सुनो सुना रहा हूँ दोस्तो इस बार  ‘आप’ की दुखद कहानी,

कुछ आपबीती, कुछ जगजाहिर सुनो तो जरा मेरी जुबानीI

अवसर था, देश जब आतुर था लिखे जाने को कितना सुन्दर इतिहास,

लोभ-लाभ के चक्कर में लेकिन ‘आप’ बन गयी एक अनचाहा परिहास I

                                      Rise and fall of 'AAP' 

                                           

                   

Outlook magazine in its cover story of  12 March issue has dubbed AAP as ‘Arrogant Aadmi Party’. Responding to it, a reader prefers to call it ‘Arrogant Arvind Party’. Well, call it by any name, but politically, if there has been any event in recent history that gave hope to the millions of ‘clean politics’ and then proved such a disgusting let-down, it has been the birth of AAP in November 2012, its rise and steep fall. Imagine those days when Anna Hazare launched his first nation-wide agitation with the little known Arvind Kejriwal by his side spewing heat and fire. Recall his loud and vehement utterances. His clarion call and a firm promise to usher in a new era of corruption-free, transparent, performance-oriented, clean, accountable, people-friendly governance devoted to ‘Gandhian’ values. Here at last is the saviour, the superman the country has been hungering for to rid the nation of corruption-steeped political parties– the Congress, the BJP, and the regional ones in the stranglehold of feudal lords. That’s what we all thought. Sick of the prevailing stink and rot, the whole nation was excited by the promise of a bright new dawn  in the murky landscape of Indian politics. I was no exception. AK became my hero. And I too jumped into the fray, became his ardent follower and an AAP member.  With a surge of enthusiasm I dashed off to Kangra along with a couple of my equally enthusiastic colleagues to attend a regional meeting and ventured to contribute my humble bit  in letting the AAP wave sweep all over my homeland too. But with disillusionment seeping in, wisely I retraced my steps  and finally quit.

Recall AK’s first stint as the CM of Delhi in December 2013. This coughing ‘muffler-man” was still my hero at the time. But lo, he was sitting in dharnas, sleeping on ground at public spaces and shouting invective at his opponents instead of burning midnight oil and expending his energies to put in place a radically new system of governance for Delhi. I began to doubt my hero. And then after his party’s mind-boggling second win in February 2015 with 67 out of 70 seats in its kitty, and his new term, that huge edifice of hope began to quickly erode and crumble. It didn’t take long to realize that he too had packed the party with men and women with feet of clay and in no way different or better than those that all other parties are peopled by. The kind imbued with idealistic fervour, grand vision, sacrifice, self-less service and moral values were nowhere to be seen. And as was but natural, one by one, skeleton after skeleton in the cupboards of many of his team began tumbling out. No wonder a good many of the lot were soon fighting court cases for alleged criminalities of various kinds. Instead of setting an example of austerity and simple life, the AAP helped itself to hefty pay rise for its ministers and MLAs, swanky bungalows and luxurious cars. Its soul-keepers and founding fathers such as Prashant Bhushan and Yogendra Yadav had already been rudely chucked out to pave way for life of power, luxury and splendour without any voices of dissent putting a foul taste in the mouths of AK and his coterie. A sad witness to all this drama unfolding before me, my disgust and disillusionment with AAP and its leader had come full circle. I who clapped for and cheered at every word from AK’s mouth now found the  very sight of AAP's protagonists even hard to bear. I am sure quite similar must have been the thoughts and feelings of many of you as well. And you will agree that unless the AAP reappears in some new and noble avatar, it will remain a party just like any other and the posterity too will have nothing charitable or kind to say about both the party and its leader.

Had AAP been the AAP of aam aadmi’s dreams, had it stuck to its original idea of good, clean politics  that the country is desperately in need of, it had a great chance of winning the hearts and minds of people and winning many elections.  But divorced from these ideals and indulging in nefarious games of money and power play, it bungled and floundered and even lost Punjab where it stood a very good chance. In Himachal, the arrogant AAP blundered again. Out of the blue, it air-dropped a rank opportunist and a political renegade as its c-in-c to the surprise and anger of sincere workers who had toiled to bring AAP to HP.

In short: AAP came as Godsend, but it did nothing except pretend. 
A great opportunity went abegging. 
Sad, isn’t it?

