The feudal Hangover

They say we have a colonial hangover - what with Landsdowne, Dalhousie, Barlowganj, Miranda House, Kingsway Camp and all the other cling-ons of the colonial era. I say that is still recent wake up people we have a feudal hangover.

Confused?? Well, well, well, any student worth his salt should know by now. Fine let me spell it out for you - L-A-N-D-L-O-R-D. It is only fitting that with the admission season on I speak about this particular species which has been multiplying faster than even locusts, and yes you guessed it, munching away at all that we have!

Welcome the Manorial Lord as the new age Landlord. They come with their own categories and are quite diverse. The ones with an entire building or two on rent boasting of AC rooms, wireless connection with three meals a day to the humble single storage room lent out to a tenant who in the true sense resides as a paying guest. The latter in particular catches my attention.

This category has its own duties and obligations so to say. The lord and his mistress (that's what they called the wife back then) feel free to run you on small errands, their tiny-tots deem it their fundamental right to coerce you into their silly games, and you could be left without a morsel of food if the family decides to go eating out. The tenant here is as patient as a seer and I do envy her. But even the sagest of sages are allowed to lose their temper once in a while. And so with our occupant who deems it her moral, temperamental, and emotional right to spank or threaten the exasperating child. But we all know the SQ (Smartness Quotient) of the average dilli wala 21st century baccha. So be it, the poor tenant has to adopt a policy of appeasement (read an ice-cream, chocolate, or one hour of continuous bowling or maybe rolling would be more fitting) to prevent the little devil from running to the ever-so doting mommy darling with a plethora of complains. But that is for the unfortunate few who end up with families who think they have acquired a new serf of sorts for them.

Hmm..where actually is the feudal angle apart from the serf bit?? Well, there is obedience, loyalty, benevolence, compassion, and most important of all an agreement. Now this agreement can be a written or verbal one. The tenant knows it reeks of duplicity and yet all that can be done is to sign your name in ink and help the scheming overlord to evade taxes. Besides there is the additional question of security money ranging from one to three months binding the poor students in that deathly grip of monetary barnacles.

The rules as in a manor are laid by our lord. Rules of all sorts - what shall be served to which variety, when the esteemed gates of thy royal household be shut, the kinds of clothes, the social conduct in the park especially the last two lest any bad name should come to this distinguished parsonage! There is also a threat and penalty for drinking or smoking. Now the government might be going all gaga with its hair-brained policies on smoking and drinking but to no avail. Our lord wields real control, proving that the local head is superior to a distant democratically elected head. His decree is supreme especially because he has real power, the power of eviction without even returning your security.

What would be a lord be if he does not display compassion, rewards or benevolence? Those rare occasions when a tenant meets with an accident many of these lords actually take the student for treatment and of course forward the bills to the parents. The late-comers with their beseeching glances are often pardoned. The rewards come in the form of a slab of ice-cream or some other dessert on a festival. Not to forget the royal family does eat a vain sumptuous meal. The lord after all has to live up to his image and put on a display of grandeur and benefaction.

Who dare go against this new age lord? But some do wish to depart no longer swearing allegiance to his lordship. The consequence- banishment from the property, ostracization till the time you bundle up your belongings, seizure of the security money and a verbal volley of wrath.

Besides the landlords have their own personal coterie some of them acting as spies - from the dealer to the house maid(yet another feudal hangover), the cook, and all the others. But the biggest spies of all are the immediate royal family who make it their business to keep abreast of the personal life of each and every inmate( if i may use a strong term like that ).

How on earth could I forget the most important thing, but of course the taxes. No they don't charge tithes. However, at the end of the month you have a water bill, a DTH bill, a cleaning bill, an ironing bill, and the big daddy of it all - the electricity bill. Some fix even the electricity usage rate by themselves! No wonder many a humble tenants choose to languish in the heat without even a cooler in temperatures as high as 45 degrees Celsius rather than fluff up the coffers of these rogue landlords.

But before we conjure a mental image of these money suctioning new age manorial lords let us concede there are also few who are genuinely just. Well so it was in the feudal age, a fair share of decent, and not calculating-scheming lords. But rest assured the age of innocence is gone and that ever so charming breed of lords is fast dying out and at a pace that not even Usain Bolt would take up the challenge to beat it!

Want to be a lord, a new age landlord? Invest in property its the sure shot way to purgatory!!

Pupa's story: You Are History!!

