India's Anti-Corruption Movement and What It Tells About Our World Today

It is an unfortunate truth of living as far away from India, as I do, that sometimes some very important developments in India go unnoticed, only because I passively opt to view the world from the lenses of the media that surrounds me immediately. Fox, CNN or WSJ certainly did not do first-day reporting on the Anti-corruption movement that had come to a climax in India on April 5-there are Libya and the looming US Govt shutdown to fill their front pages after all. And these are valid newsworthy topics. But then for those of us in exile---away from the land we once called home, there are always two sets of 'local news' that impact us immediately. One that concerns the place where we are currently located, and the other one which concerns the place where a piece of our heart resides, where a big bag of our memories comes from, and perhaps where so many of our loved ones still navigate the traffic-ridden roads in scorching summer sun and where they haggle with the vegetable vendor and where they go to coaching-centers to learn C++, and where they text away messages every minute on cell-phones and where they get together on the streets, on top of their cars to celebrate victory in a game of cricket.

In our physical 'local' news there are thefts, and homicides, and basketball wins, but rarely a line on a policeman being caught accepting bribes at a traffic light. Indeed, there is never news of a Councilman's son being given admission in a college only because his dad happened to be the Councilman. In our 'other' local news, such news abounds to the extent that we read and forget--familiarity breeds disinterest. 'Corruption is rampant in India' is a cliche, a truth and the accepted norm. This even became the premise on which corruption was further nurtured. 'I am helpless---its rampant!' came the oft-heard dismissal from anyone who was challenged to take an action, even as he was bribing his way out of a long line at the railway-ticket booth. And all this came to a screeching halt when the common man literally took to the streets on April 5. Anna Hazare--an epitome of modesty and selflessness and someone so truly a representative of the 'common man' gave his call for ending corruption, or fast until death. I missed this news altogether! Him giving the call, and then commanding the overwhelming response from people all over the country, is no ordinary news for an India whose biggest recent international games---the Commonwealth Games--were about to be totally sabotaged because of one of the biggest episodes of top-to-toe corruption in the games committee.

Anyhow, I caught up with the news finally, and felt proud and happy for the positive developments in India. I went on the various web-sites related to the movement, and it was not lost on me that the facebook and twitter logos promptly appeared on these pages. And even though I do not frequent facebook as often, I eventually did go on some of these facebook pages. And as expected, there is traffic on these sites! On the facepage of India Against Corruption alone (the umbrella body organising the recent movement) there are some 187,000 followers. I looked at its discussion board, and found that of the currently 369 active boards, some 120 were created before April 5. Can we make something of these simple statistics? Sure, we can---at least I would like to. The April 5 event was the bubbling of a soup that has been simmering for a while. People are connecting not just with classmates from the past, but also with like-minded strangers who want to be the change they wish to see.

The subtle but significant similarity of the electronic part of the process of India's movement with that of the processes that galvanised the recent democracy movements in Egypt, Tunisia, Libya , and rest of the middle-east, is both beautiful and empowering. After 9/11, Iraq and then the two Koreas' nuclear standoffs seemed to plunge this millennium into a new era of arms race and wars, the developments of this year so far, give an altogether different boost to the whole world. They give hope of how mankind may finally be learning to put its best innovation---the internet, to the best use after all. They give hope of how we common men and women may actually be realising the power we really wield though the simple clicks on the internet, and how we can divert public policy from undue international race for hegemony to honest democracy for our daily lives. India's democracy had appeared largely functional---our women go to school, and wear whatever they want or not, our temples often stand side-by-side with mosques, and we often elect the persons we want to from the ballot-list. Yet, we know that there are the finer nuances that need correction, in order from this framework of democracy to only gain flesh and not crumble. It is not easy for mere mortals to first realise the flaws in these nuances, and then to start waging a war against these. Yet, through the power to read about other movements, and through the power to connect with many and many mere mortals, we have risen as one Anna Hazare. As the button badges on the shirts of many supporters say, 'I am Anna'.