                                 (All photos/images are from Outlook, 12 March issue)

                                                           ***                                                                                 

Stephen Hawking remained wheelchair-bound, yet lived among stars

He reveled in the wonders of cosmos, while nations fought ugly wars

We bow to this genius in gratitude for helping us know about our universe

His death we mourn and write odes to him in high prose and sad verse

Alas! A Super star who studied stars  is no more alive

                                                      

                                                     

Stephen Hawking’s passing away is a sad loss to the world. His contribution to our understanding of the unfathomable vastness of the cosmos and its mysteries, the stars, black holes and extra planetary life has been tremendous. By the cruel irony of fate his crippling motor neurone disorder (a ‘neuromuscular wasting disease’) confined him to a wheelchair for life at the prime of his life when - this another ‘Einstein’ as he was popularly called in school - was a young 21, and was pursuing his PhD at Cambridge University. Yet one can’t help but marvel at his passion, dedication and love for science that helped him triumph over this serious handicap. While the doctors gave him mere 2 years more to live post diagnosis, displaying incredible grit and the will to live - and live beautifully like a shining star - he died at 76 after unraveling the world of stars before us. What makes Stephen Hawking so endearing and extraordinary is that he never let his ailment overhwhelm and turn him into a sullen, gloomy, irritable, sulky, lab-confined scientist. Putting his ailment aside he aimed for the stars and never let his zest for life leave him. In spite of his being engrossed in his calculations and astronmical discoveries, he was accessible to all and charmed every one with his wit and sense of humour. He loved good company, partying and was adept at firing off sizzling, delectable one-liners. When asked about his joy  after having made a discovery his comment  was:  “I wouldn’t compare it to sex, but it lasts longer.”

I happened to read his “runaway best seller”  ‘A Brief History of Time’ many years ago. The astounding popularity of the book which sold 10 million copies catapulted this wheel-bound physicist to the status of a rock star.  Although, having been a bad student of Physics (but a good friend of fellow physics teachers), most of it was beyond my comprehension, but still I could definitely get some valuable insights into the black holes, the mindboggling intricacies, and the unsolved puzzles of our cosmos. He lived a physically disabled life and died relatively young. Imagine how much more would he have contributed to enhancing our understanding of the cosmos had he lived a healthy, longer one.

He has written a personal memoir also, titled ‘My brief history’ which I intend to order and read soon.

He has left the world poorer by his loss. As we mourn his death I reproduce below some of his famous quotes to leave you richer:

On motor neurone disease 
My disabilities have not been a significant handicap in my field, which is theoretical physics. Indeed, they have helped me in a way by shielding me from lecturing and administrative work that I would otherwise have been involved in.

To Theresa May on Brexit 
I deal with tough mathematical questions every day, but please don’t ask me to help with Brexit.

On aliens 
Meeting an advanced civilisation could be like Native Americans encountering Columbus. That didn’t turn out so well.

On Jeremy Hunt and the NHS 
Hunt had cherry-picked research to justify his argument. For a scientist, cherry-picking evidence is unacceptable.

On Trump 
He is a demagogue who seems to appeal to the lowest common denominator.

On death 
I have lived with the prospect of an early death for the last 49 years. I’m not afraid of death, but I’m in no hurry to die. I have so much I want to do first.

                                                            *

There is no heaven or afterlife; Heaven "is a fairy story for people afraid of the dark."

A culture that discounts, devalues or denies objective truth is headed for chaos and dysfunction at every level: families, friendships, work, education, politics. Sound familiar?

My goal is simple. It is a complete understanding of the universe, why it is as it is and why it exists at all.

The whole history of science has been the gradual realization that events do not happen in an arbitrary manner, but that they reflect a certain underlying order, which may or may not be divinely inspired. (The Brief History of Time)

The "theory of everything," the unifying theory of the universe, "would be the ultimate triumph of human reason -- for then we should know the mind of God."

Because there is a law such as gravity, the universe can and will create itself from nothing. Spontaneous creation is the reason there is something rather than nothing, why the universe exists, why we exist. It is not necessary to invoke God to light the blue touch paper and set the universe. 

Before we understand science, it is natural to believe that God created the universe. "But now science offers a more convincing explanation, what I meant by 'We would know the mind of God' is, we would know everything that God would know, if there were a God, which there isn't. I'm an atheist."
                  