Pupa's story: You Are History!!: "Each time I read any piece of non-fiction something new hits me straight in the face. And I just think to myself, 'Am I so dumb as to not no..."

You Are History!!

Each time I read any piece of non-fiction something new hits me straight in the face. And I just think to myself, "Am I so dumb as to not notice it in the first read!!" But that actually is the beauty of a non-fictional piece and I am not talking bout the plethora of lowbrow publications.

A thought is nothing in itself. It has to be seen in a context. That is how the question of identity struck me. Whose identity? Mine? Yes and No. Well of course I love myself so it is bout me but no identity is exclusive. It only puts on a charade of exclusivity when all it actually is, is a part of a collectivity.

Back in kindergarten parents goaded us to answer the same five set of questions to all relatives and friends :

1. What is your name?

2. What is your father's name?

3. What is your mother's name?

4. Where do you live?

5. What is the name of your school?

Now the last one left many a toddler confused. While some were simply clean bowled on the last one others valiantly repeated the first answer. And mind you the entire exercise was in English, the road to high glory! The colonial hangover as they say lingered on with the 'Bengali baboo' mentality making the English speaking category the new 'saheb' and 'bibis' or 'mems'. Who was the 'ghulam' then? Oh sure this category got transformed into the 'gawanr'. How often do we overhear, "I tell you, he is so gawanr na, he can't even speak in English and man have ya eva listened to his pronunciation, pucca dehati he is!" No guesses where the dehati hails from.

Just today someone was tagged in a newspaper article, "Auratein Mardon se zyada bewafa". Hail the world dear Lord, its not just a question of Venus v/s Mars, it demands a statistical analysis too! Back in school all we cared bout was to beat the guys in studies. And so it continues even now. The colourful news headings cheering the 95.7% girls who passed as compared to say a 92.8% of boys comes as a shocker. Fine, you need statistics to compile your reports based on which you say you make policies for the education of the girl child. The policies and their fate we all know but what kind of category politics is this? Is it a new age tactic to spur on the kids who already slog on for say eighteen to twenty hours a day to work harder. There are yet other news headlines screaming that so and so kid who topped did nothing except sleep for 5 hours, watch news, eat and study. Consider this, a foreign student from some Scandinavian country who had to submit a paper for evaluation at the post-graduate level was all jittery because he had never given a formal examination in his life.

At the college level, the caste identity hits you hard. SC, ST, OBC, Minority, Kashmiri Migrant or General. You either end up hating the system with so many quotas or the invariable 'creamy layer' which avails these seats or your forefathers who hung the albatross around our necks. What irks you the most is the attitude some people chuck. As in a coaching institute, " Sir, hamara toh quota hai itna padha dijiye ki pass ho jayein" (Sir, we have a quota just teach us enough to pass). Or someone else who says, " I don't believe in the quota system so i have applied in the general category." To this someone else adds, "Bhai, ek seat aur kha jayega" (Brother, you will eat up one more seat). Yet a fourth would say, " Mera toh merit pe hua hai quota se nahi (I got through merit not through quota) or in a deprecating voice, "Oo, Quota!!"

But are these my only identities - English speaking general category female student. Definitely not. There are the other add-ons - Religion, country, region, complexion, sub-caste, et al. While a Yadav girl threatens her mother that if coaxed into a marriage for the next two years she would elope with a Muslim, a Bihari is not given a paying guest accommodation on the assumption that they "capture" property with political clout. An American would not be expected to take a shower daily and a north-east student has to be into drugs! A Rajput cannot cry openly and a Parmar cannot marry a Lohia Rajput! Besides people take a look at you and decide which part of the country you come from. A Bihari can't be fair and a South Indian would speak in English with a distict south flavour!

But is that all. Whom are we kidding? What of the brand name? A school, a college, a LV bag, a picture with a celebrity, some distant cousin topped some bureaucratic services, a wedding invite to a royal-do, an uncle living abroad even if it is Bhutan, a cricketer or a politician from the same district. We all revel in finding connections, in associating ourselves with 'the people'. And then we proclaim we are individuals in our own right. Need a reality check!

Some might say why not but each one of us has his/her own mental faculty. True. But who uses it irrespective of these categories or identities or tag-ons. We are all manipulative identity transformers. The same person who parties with the who-is-who of he town by night would be the crusader against the same folks by morning, singing the song of the masses. An elsa ( LSR-ian) would vociferously debate over the ills of a caste society and eventually give in to the rigours of the same society. Not everyone would adopt the same veils, but veils each one would adopt.