Even as I sit in an air-conditioned room of my apartment overlooking the Hudson river and the southern tip of Manhattan, I know I feel the sweat on the temples of those who sat fasting with Anna at Jantar Mantar in Delhi under the mid-day sun in temperatures upward of 80 degrees Fahrenheit. My salutations to all those who have dared to make this movement happen.

Tsunami in Japan

I was sound asleep, when the earthquake and then the Tsunami hit Japan. It had been raining the whole day, and most of the night, here in the New York area for sure, but that was that. I remember hearing on a quick weather update in the car last evening that a 'coastal flood advisory was in effect for New York City', and thinking what that actually meant---since the city is anyways an island--all of '13.4 miles length, and 2.1 miles wide at its widest part'! I myself live on the Jersey bank of the river Hudson, and actually peeped from between the blinds last night before going to bed, to see what the river was upto. In the diffused light of the lamps lining the boardwalk, I could see that the water was surely very active, and that the waves were lashing on the already wet side-rails. The darkness of the rainy night ominously beckoned over the river's width till the eyes met the patchily lit-up skyscrapers dotting the other bank. Even then I made nothing much of what I saw, hopped onto the bed, and snugly slept the night away.


I wake up to see the first thing in the headlines---that a major-major earthquake and then the Tsunami hits Japan, and affects not one, or two, but 50 countries! I immediately browse the weather map of the world, locating countries that mean more to me than other countries do--U.S. mainland, India, Australia, Hawaii--places that I know personally, or know that loved ones live there. It all seems fine there, but my heart just cannot give up pondering on the sheer biblical overtones of this natural catastrophe. Richter scale 8.9 just sounds so huge--and to imagine that some people actually felt it? And then I see that an unprecedented whirlpool was set off, off the coast of Japan. And then, as though the day was not getting depressing enough, comes the 'breaking news' of the U.S. West Coast bracing for a 'water-wall'. West Coast is dear to me for so many reasons----not only have I spent every spring-break there for the last eleven years of my stay in the U.S., but that it is also where so much of immediate family and so many loving friends live. I know, that I am probably over-reading the flash news, but the gravity of the whole event is literally sinking in news by news. How, in a moment, or a matter of moments, so much can happen---so much can fall and so much can be washed away. Even when I know many thousands of people are going to, so permanently, be annihilated or affected by this, I still need to salvage my day from this quagmire of soppy facts about the health of the planet--a petty concern I know, but a valid one nonetheless for those for whom the biggest Tsunami is still a news, and who have deadlines to meet an hour or day away.


When all else fails, we pray-I pray. We pray to find peace of mind for things beyond our control.

Brevity thy name is Twitter

With lack of time, but something interesting gnawing the mind, Twitter comes very handy indeed. However, once in that world--- the desire to dump all sorts of punctuations, and all other spaces is so intense, when the cup of words runneth over repeatedly while drafting a tweet, that it's not healthy for writing (FYI for the uninitiated:Twitter has a word limit of 140 words/tweet) .

Yet, I find that most people's tweets are actually correctly punctuated, and convey messages too. So, I guess, everyone has the ability to think concisely, when needed. I of course, am constantly squirming to write just one more word or so.....'convolutions of logic' need to be expressed I guess, and have thus to resort to that old-style, free- flowing, white-paper-beckoning times of 'no word limit'. As is apparent from my writing style, I use a lot of non-words while writing--the quotation marks, the exclamations, the ellipsis, the hyphens and so on. Taking these away from me, will surely rob me off a big part of my weaponry. Thus I chirp and sing here, and there in my paper journals, and only tweet on Twitter.

Give Me My Mornings

[Pre-Script: All mention of names that sound unfamiliar are references to one person--who is not anonymous--just 'multi-nonymous.']

