I will miss you, my pint sized warrior, my friend

I am leaving for Melbourne with my family. Family? Well, not exactly. We are leaving T behind. T, my dachshund. Australia does not permit import of dogs from rabies endemic India. Today, I’ve come back after dropping him off at my fathers place.. for a long time, maybe for ever.

When we started back, we had a lump in our throats. Me & and my wife. We had got him 8 years ago, as a 7 week old. We had trouble getting kids, and he was the substitute. But after he waddled into our lives, a baby came too. He was our good luck mascot.

Usually we leave him at Dad’s for a week or two, and he jumps and barks the place down, trying to get back into the car, but today he was strangely silent, looking into my eyes with an uncertain wag of his tail. I bent down and kissed him, and I cried inside, he licked my face and eyes, and then walked back to the verandah. No complaints, no barks, no whines. I feel like a betrayer. How did he understand that this time, it was going to be for a long time? Was it our distress? And yet he didn’t turn his head away, like he usually does when he is angry, and he licked my eyes (first time) !!

The house is now strangely silent. His rug lies there still, both of us, we don’t want to remove it. I miss him….

I miss the after 10 pm sessions on the diwan, both me and T, me watching TV with his warm muzzle on my feet – my wife and daughter fast asleep.

I miss the 8 pm walks, alone with T, in the moonlight, with T nuzzling the grass and standing stock still at noctural sounds, and the companionship of the hunt.

I miss the waiting shadow on the verandah, the effusive welcome, the enthusiastic run back and forth, when I come home from work, and the sheer happiness in his eyes.

I miss the patient form at the dinner table, the polite nudge, the wet muzzle, the subdued wuff and the hurt bark when nothing comes his way.

I miss the wet lick waking me up in the morning.

I miss the weary companion at my feet, at the laptop at night, and the look which says “ haven’t u finished, lets go sleep” and the sleepy waddle accompanying me to the bedroom.

I miss the pint-sized warrior who jumped between me and a viper, snarling at the snake, lunging in and out of striking range, hair on end, in complete disregard to personal safety.

I miss the meticulous patrolman who checked the grounds before my baby daughter toddled out every morning.

I miss the cowering coward who hid below the bed at the first thunderstorm.

I miss the friend who sat with me on the verandah steps and watched the gentle rain fall.

I miss the friend who waited at the foot of the steps, because he was too scared to climb up, but too attached to leave.

I miss the hunter who lay in wait with superhuman patience for the cockroach who had scuttled under the almirah.

I miss the friend who was game to try anything I ate, whether papaya or coffee.

I miss the regretful look on the face, when he hides under the bed, after going poopoo in the kitchen at night, during rainy days.

I miss the surprised look on his face which says " u crazy?' when i say " walky walk?" on a rainy day.

I miss the imploring look, and tug he gives me, begging for a walk on a beautiful night.

I miss the stoic patience when he kept the muzzle on the diwan, waiting for someones heart to melt and lift him onto forbidden territory.

I miss the friend who would rather suffer a 5 hour car ride than be left without the pleasure of my presence for a few days.

I miss the halfhearted growl when I bathed him, and the full hearted appreciation when I toweled him down.

I miss the gandhian tummy display when I wanted to pop a pill into his mouth, and the stoic refusal to open his mouth.

I miss..

I miss…

I miss you, old pal, and I never realized I could love someone so much. I know my wife misses u too, I can see it in her silence in the car ride back and the tears. She must be having a list too...

I hope you understand why we left, even if not the reasons, but only that we loved you even as we left.

I know that your life is short, but one day, when we all have finished our time, we will go hunting again, as friend and friend, in a place where human & canine will be equals.

IIMs, Reservation, the Judiciary and other odds & ends…

I was reading with interest the happenings since Mr Arjun Singh decided to uncork his 27 % formula for the IITs & IIMs. I couldn’t help comparing with the days when another gent named Mr VP Singh uncorked his Mandal formula. Those were the days when I was nearing the end of my graduation, looking forward to post graduation and a job.