                                                    ***                       

आओ पालमपुर वालो मिल कर हम सब एक बड़ी मुहीम चलायें,

क्यों ना ‘VMI’ को  एक उम्दा सुपर स्पेशिलिटी हस्पताल बनाएं?

I post a blog on how and why we need good healthcare

Let’s get proactive on it and not just sit, stand and stare

Can VMI become a super specialty hospital?

                     

          

Among the development indices – whether of a country, a state or even a town – Medicare should figure right on top. But sad to say, it is not so. Cases of medical negligence are legion- both in private hospitals as well as the government ones. The corporate hospitals have degenerated into lucrative commercial enterprises and done more harm than good in providing quality medical service to the people. And the state-run hospitals are notorious for apathy, general lack of modern equipment, overwork, inefficiency and officialdom. Did you see the heart-rending, ghoulish image of a patient with a severed leg a few days back? The doctors – who have since been suspended – put the severed part of the leg under his head to serve as a pillow. Can medical callousness get worse than this? Rural scene is even more dismal where in the absence of good doctors and dispensaries, quacks rule the roost…though for minor ailments their services do come handy for the healthcare-deprived folk.

The scene in our own state is hardly bright. There is a dearth of trauma centers and other medical facilities to handle critical emergencies with the required expertise and without delay. The patients are often rushed to PGI Chandigarh and the ‘golden hour' is lost in transportation due to long distances- there being no faster mode than travel by road. Thus many a life is snuffed out even before making it to the hospital. Further, the IGMCs and the RPGMCs, as I said before, suffer from sloth.  They do go on an overdrive but only when any of our VVIPs – who else but the politician – falls sick. In such a situation, leaving all other patients howsoever critical for devil to care, the whole battery of doctors and paramedics, displaying feverish energy, hovers around the ailing VVIP to leave no stone unturned in providing him the best of care and treatment. For they know that any lapse, then they had it! Or they are flown to best medical institutes of the country and even abroad by special planes without any loss of time. Contrast this with the rural hinterlands where at times the patients are ferried on kins’ backs or on hand-pushed carts.

Now coming to my own town Palampur, we have a government civil hospital, several private practitioners and clinics. In addition there is the Vivekananda Memorial Institute (VMI) – Shanta ji’s dream brainchild - which has filled a yawning gap in basic healthcare facility for the town and neighbouring areas to some extent. In recent times, the VMI has also begun providing the services of visiting super-specialists in the fields of urology, cardiology, neurology etc. But this is not enough. As we all know originally it was fancied to be a super-specialty hospital on the lines of Apollo, but became a victim of our state’s politicians’ sinister machinations, wicked political calculations, parochialism and regional bias. This growing, bustling town needs a lot more in health care than what exists. In critical situations, the Civil Hospital refers the cases to ‘Tanda’ of which I personally don’t have very happy memories: my own brother died owing to sheer negligence and delay- first at CH Palampur and then at Tanda about which I have already shared a post with you months before. Let’s not go into that again although I have the documents and the desire to have the matter probed again after a botch-up by the MCI.

The pertinent point is: can VMI now turn a corner and graduate into a top class, premier health institute for tertiary health care?..With adequate checks and balances of course. I say this because, happily, the political scene has changed and changed for the better. All equations are just right and fall in place. We have Mr J P Nadda in Delhi as the union health minister. He gels well with Shanta ji. Our new CM Jai Ram Thakur is firstly a person above ugly, silly, mean, divisive regional prejudices of the predecessors. Secondly, he enjoys the confidence of Shri Shanta Kumar who played a key role in his anointment to the CM’s chair. Mr Vipin Parmar is the state health minister representing this region and of course his close confidante. Then with the BJP in power at the center and the state, and all the factors so favorably poised, isn’t this an absolute Godsend? Shanta ji’s tenure as MP will be over in a few months’ time. Therefore he must seize this opportunity with both hands and use his clout, position, acumen and political sagacity that he possesses in ample measure to translate his old grand vision into a reality. I think that the residents of Palampur, the BJP activists in particular, should pursue this idea proactively with him, Mr Vipin Parmar and all others who matter to persuade them to make VMI what it was initially intended to be. Since this is going to be his last term, it will be Shanta ji’s unique and splendid gift to the town and the region for which he will be saluted and worshipped for generations to come.
                        