The Twitterbug was awake unusually early today ---(this is not at all related to Twitter.com---this is just one of my several names for my little walking heart--my toddler). Anyhow, so here I was just about getting ready to wake up and channelize some 'creative juices' into an ink for some writing. I would have stealthily got up from the bed, not even breathing while exiting the room, lest the toddler in her bed attached to ours should hear the mommy leaving. And then I would get rolling the plain but oh so invigorating ritual of heating water on the stove, taking part of it for drinking myself, keeping part of it for Buttercup when she wakes up, and then letting the third of it go back to a bubbling boil for my cuppa tea. Then while munching on an apple, I would browse through the mails, and headline news, and then with the large cup of goodness brimming with hot chai, I would settle into some 'writing' mode----does not matter if I actually write something or not, but I sure do enjoy the process of sitting down to write, and then perhaps reading about writing, or reading other people's writings. And then after having been in such blissful state of solitude for some time, the 'sweetest' voice ever would tweet 'mommy', sometimes yelling, sometimes querying, sometimes just a mumble or two. I would hear it, and abandoning everything, I would be so ready to greet the 'Gubbu' and as I tell her to 'conquer the day!' [In all this description, you ask that the Hubby is absent?--Well, he has had a somewhat similar start to his day---yoga, cuppa joe, WSJ.com and of course pageloads after pageloads of cricket info, before any of us two ladies in the house woke up--and has left for work just on time for me to be up for a 'have a good day' peck on the cheek.]

Ok, so this was not to be yesterday--for me. Little had I realised that this entire bliss was so precariously existent because of Jumbu-baby sleeping 'like a child'. She was awake yesterday, just like one of those kids whose parents have been disciplining their kids into an 'early-to bed, early-to-rise' schedule. I mean she was not just awake--she was wide awake---her eyes had no left over sleep, which I could pat her back into. Those lovely large eyes, were filled with fun and action, and the kids limbs were undoubtedly ready to 'conquer the world'---she was picking up the quilt, running into it--peek-a-boo---and pulling the pillow from under my head--somewhat surprised to still see me so listless. Yes, she was awake just around the time I would have gotten up. And how excited she was to catch her daddy fixing his tie. I new I would have to invent a whole new morning for us then---since it was still around four hours before her school!

So, the ensuing hours went like a typical 'good' household's morning hours do! I swept the whole house, dusted, tossed the trash outside the house, did some prep work for lunch and dinner, made an elaborate breakfast for the two of us (veggie loaded omelette with toasted bagels), and actually sat down to savor the food on the table with Twinky for a full twenty minutes. We both bathed, dressed appropriately for the weather and even wore some Mardi-gras beads (we have plenty of those always in 'her' wardrobe. You ask 'why'? Because, she is a 'princess' and she has to have 'jewels' to match all her dresses!)

Her constant tweeting in the background was, of course, melody and music and more. I enjoyed her company, as I always do. We even had a very pleasant day and had fun galore--just taking walks and talking and so on. BUT, and a big BUT, I am quite happy to be writing here today, occasionally sipping tea even as its rising steam fogs up my glasses. I hear the peck of my fingers at the keyboard, I hear the computer softly but constantly whirring, and I hear the clock ticking---but I don't hear Tweetybird! She is in the bedroom--fast asleep. I am happy, I know she is happily sleeping, hubby has happily left for work---so what's wrong --right? We are all creatures of habit after all! That I am looking forward to her getting up--goes without saying. That, I want my moments of silence, but not days of being alone---is sure right. That, she is safely tucked in bed, while I write, or drink tea, or he browses the net, or drinks his coffee, is the only reason that everything else happens in a peaceful state of mind. That, if she does not wake up by the time she is 'usually' expected to, leaves me jobless, and joyless---I know she does not know now, but will when she can.

The Recall Button

[Prior warning: This is not about 'recall' as in remember, but about re-call as in calling back.]

We had congregated for a play-date for the kids, and as usual, the kids were in their own world, while we chatted away. The kids enjoyed our neglect, and we were happy to have them lost to some safe and happy (and loud and screaming and singing place), away from us. Thus as the spread of snacks kept filling up our tummies, and the decibels kept filling up the room, and the fat-bellied tea-pot kept getting emptied, we covered in our chatter all the absentees, some Egypt and Libya, and of course all the husbands of the world.