Mandal… Rajeev Goswami and self immolations…. Desperate street battles and fury…..Classmates split right down the middle…..a young generation which had lifted VP Singh from obscurity, and brought down Rajiv Gandhi, saw its messiah turn a rank opportunist….. I was one of that generation. I was an idealist. VP Singh turned me into a hard boiled cynic. I will never be an idealist again. The street battles were nothing but a catharsis for other idealists – there was no real hope of reforming the system.

Now.. the students in AIIMS protesting against the new Singh, I sense the difference. The protests are clinical, neat. There are no immolations. Only in Delhi and nowhere of the Mandal scale. Why? Is it that this generation lacks the will to fight? I don’t think so. I think there are good reasons. This generation is more cynical. They have no heroes, least of all among the political class. Dr Manmohan singh is silent. Worse, he tells the judiciary to mind it’s own business. Dr Abdul Kalam is busy on his vision 2020 thing and interacting with children. He has no time for all this. Other things have changed too.

Privatisation. In the days of Mandal, the Govt job was everything. That was why the desperation on the streets. Now, thanks to Mr Narasimha Rao, one of the greatest of our Prime Ministers, the Govt is just an option, a last option. This generation knows that. But higher education… that’s firmly in the hands of the Govt. There is no other option.

Or isn’t there?

I see the newspapers & and the hoardings. The Economic times news items. The Aussies, the Kiwis, the Brits and the Scots, the Irish and Uncle Sam are all here. The promise of an education abroad – for a price. The chance to bypass the Singhs and the Quotas. When God closes the door, he opens the window!!!

As a parent, I wonder. My child is growing up. In 11 years time she will pick up her rifle and storm Tiger Hill. She will do so against inhuman odds. She will watch as other kids take the bunkers, by virtue of the artillery and air support the Singhs provide. She will become bitter and cynical. She will fail. Not because she didn’t try, not because she wasn’t good enough, but because she didn’t have the air cover.

As a parent, I know it will happen, since I have seen Mandal and Mr Arjun Singh. There is only one thing I can do. When the time comes, I have to give her the air cover, the artillery support. I have to level the playing field. If I don’t, I have failed. There is only one way to do that, there is only one howitzer which cannot be subverted by the legislature or by the Judiciary. Hard cash.

Money is important. Not for swimming pools or Armani suits. As air cover. For a house. For my childs education. For her wedding. For my retirement days. For my medical bills when its time to leave. For my wife after I have gone.

I cannot depend on the Government. It has ruined the public sector hospitals. It has ruined the primary and secondary education sectors. It will ruin higher education. It has washed its hands off old age care. It has privatized pension funds. For it, people are expendable.

I can see IIT professors thinking the same thoughts. Maybe the Private sector & the Foreign Universities will open IITs. Maybe those professors will resign and leave for greener pastures – to make the hard cash for their own personal howitzers. Maybe they will go abroad so that their kids have a chance too. Or maybe they will not. Maybe they will stay. Maybe this country will become an Utopia where caste or class or religion will not matter. Maybe the IITs and the IIMs will not rot.

Maybe…..

India is shining. But only the paranoid will survive…………….

me bored !!!

Summer vacations !! We reached Trivandrum, to rendezvous with my brother, sis in law and their 7 year old, R - from UK. Me bored !! says R in propah british accent. R wails. Brother panics. Guitar lessons are arranged. My daughter is game too. Guitar saar has language problem - interpreter (me) is arranged. Lessons begin. Twang, Twang.....twaaaaang. After guitar....me bored!!
Next day, our cousins visit. With their mallu medium kids, S and D aged 7 and 8. I expect trouble. Brit kids cant talk Mallu, and vice versa. The kids are silent, eyeing each other. We throw a ball at them. Ice is broken. The game begins. R knows all the rules.. he knows all about AC Milan, Arsenel and Wayne Rooney. About the D, and offside. But there is a problem. The others don't. All hell breaks loose - S and D are scoring with thier hands, feet, butts and much else. R protests - who is listening? R wails - who is listening? R shuts up and tries desperately to staunch the haemmorhage of goals!!
Later...
we start a chess game. R knows that too ..propah!! the others are less well equipped. S's father has given him a board and left him to his own devices. R wins against S, once, twice. The game is close fought. S relies on instinct. R is better trained, has better tactics. S loses. I am watching S. He doesnt wail. He suggests another game, loses again. But he is picking up.. what is castling? what is this en passant? what is this, that? R is at ease. One more game. S loses again. No tears. He looks at the computerised board. Is this a computer? yes. My papa got me a marble one - he says proudly.
I look at the gulf between the two. R has every chance in life - but he doesnt know how to lose. S has lost, but has casually picked himself up, dusted his backside and played again, and again, and again - losing all the time, but learning all the time.
I look at S. There are thousands like him out there. Talented, gritty - like diamonds in the dust. The day we give them a chance, they will grab it. But in our country every other factor matters but talent - thats life.