                                                           ***

The 'Women's Day' has come and gone as a ritual- plain and  mere

 We still have  miles to go before SHE walks without a shred of fear

Let’s first wipe off HER fair face each and every sad, painful tear

Otherwise all silly hype and speech simply hurts and jars the ear

Anyway, this is March and sun’s silvery radiance casts a spell of ethereal bliss

Here’s my take on NS’s memoir- a book to read this spring without a miss

A memoir worth reading

     

                         

 After  having finished reading Naseeruddin Shah’s memoir ‘And Then One Day’, I can’t resist the temptation of sharing my thoughts with you on the book.

To be honest, I placed the online order for the book with some reluctance and hesitation. Of course I was certainly looking for a good, stimulating bio- or autobiographical account to read as a break from an overdose of fiction. My first choice was the highly acclaimed A Life of My Own by Claire Tomalin. But its price tag proved daunting. Finally, since author-historian Ramachandra Guha whom I greatly respect and admire had showered high praise on NS’s book, I needed no better trigger to place the order. Then when the book arrived, I wondered if it would provide me the sort of cerebral nourishment I was looking for. But as I began reading, to my great delight, I found it a delectable feast.

Written in his own inimitable style, the memoir sparkles with honesty as it informs us about NS’s bumpy ride through the vicissitudes of life. He speaks about his aversion to studies – math in particular, zoology no less – right from his school days to the college and so on. He has had to contend with all kinds of coercions, pressures, bullying, jeers and harsh stinging words from so many, including his overzealous and inflexible Dad who wanted him to become a doctor or a power-wielding civil servant. His brothers’ resounding success in studies leading to successful careers contrasting sharply with his serial flops and failures only compounds his misery and frustration that much more. Unable to find his bearings, he turns flippant, irreverent and wayward imbibing all the bad habits. It is indeed with rare candour and courage - which only the truly great can muster - that he describes all his flip-flops:  smoking, drugs,  stray escapades/‘flings’/trysts with women and heartbreaks  as he gropes for a right course for his journey of life. However even in the face of not such a bright and promising start – at least in the eyes of his parents and the world – he doesn’t let that inner spark in him be snuffed out. Somewhere deep inside him he feels that he is cut out for something different, extraordinary and unconventional and not a trite 10-5 office job. Cinema holds him in thrall and instead of poring over insipid text books he sneaks off to cinema halls to watch movies, and nurture dreams. Acting becomes his overriding passion and obsession. The odds, insults, recriminations, reprimands…nothing whatsoever is able to extinguish that flame of creativity in him. His self-belief in himself remains unshakeable. And he pursues his dreams, come what may. Thus, stumbling, falling but rising again and learning his lessons all the way, he forges ahead. First good turn comes when – call it the invisible hand of destiny or sheer chance – he lands himself at the National School of Drama (NSD), Delhi and meets his mentor the erudite Ebrahim Alkazi. He also meets persons like Om Puri, Jaspal and others to befriend- some of whom finally make it big in the film industry. Later he joins the FTII, Pune from where, while staying glued to  theatre, he inches his way to the world of cinema. NS’s candid, incisive account of highs and lows and the plusses and minuses of FTII and the film-world make for an absorbing and insightful read- and a man of his character and intellectual integrity alone could have done this plainspeak.

As we go through the twists and turns of his life, we finally come face to face with the ultimate Naseeruddin Shah: an actor par excellence but with a difference. As we know,  NS stands out as one of the rare few in Bollywood who has not sold his soul to the glitter and glamour, and rapacious greed for money. He has consciously stayed away from its blind pursuit and not become filthy rich by doing undignified ads for all kinds of stuff from hair oils to fairness creams. 

 He remains rooted to the ground with his head in place. And  being a cerebral, discriminating film star, he is unsparingly critical of the rubbish that is dished out by the Bollywood for our consumption. “A habit for consuming junk has over the years been created in the audience,” says he with brutal, endearing honesty so typical of him.

His narrative style is refreshingly original though at places I found the sentences a bit too meandering for quick easy comprehension. But that doesn’t in any way dilute the richness and the joy of reading this delicious memoir. If you love reading such books, this one won’t disappoint you.