Then, as all conversations do, we somehow meandered onto an unlikely topic- of faux pas and blunders (and oh, is a full time mom's day punctuated with at least one blooper a day? You bet!). Anyhow, as us stay-at-home moms narrated our tales--sheepishly, apologetically, and guiltily, someone had to lift the morale of the company. So, this friend, who, co-incidentally was the only gainfully employed person (typically out early from her HR work on Fridays), started to give examples of gaffes and goof-ups people do at work so often---a place where one would expect a certain level of pre-meditated alertness. "And this is when, sometimes, there could be actually so much real loss to the company!", she added. Then she gave an example of her boss who had by mistake sent out information about an upcoming Merger deal that he was working on, to the competitor! Now, that was no slip--it was a slide--a landslide I would say. And yet, nothing major happened. The boss directed my friend to use the 'recall' feature in the outlook email--and recall as many errant emails as promptly as possible. The boss and my friend are both still on the company's pay-roll!

The Kodak moment arrived then---when a good majority of us moms, almost in a chorus, exclaimed, "What? There is a recall button?" Those few who were intelligent on the subject, not only pointed to the location of such a 'magic' button, but also gave a few more personal anecdotes to illustrate the handiness of the button---the poetic significance of which was not lost on us anyhow. The recall button became the 'tip' of the month for us. How many times, we have sent out empty mails, or switched mails or sent totally unintended material with the mail (like, I would so many times not like to have sent the long list of mushy, cutesy and some plain intelligent quotations that I use as my signature 'essay' to a potential employer, but that impulsive click on the send button, and all damage is done!)? Now, bingo---there is a RECALL button.

Pity, there is no re-calling the time going by. I cannot re-call the first moment when I let my toddler get off the high-chair while eating. Now, she almost always likes her meal running around the house----takes upwards of 45 mins, and gives me the not-so-needed work out. I cannot re-call the few hurtful words and sentences I said to some people I love, and care for. I think (and hope ) that they forgot, but alas I remember them from the very first time they were uttered in moments of rage or heated discussions. I cannot re-call a lot, but I know I can do better starting now. That's how I am going to take it.

Another Apple Story

I quite like the color green. I also consider myself a small but active worker of the green movement. For my daughter, I have categorically searched for, and bought, tops and caps and even a tutu in some shades of green. Yet, I have never delighted in buying or biting into a green apple.

When I was a more carefree shopper, even when the greener versions of Eve's tempter presented themselves in flawless and shiny turgidity, my fingers still touched and grabbed the mediocre looking red apples. However now, when I have started to stick to a regimen of strictly 'organic' apples, I really do not have much choice often times, if I am not at a specialty grocer. There is not only a dearth of the variety of apples, but there is actually a real scarcity of the units of apples too in my neighborhood store. So, I just have to buy what's available, even if there are just some green ones. And so the green ones are making their way into an unlikely address of late.

Typically, all things equal, past the distinction of green or not, I am quite color blind for apples. I do not mind any shade of red--dark like the red delicious or red with lots of yellow on it like the Fuji apples. It is the Granny Smiths that I am not at all tempted by. I think I know why. First, the green ones somehow always look like 'works-in-progress'. Afterall who ever taught a kid 'A for Apple' staring at a picture of a green thing? It is the color red that we almost always associate with the image of an apple. Actually in my experience the green apples almost always come way behind even in the sweetness of the fruit. Second, even when one begins to probe, one realises that the apple comes from family Rosaceae----ok, so whoever thought of a green rose, when imagining one?

Last but not the least, when you have been taught that 'an apple a day keeps the doctor away', you begin to associate the redness of the 'typical' apple with an ability to 'generate pure red blood' inside the human body. For the slightly medically infatuated (like me), the word 'haemoglobin' pops us in the mind with smileys and bright bulbs when consumption of apples is contemplated. You think a green apple can invoke all those feelings of holistic well-being? At least not in me.

Does the green one really differ in its nutrients when compared with the red ones--I do not know. I guess I could try to google the answer, but then, I am not sure if I want the answer yet. Somehow I do not feel bad about my discerning taste. As I said, if I have to, then I buy the green apple, but otherwise, the red ones continue to be the apple of my eye.