Tooth Fairy & the Tooth Devil

Lil daughter lost her 5th teeth. She is cool about it now. Busy trying to lose one more so that she can catch up with the topper. I remember the time she lost the first one..
Pizza hut. Tooth has been wobbling for weeks. She is worried. Will it fall out? Will it be painful? I offer to pull it out. Wrong move. Burst into tears and jumps into Mummy's lap. Beta, take a bite. Says mummy. Hard stuff - courtesy Pizza Hut. Yow!! More howls. Wheres the tooth ! WHERE IS MY TOOTH!!! Tooth is missing. Mummy finds it. Looks like a pearl. A little bit of blood. Lil is shattered.
I tell her about tooth fairy. about pillows and magic in the night. she listens. Will she come tonight?
Ouch, wrong move, shops are closed!! No dumma, you have to email her. (yeah, yeah). Mail address is toothfairy@toothfairy.com. Night, she mails with mummys help. Methinks, I'll delete the bounce later, and get her something tomorrow.
Wonders!! There IS a tooth fairy. ( all domain names are registered, including tooth fairy!!)She replies - Congrats, etc etc. and Have a sugar free day!!
I look like a fool. I payout, she gets the credit.
5 gifts later...........
She is NOT brushing her teeth. Bad. Threats dont work. Girls usually get their way.
Enter tooth Devil. Bad guy. If the tooth caries, he comes. In the night. What about the gift - dumma asks suspiciously. No Gifts - all knowing papa replies. Only spiders, frog legs, coakroaches, snakes ( small ones only) get left under the pillow.
No problems with teeth brushing now. Till she figures out......

Cycling thrills

For the last few days I am struggling to teach my lil daughter cycling. Bent double, sweating, panting and running, trying to keep the vehicle going with just the right amount of support, that she gets going on her own. It doesnt help that I am woefully out of shape. But I am PAPA, the MAN, and she trusts me. Dont let go, papa.
I take sips of water, and sit down. She sits with me and asks - am I doing OK? Yeah, you are getting better. Better Better? or Just better?. Better Better. She is happy. Next round...
5 days. She is getting the hang of it. I dont have to bend now. Just light pressure on the handle.
Then she says - let go papa, just run along. I run along - she is OK. Bit unsteady and wobbly, but fine.
Another 1 day, and she gets irritated when i run beside her. She cycles off, far off, then wheels around - victorious. Its time to let go.
I have done many things at my workplace which gave me satisfaction. But this is something else...way beyond. I am not going to forget this day.

Time to move...

Its been a long time, 10 years, working at one place. And its time to move. Why? Isnt the pay good? Hasnt your family grown roots? Isnt the workplace great? Yes, Yes and Yes.
But sometimes the feeling comes - is this all there is to it? Am I missing out on an experience some where, some other country or city.
And then you invent all sorts of excuses, trying to justify the move in concrete terms.
But thats not it, actually.
Its just a wanderlust..
The late 30's - the best of times, and the worst of times - time is running out, the cub is growing up and maybe tomorrow will be too late.
And you see Sachin Tendulkar struggling for his 100, and you remember a time in Sharjah he had walked out not long ago and smashed the aussies to bits, and you think - he is my generation, he is slowing down, tomorrow will be my turn.