Janmastami Par Kuchh Dohe

1. दूध दही सब खा गया, दिल्लीवाला कंस।
श्रीहरि की माखन चुराए, भ्रष्टाचार एंड् संस्।।

2. दीनानाथ लगे अनाथ, ठाढे जैसे दीन।
भ्रष्टाचार की मार से, बलदाऊ बलहीन।।

3. भोँपू, नारा शोरगुल, कौवों का गुणगान।
हंगामे में खो गयी, मधुर मुरलिया तान।।

4. एस्.ई.जेड्. मेँ बदल गये, सारे चारागाह।
गाय गोविँदा लौट गये, भूखे घर की राह।।

5. मैया मोरी मैं नहीं, करने जाऊं स्नान।
जमुना वो जमुना नहीं, जिससे बृज का मान।।

HEIGHT OF CORRUPTION

-- By G Manjusainath

Travelling in an aeroplane has always fascinated me. Besides curiosity, it used to tickle me with a sense of pride that a ‘grassroot level’man like me has also joined the elite. However, it would take a little time for my smugness to crash midair when I would get jetlagged and become airsick.

But the latest sojourn from Bangalore to Goa sent shivers down my spine. All my child-like curiosity, sense of pride and tickling evaporated the moment I reached the airport. The plastic smile of air ‘hosts’ (too bad, there were no airhostesses) could not cheer me up. From the moment I tied the seat belt till the time our plane landed safely, I had Hanuman Chalisa on my lips.

Reason: I had no idea whether the men in the cockpit were genuine or fake pilots. I wished I could rush into the cockpit, seek their pilot licences and ask them whether they were among those on the radar of the Director General of Civil Aviation (DGCA).

Our sixty years of corrupt independence has made us very experimental. ‘Where’s the need to take the risk when a rotten apple spoils the barrel? Fill the barrel with all rotten apples’-- seems to be the attitude these days. Of the 10,000 pilots, we have 2,000 pilots on the DGCA’s radar with suspected fake licences. Who knows how many more are in store?

An experimental lady pilot never believed in treading on battered path. “Why the rear wheels of the plane should first touch the ground while landing?” was her grouse. So she used to first touch the nose wheels of the plane on the ground with a thud sending the passengers into a tizzy. But there were air-hostesses with a compelling smile to tell the frightened passengers: ‘All Is Well’.

Another experimental pilot dared taking a small nap well before landing on a table top runway at Bajpe airport in Mangalore. That experiment did not go well as it killed 158 people last year.
Corruption is surely our way of life but now it has literally touched the pinnacle. You should not be surprised to find a spoilt Pappu of your neighbourhood inside the cockpit with a sparkling white uniform.

You don’t know how much bribe these fake pilots would have paid to get a licence, how much they would pay further and stay back as pilots. There is every possibility that we will have two categories of pilots- Luxury class and economy class. Luxury class pilots for the Orwellian ‘more equals’ and the rests for Shashi Tharoor’s cattle class.

INDEPENDENCE DAY

By G Manjusainath

Patriotism is in the air today. I woke up to the patriotic songs echoing from every corner of our vicinity. Today is August 15 and my parents say it's special for us Indians, as it’s the Independence Day. I have to compulsorily take bath irrespective of a bad cold with running nose, a problem I suffer from at least 150 days a year. Dressed in all white after bath, I am ready to catch the school bus that will arrive at least half-a-kilometre away from my place. I am content that at least on this day no one in the school would enquire me about the home work.

As the school bus moves on crossing one after another school, I wonder why our school is so orthodox and shies away from playing patriotic film songs in loud speakers much like other schools. "May be to prove we are different from others."

As I enter the school premises, I hear some strange songs being played from the loud speaker. It seems like a recorded voice of an elderly person. But no, the voice is of a young man Pt D V Paluskar, who died at the age of 34 in the early 1950s. I wonder why the youth sang like an old man; perhaps, the young man was groomed by an old master. In the process of emulating his master, the disciple would have started imitating him!

A thought now strikes me that Paluskar has a nasal voice just like my music teacher Palkar sir! Does our Palkar sir copy him? May be! But one thing I am pretty sure of is that Palkar sir cannot become Paluskar. I have a strong reason to substantiate my claim - he is short of two letters 'us'!