                                                         

    *

 Images that haunt post Intl' Women's Day

                                                                      

   (The pics are courtesy: 'The Equator Line',  'magazine of the new world')

***

Let Mallya, Nirav and Choksi loot the banks and enjoy  life on a sun-lit foreign beach

 And you tax-payer? Well, pay the tax, obey law; dare you not commit any breach

To 'Sri' I sing an  ode though sad thoughts of our plight obsess my mind day and night

That’s what I share with you this week, as the taxman’s noose round our necks gets tight

Mallyas, Niravs, Choksis plunder while India ups its rank on ‘Global Corruption Index’

                     

                                       

You must be very angry. Like I am. In fact ‘angry’ seems like a mild word. It doesn’t fully reflect what is raging in the collective consciousness of us – the middle class - over the recent money laundering disclosures. We are seething and sizzling with raw rage at the systemic, organized ‘loot’ we have been witness to all these days. And why not?  While we pay our taxes through our skins, there are Mallyas, Niravs and Choksis plundering crores and making merry in the titillating company of hot, sexy Bolly- and Hollywood temptresses. So cool!

Just look at the dismal, shocking picture. So tight is the tax noose that even a low paid employee earning barely enough for the basic family needs has to pay income tax. He/She has to SAVE the mandatory 1.5 lakh to help fall under a lower tax slab  and thereby save a couple of thousand bucks.  And save where?  Fixed Deposits in banks that we think are a safe and secure option. But wait. Here too the unsparing hand of taxman is there to squeeze us. In the UPA dispensation, the banks reduced the rates of interest on FDRs to discouragingly low levels and in the NDA government it has continued to be so. And if you still tighten your purse strings and do manage to save but exceed the precribed limit, you again pay tax on the interest. You save to avoid tax but finally end up paying tax on what you save! How ridiculous. For me it simply defies logic and the idiocy of it should shame any government. What is more, even the pensioners have no respite from this faulty, strangulating tax noose. And those of us who are more money wise and have been investing in tax-saving mutual funds to earn better profits - though at some risk - and avoid tax at the same time too have come under the tax net henceforth.

The governments tax us (the middle class or the salaried class) so punishingly because we are an easy prey for them, while most of the business folks and the super-rich have several escape routes and loopholes to avoid the noose. And the smart operators amongst them – the Mallyas and the Modis - connive with  officials, babus and the politicians, loot the banks, park their crores in foreign shores and  thumbing their noses at us live happily ever after. They live a life of lust, luxury and splendour on sunny beaches and in palatial bungalows sipping their scotches, while the farmer, unable to pay small bank loan (because of crop failure) commits suicide; while we pay our housing and car loans taking utmost care not to default. Because we know if we fail, the bankman will make life difficult for us; because he will be impatient to seal and auction off our mortgaged property if we default. Or the interest rate will shoot up to heavens and make it painful for us to meet out from our monthly salaries. What gets our goat is not just the incompetence, apathy and delay (perhaps deliberate to let the fraudsters escape to safe sanctuaries abroad) by our governments in bringing the culprits to book and recovering the booty. It is the silly doublespeak of the politicians on top that exasperates us and makes our blood boil with rage. Mallya’s loot had been going on for years. Ditto for Nirav and Choksi.  Since Congress days and right through the BJP’s present stint. What prevents Rahul from being candid enough, say it out loud and clear  and admit that yes it has been so…and  we are sorry? What prevents Modi government to be honest and say yes we erred in detecting the crime early, say sorry, and then get to work in all earnestness and do what the whole nation is craving for: transparency, accountability, fairness and justice. But no. Obfuscation, subterfuge, distortion, sheer falsehood and you-snipe-at-me-I-snipe at-you is all that is served out to us by the politicians as well as in the ear-splitting TV debates.

Vote with discretion we are advised. Vote for a candidate with a good, clean image we are told by the wise. But when the whole system is so rotten, when all parties mostly field incompetent, illiterate, criminal and corrupt candidates, even goondas and history sheeters , when no party is willing to have proper electoral reforms introduced to cleanse the system, जब इस हमाम में सब नंगे हैं, then  we have no choice at all.

No wonder therefore that we have not only slipped in international reckoning on the 'democracy index' but gone up a few notches in the 'corruption index' also. We now rank 81 from the earlier 79 in 2016.

Keep it up Mr Politician! 
But beware the wrath of God if not that of the Aam Admi.