The September of 2010

By the end of September, I wanted September gone so badly. September took away from me--my biggest admirer, my mom. If this was not enough, there was a sudden loss of another dear family member, and it became the month of mourning and consoling. All phone calls started with or ended with sobs and tears. Anyhow, on October 1st, I purposely sat down to write the date on a nice blank white page. I wanted to be very conscious of the act of writing that date, of seeing it there, and of thus being very aware of its having come. I was looking for a new beginning to the new reality of life.

As each moment I go further from that fateful month, I also try to rationalize with what happened and how it must all somehow fit into a larger picture already prepared by the Almighty. It is not at all easy. I want to somehow forgive that month and look for a silver lining still. After all that is the basic requirement of living, as opposed to not. And while I rummage through the snapshots of time spent in that month--of first learning of the the parting, of the following ceremonies, of so painfully sitting down to take care of things that were the person---the spectatcles, the packets of bindi, the medicines, the telephone diary, and the book of bhajans, of not being able to talk two unmuffled sentences with Papa while looking at his watery eyes, of that incessant sniffling with siblings, and of pointing up towards the sky to tell the little children that their grandmother had now become a star ever ytime they asked why one chair at the dining table was empty, I find very little to forgive that month for. Or wait, there was one event that was sweet, and honest, and actually had a very happy ending. It was not one that decides life, but surely one that allows one to feel connected to a larger humanity, and thus to a force of life that must keep the living moving and working and making the best of what we have.

So one evening I was taking a walk with my dad, both of us remembering the beauty and courage that mom had displayed all her life. It was dark already, and we walked briskly, in order to avoid the sprinklers that would soon start in most lawns. A few of the errant sprinklers, sprayed water on the pavement too, and made it difficult to walk on the bordering footpath. Emotionally charged and with a swift gait, we walked through this otherwise quiet evening, in the tree-lined neighborhood of Palo Alto, CA. Thirty-six hours after that walk, I realised that my wallet, a compact leather bound pouch with all my cards--credit cards, ID, debit cards, library cards, discount cards and so on, was missing! It had already been that long, and I panicked. I first called the money card companies to put the cards on hold or cancel them. Luckily, till then nothing suspicious had happened on the cards. Next, I called hubby to courier my alternate ID to me, in order for me to be able to travel in a couple of days from then (I was at that time in CA, not in NJ--the home). Then I called the police, and then I just flopped on the sofa tossing a coin to see if I will find the wallet or not. The loss of the wallet was not something that gave sadness, but it surely gave a lot of inconvenience. From just plain mourning, I was now also jolted into critically thinking of how to navigate this worldly existence without the basic currency of ID and of money! Additionally the thought that some stranger may be merrily going through my personal information was creepy at the least, and scary at max. Another day passed with not much hope in sight.

And then, my husband called from NJ asking me to call up this gentleman--Mr. Sugar (this is a real name) at this number. He had found my wallet! To cut the already long story short, the very interesting part of this lost-and-found episode is the circuitous route that Mr. Sugar took the pains to go on, just to find the rightful owner of the wallet. He first googled my name, but did not find any e-mail or phone info. He then looked through my cards and saw an insurance card with my husband's name as the primary insured. He then googled his name and when he did not find any info there too, he looked him up on Linkedin. He found his e-mail address, and then wrote to him, and then rest is history. When I met him up with a bouquet of flowers of gratitude in my hand, he told me that had I not contacted him within another day, he would have handed the wallet over to Palo Alto police, and would have also written a snail-mail to me at the address given in my driver's license.

Now isn't that a WOW story! Mr. Sugar's genuine honesty and desire to be of help to a total stranger, was not only inspiring but very touching too. His returning my wallet to me gave me a reason that month to re-discover the goodness of being in an interconnected world, to look for bright happy flowers to give to him, and it gave me reason to heartily use the word 'thank-you'. These were no matter-of-fact occasions and thoughts for a child who had just been told that her mom was now forever a star, beyond the reaches of her hands. Mr. Sugar's act of good citizenry will forever be one reason why September 2010 for me will not just be about despair and tears, but also about good old goodness of mankind!