Is there some thing wrong with this? Well depends on a number of factors which I would not get into. But for Heaven's sake quit calling yourself an individual with a distinct voice, conscience and blah. You are History!! It is the age of identities, it is they who win or lose. There might be a maverick in a million but the rest are nothing except superimposing identities. Dear self, high time you believed you are a mere placard being replaced now and then, in different shades and in different texts! The new age is an age of identities coupled with associations, individuality is history!! Wonder who or what ever thought that identity as a word in a singular format could ever be used?

Pupa and the mini trouble

Pupa was happy and getting on with his usual life when Mamma came visiting. And not just any visiting...she came with her new larvae, a healthy young caterpillar. Now our Pupa, the sweet Pupa that it is, was quite happy to see its new sibling. But you know how it is with parents...the last minute emergencies they have to rush to...well yes...i think you get it!

Let me put it in simple words - Pupa had to baby-sit the young one. And as Mammas always do, this specific Mamma also assured Pupa that caterpillar was just such a darling that it would just sit on its cabbage leaf and eat without a murmur till Mommy comes back. And away she flew.

Pupa was visibly nervous. Ok the pillar was cute but baby-sitting was so not his type of work. But you got to do it if you got to do it. Besides pillar looked quite tame, greedily munching on its cabbage leaf. So Pupa with nothing better to do, dozed off.

Pupa yawned and remembered the gluttony charge he had under his care. Lo Behold!!! Where was the darn crawly young-ling. Pupa shouted and screamed for the pillar but it never answered. Now Pupa as is obvious could not go looking for the thing so i was sent an SOS text.

Being the good friend that i am i did agree to help and finally found him with a locust. The latter tagged along with us. The pillar happily informing me that they had become great friends and they intend to continue to be friends.

Pupa did not know how to react. He was visibly angry, very angry. But the pillar was so young that it seemed ruthless to shout at him. So with a few curt words he got his point across over safety and responsibility. And then he saw the locust.

"What is a locust doing with you?" "And you locust, where are your Mum and Dad?"

The locust did not breathe a word but the pillar said loud, " He is lost and he is hungry and i intend to share my cabbage leaf with him and take him home with me." Now this was some declaration coming from someone so young. Pupa was aghast...a locust in a butterfly colony!! And horror of horrors Mom will know that the pillar had been away.

Now the minion pillar had the nerves to actually ask, " Are you two with your last century attitude going to give us trouble? Better not..my friend locust here can finish off a lot of your food supplies only if i tell him to." Boy!! kids can be so utterly innocent these days!! While we were pondering over what to do, Mumma zoomed in. She thanked Pupa, took the pillar and got ready to leave, not even acknowledging the locust.

The locust slipped in the shadow of a mushroom. But the young blood would not go till his friend locust was taken along. He howled and cried and tumbled and jiggled. But moms are so used to all these tantrums. So Mommy just flew away with him ranting. We exhaled a sigh of relief that the little rascal was gone. But there was something bigger to worry us - the locust.

We asked him if he knew where his family was. He did not. He was an orphan and a vagrant. Now that was some bit of information. What were we to do with it? If we did keep it with us the butterfly society might ostracize us. If we shoo it away the poor thing might just get killed or eaten or starve. But was it not natural for the weakest to die? But would we knowingly push someone to death? Would we conform to the societal norms or would be be renegades? And if we did drive it away, would we be living with the guilt? As we went on and on aloud with these musings..the locust cleared its throat to get our attention.

He said, " I am leaving. It was really sweet of pillar to have shared his cabbage with me. Give my thanks to him. "

Pupa blurted out, "but where will you go? You can stay here if u like." I nodded my head vigorously to give my approval.

But what the locust said next, stays on with me, " Thank you, but no thanks. I am better off by myself. If God wills it I shall one day be a proud grasshopper in the midst of my kind. Not everyone is a pillar who looks at a person's heart. Others think of the tags attached to a person. And actually it is funny how scared we are of the very categories we have bounded ourselves to. And i am really thankful to both of you for making the generous offer. However, what good is it living in a place where your very identity is your biggest curse. My identity makes you suspicious of me without even having spoken to me even once. I don't want to be judged through templates set by someone else. I am an individual and i wish to be that first and foremost before i am bounded up by these categorizations. Not every rose on a rose plant is identical in shape. Some are shut, some open, some half-open. We are all like them, its we who decide when to open out to the world and how much. But none can deny that the sweetest fragrance comes from the one in full bloom and that is whom the world covets."