    
                                                        *
                           

                                       Ode to Sridevi

                              

On your passing away the nation sighed and every heart missed a beat

O celestial beauty, why from earth to heavens you made such hasty retreat

Your bewitching smile, your grace and arresting charm we will dearly cherish

Eloquence of your eyes and childlike playfulness, remember and always relish

While alive, you ruled over our hearts with your undying magic spell

Now RIP Sridevi, in our dreams and thoughts you will forever dwell

                                     

                               ***

Naseeruddin  Shah’s book has been on my reading table this Feb week

 And  makes me write about my (PU) days when I was callow, dumb and meek

Naseeruddin Shah's memoir and my musings on PU Chandigarh

I am  reading Bollywood actor Naseeruddin Shah’s memoir ‘And Then One Day’ these days. It is an engrossing, charming book written with luminous honesty that Naseeruddin is known for. Among several interesting things, he writes about the AMU, Aligarh. And he paints a dim, unflattering picture in regard to its insularity, and general air of neglect and apathy in some respects. Reading that, I am reminded of my own days at the no less prestigious PU Chandigarh in the good old seventies, and find some resonance with him.

After having missed entry in Medical College Shimla by a whisker – for which I had no real regrets – I got admission in the PU’s zoology department. Looking at the beautiful, sprawling campus with neatly arrayed, grey, red-tiled buildings, lawns, water fountains, playgrounds, I was overwhelmed with joy. This is the place where my talents will blossom…where my worthy professors will ignite the spark of scientific quest and empower me with knowledge and learning…make me a scholar, an academic worthy of respect and admiration…What pure joy it would be to hear brilliant, thought-provoking lectures from them, and participate in steamy, stimulating discussions, debates and discourses to delve deeper into the mysteries, puzzles and wonders of biology... Thus would the cobwebs of my ignorance be removed from my poor rusty mind…Thus would the sunshine of scientific temper light up the dark recesses of my inner self and broaden my mental horizons to take on and embrace the whole world. With such fantasies flooding my mind, for a few days I walked the hallowed corridors of PU’s science departments with a sense of pride and exultation.

But my dream was short-lived.

As the classes commenced and we settled into a regular routine, my fantasy-world began to crumble; optimism began giving way to mounting disappointment with each passing day, week, month and year.

There we were: a batch of 30-some huddled in a classroom with boys and girls perched in distinctly separate clusters. Soon a grave, ponderous professor would enter with an old musty file tucked under his arm. He/She (mostly he) would open the file and on cue, in hushed silence, we would open our notebooks and pens and get (battle)-ready. Then there would follow a marathon, non-stop, 1-hour dictation from out of the mouldy, yellowing, dog-eared pages stashed in the file. Sometimes our aching, tired fingers failed to catch up with the professor’s  dull but fast paced drone. But who would dare ask him/ her to repeat the missed word or line? At times some words or sentences remained inaudible or improperly heard. But it didn’t matter…we had to march on doughtily, regardless. This went on class after class, teacher after teacher.

Classes over, we would tuck our note-books away in some corner of  a shelf in our hostel rooms. These were meant to be opened only at the time of house exams, and the final annuals in peak summer. Come exam days and sweating and fretting we sat long hours late into the nights in our fan-less rooms, mugging up a few select topics out of the many scribbled in our notebooks. It was sheer gamble, but if lucky, we found questions relating to the stuff learnt by rote in the question paper and belched it out feverishly on answer-sheet after answer-sheet.

That was how we were taught, trained, nourished and groomed as future zoologists at PU Chandigarh!

In the evenings, to get away from the day’s dull, uninspiring rigmarole, some of us wandered off either to the  theatres to watch Bollywood movies ('Rekhas' and 'Hema Malinis!) or to the sector 17 shopping complex to ogle at (only furtively and from a safe distance) buxom Sikhnis strolling about leisurely there, mostly accompanied by handsome brawny Sikh hunks. Another exciting diversion for some of us was to meander off to the arts blocks bubbling with life and energy with sprightly, vivacious ‘arts girls’ to ogle and salivate at - unlike the ponderous, introverted, reticent, glued-to-the-microscopes, romanceless girls of our science departments.

