs. The elderly man was met with some or the other excuse on repeated visits to the office, but he was determined. Finally, after hours of waiting, he stood before the engineer. Contrary to what he had expected, the engineer seemed to be a very cheerful and polite man. He gave Chandra a patient listening and was eager to get the leak fixed. He promised to visit the pipeline the following morning at ten ‘o’ clock to inspect the leak and tackle the problem. He explained that he was newly posted in the area and thanked Chandra for bringing the leak to the notice of his office.

The designated hour was at hand. Chandra leaned on his walking stick while staring into the seemingly endless sewage drain. Sure enough, at 10 AM, the engineer, surrounded by a couple of lackeys, strode out of his Ambassador car and shook hands with him. He quickly inspected the trickling pipe from a distance, gave instructions to the two men accompanying him and assured Chandra that the leak would be fixed in a couple of days. Chandra looked at the engineer as the latter strode towards his car with brisk steps and was driven away. The engineer seemed to be an assertive man, who took his job seriously. A quiet sense of satisfaction seemed to fill Chandra.

As he prepared to leave the scene, Chandra glanced at the pipeline and was shocked to find a woman balanced carefully upon it. With measured and confident steps she, proceeded to reach the spot of the leak and hang a pot at the location of the leak. Maya made her way back across the pipeline and saw the elderly man looking at her. Their eyes met for a couple of seconds after which Maya made her way back to her humble tent. Chandra stood at the scene, frozen, as vehicles whizzed by.

The Peacock and the Crane

My trip to Delhi has been eventful to say the least and has provided me with fodder for many a potential blog post  However, I'll choose to mark my return, after a considerable hiatus, with a juxtaposition of two places of worship that I happened to visit.

On querying the string "Places to visit in Delhi" on Google, I found a tripadvisor link that rated Gurudwara Bangla Sahib as No.1, and the Swaminarayan Akshardham temple as No.2 among the places that it recommended. Though the number of reviews received for the Gurudwara were far lower, the overall rating was higher than that earned by the Akshardham complex. I happened to visit both these places in the same order.

Bangla Sahib is snugly accommodated in the very heart of Lutyens' Delhi. It is associated with Guru Har Krishen, the 8th guru of Sikhs, who passed away at the tender age of 7 due to small pox. It is believed that the Gurudwara's tank has healing powers. The Gurudwara is an ancient monument steeped in Sikh tradition.
I found the Gurudwara to be an impressive structure. However, it retained a sense of modesty and simplicity. It had no compound wall and worshippers could enter from all directions. There were no security checks. The only prerequisite was that devotees submit their footwear at a counter, wash their limbs and cover their heads before entering.

The footwear counter is one where anybody can volunteer to serve. It has an open door for one to enter and serve for however long he wishes to. On presenting my footwear, I saw an assortment of people inside who were quite well dressed and appeared well-to-do. These people were cheerfully handling everybody's footwear. The underlying message behind this system hit me like a bolt. It was symbolic of a society where all are equal and no task is menial. It was one of the most beautiful messages I have witnessed at a place of worship. I hold that this is the true purpose of religion. Any religion must serve as a vehicle for social harmony and justice. Also, every facility at the Gurudwara, including the stashing of footwear, was offered free of charge. I could sense no commercial influence in my entire experience there. In my opinion, a place of worship must be free from the influence of commerce as the values of sacrifice and renunciation are the cornerstones of every religion.

I had to miss the langar at the Gurudwara because it was already done for that day. The ceremony of langar is one where the dignity of the person receiving charity is retained, as wisely pointed out by Harsh Mander. Langar also functions as a much needed social leveller that is vastly relevant in a country that is steeped in the erection of barriers on the lines of caste, class, creed and sex. My visit to the Bangla Sahib was an enriching experience and was inspirational because of the subtle, yet powerful message of social equality that Sikhism stands for.

Today, a few days since my visit to the Bangla Sahib, I visited the Akshardaam Temple in Noida. The very first thing that struck me about the temple was its sheer grandeur. The complex was massive and was immaculately maintained. While entry to the temple is free, there are various shows inside the temple which are charged. These charges are quite hefty. The audio-visual display that I opted to witness cost me a neat 170 Rs. The tour started with a robotic tableaux on the life of Guru Swaminarayan, continued with a boat ride that showcased "Life in the vedic times" and ended with an hour-long movie on the life of Ghanshyam, who acquires the name Neelakant and eventually transforms into Swaminarayan Maharaj. The tableaux also featured a preachy section that exhorts mankind to give up meat eating and take up vegetarianism.

The technology employed at each of these shows is state-of-the-art. The tableaux is a triumph of bio mechanics and robotics as the automatons, in spite of  looking a little outlandish, are absolutely lifelike. The boat ride is a celebration of hydraulic engineering, and the movie is shot to perfection. My tour of the temple takes me through a marvellous celebration of modern architecture and how it can be leveraged to construct a temple. That the entire complex was built in 5 years is a staggering achievement. The complex also houses an elaborate food-court with an extensive range in the choice of cuisine offered and these dishes were somewhat expensive.

It is unfortunate that the first thing that struck me during my visit to the Swaminarayan temple, and the only thing that has left in me a lasting impact is not what is being preached, rather loudly, in all these displays. The complex represents to me an ostentatious show of wealth. The temple definitely had a very obvious commercial angle, what with the charges levied on the audio-visual shows, personalised photographs and the food offered. It sought, by virtue of its intimidating might and extravagant display of grandeur, to influence peoples life positively.

The Swaminarayan temple seeks to preach the concept of Sahaj Anand, a state of unending happiness, through its powerful methods. The Bangla Sahib in its simplicity and subtlety, spreads its message of social harmony without any fanfare. While the former is housed in an imposing complex that demands a lot of time and space, the latter is a small compound that is beautiful in its simplicity. While my religion is preached in the former, ironically, I find myself connecting far better with the Gurudwara's message. Another aspect of this exercise lies in the wonderful realisation that our country is one where solace can be sought in a religion outside one's own: the idea of unity in diversity. The idea of India.

(The title of this post is a reference to an Aesop's fable that connects with its central idea)