Naseeruddin Shah had at least the cigarette-smoking, 'feisty' lady-professor Zahida Zaidi in the English department at the AMU to recognize his latent talents and show him the way. Later he had an erudite teacher Ebrahim Alkazi (may his tribe increase) at the National School of Drama (NSD) to take him under his wing to inspire and guide him through. But sadly, I had none at any stage of my  formative, learning years.

But having said that, it would be very dishonest and unfair of me to lay the entire blame for my poor innings at PU on the teachers alone. Some of the blame must rest on me too for having been casual and careless about my classes with Epicurean tendencies having a greater sway over me than commitment to studies.

Be that as it may, when I came home with the degree under my arm, I had no clue at all where to go. And it was with great effort that I had to de- and re-learn zoology entirely on my own to pass muster as a teacher in a college later on, with a secret vow NEVER to replicate the follies of  vain worthies who (mis-) taught me at the university.

Perhaps I bored you with my personal outpouring above. Well, coming back to Naseeruddin’s book, if you like this genre of writing, which I personally find the most inspirational reading of all, I strongly recommend this gem of a memoir.

        

                                               ***

      To a lady, nay, a  lioness  called Asma -  I pay my humble tribute

           A beacon of  hope she was to the oppressed and mute

           Who lit a divine torch of love, peace, liberty and goodwill

            Whose loss sends in our hearts a deep, painful, unending chill

  Let's salute this lioness amongst pygmies

                     

We in  India must shed tears over the untimely death of this brave, unorthodox, unconventional, enlightened, liberated woman- at least those of us who are not jingoists but patriots in real, liberal sense. In the present times when dark gloomy clouds of mutual hatred, muscle flexing, abuse, eye-for-an-eye kind of attitude loom low and ominous over our sub-continent, she was one of the few crusaders for peace, amity and goodwill between the people of two nations, India and Pakistan. Besides being a zealous champion for human rights and liberty, it was she who helped found Pakistan-India Peoples’ Forum for Peace and Democracy (PIPFPD). And no less significant is the point that she was not an Indian but from the Taliban-infested, crisis-ridden and violence-scarred land of Pakistan where human life sells dirt cheap and such intrepid voices attract bullets rather than applause. Well, she was Asma Jahangir. As you must have read in the news, she died last Sunday, the 11^th of February, at the young age of 66, felled not by a fanatic’s bullet but sadly, owing to a heart attack. And at a time when the common people of India and Pakistan, people like you and me, needed her the most. Asma Jahangir was an advocate by profession and the first woman president of Pakistan’s Supreme Court Bar. She was a  lady with the guts - a lioness among pygmies I would say - to take the all-powerful Pakistan army head-on for its anti-India approach, its war rhetoric, for paddling terrorism and for the ongoing sordid drama of death and destruction across the Indo-Pak border. Besides that she was an irrepressible voice for women, minorities and the LGBT community.

She was a frequent visitor to India and had a sizeable number of admirers, supporters, associates, followers and fans (myself included) in India who shared her vision and joined her mission for mutual peace with hope and gusto.

When in India she was not the one to be cowed down by the diehard, misguided, anti-Pakistan fanatics, and fundamentalists. She was as forthright and outspoken in her views here as in Pakistan. Therefore – as I read in the obituary to her in a newspaper – she had no hesitation in asking bold and blunt questions from the big and mighty in India such as Bal Thackeray on his politics of revenge and retaliation when she happened to meet him… the Bal Thackeray feared and dreaded by even the most powerful and the rich in India…and before whom the bigwigs of film industry have squirmed, cowered before and payed due obeisance to just to keep him in good humour.

The liberated souls like Asma Jahangir are rare and an almost extinct species. Both in India and more so in Pakistan. Particularly in these times: when bigotry and jingoism are rearing their ugly heads like never before; when communal, caste and religious hatred are radicalizing the nation like never before; when ‘intolerance’ is at an ascendant to the extent that even movies like ‘Padmavat’ are being sought to be banned through sheer goondagardi; where under the veneer of (perverted) logic of 'religious sentiments' or ‘old values’, even perfectly inoffensive scenes and songs are being violently protested against by the goons in the land of Kamasutra and Khajuraho.

Asma Jahangir, you leave a huge void in the sub-continent. May your kind, loving, never-to-die soul rest in eternal peace! May the rich legacy of courage, goodness, harmony and amity that you left behind keep on inspiring us!                          

                                                          ***