Having grown up listening to Carnatic and film music, the songs sung by Paluskar sound very strange to me. I don’t find them attractive. Even recording is unclear having background noise. I want to argue with my music teacher that what is the harm in playing patriotic songs sung by Mohammed Rafi or any other Hindi film playback singers when they sound more melodious than Paluskar? But I know Palkar sir would not take it in a good taste. Better to swallow the song like a bitter pill.

With these thoughts running in my mind, one of Paluskar’s songs begins shattering my image about him making me his fan forever. Flowing like the holy Ganges, 'Janakinath Sahay Karen' inundates me and I gradually find myself drowning in it.

I recall having heard this song on the banks of Ganges in Benaras. The beautiful ghats, sailing boats, canoes, people in its knee dip water offering Arghya to sun, children diving in its water, grand temples, swarms of monkeys ready to prey on gullible devotees with Prasad in their hands and the round the clock burning pyres, all have come alive.

Five years back, in 1983, my father had taken all of us - my mother and my three elder sisters- to Benaras. The scenic ghat of Benaras had overwhelmed my father so much that he simply lay straight to prostrate before Ganges. I was shocked. “How come without any deity he simply laid on the Ghat? And there are tears too in his eyes!”

When I enquired with him for his strange behaviour he replied that his act was in reverence of Goddess Ganga, who runs down the earth from the locks of Lord Shiva to cleanse the hearts of people.

After taking bath as we walked up the steps of the Ghat, we saw an ash-smeared Sadhu meditating in a corner. My emotionally charged father went near him and after bowing on his feet gave him 25 paise!

My father's largesse had made me think, “It's better to be a beggar than my father’s son. My pleas to my father had never fetched me more than five paise. On some very rare occasions father had given me 10 paise.

"Oh, 25 paise! What you can’t buy with it- A big kite, half the reel of kite-flying twine, at least ten 'chooran' sticks and 25 peppermints from 'Langde Ki Dukaan'? Or at least two Golgappas….."

With many thoughts running in my mind, I saw the Sadhu giving a pinch of ash to my father. Without giving a second thought my father put a little ash on his forehead and then swallowed a bit.

We had hardly moved a few steps when a girl in her early teens came to us and said, "You should not swallow the ash baba had given to you. Baba had collected this ash from the burning pyres at Manikarnika Ghat. There is no harm in applying this on the forehead but one should not gulp it."

Saying this, the young lace bolted away leaving my father frozen. It generated a lot of humour among us but laughing aloud would have earned my father's wrath. So we chuckled in low voice. My fuming father then stared at Sadhu as if he would snatch 25 paise he had given to him. But Sadhu looked at my father with a laugh. Suddenly he stood up and started dancing in joy as if he was conveying that the ultimate truth of our life is not more than a pinch of ash.

'Fly high or stoop low as much as you can, be generous or miser, intelligent or stupid, be a cheat or an honest, a believer or an atheist, a beggar or an emperor, a singer or a dumb- whatever you are, you can't escape pyre. Better realise it now. And scriptures say this is not the end. You are caught in a loop of life and death till you attain salvation. Crave for your ‘Independence Day’, the Sadhu had probably conveyed to us.

Yeddy to resign?

It’s seems to be official now, if some unreliable sources are to be believed!
Buckling to the two-and-half years of squabbling, backstabbing, revolt by the BJP MLAs and an unrelenting Lokayukta Justice Santosh Hegde, Chief Minister B S Yeddyurappa has finally decided to step down.
The volte-face of Yeddyurappa, who was considered to be the perfect model to market Fevicol for remaining stuck to the thorny throne for two-and-half years, does not just end here. He has also decided to live like an ascetic and spend rest of his life in a mutt somewhere in Tumkur.
Unreliable sources privy to Yeddyurappa told this scribe exclusively that the chief minister’s change of heart was mainly due to a rebuke from the party high command for failing to contain growing dissidence in the party and an all-time-high nepotism, which crossed the standard benchmark.
He recently spoke his mind to his die-hard follower and a POWERFUL minister in his cabinet, from where the news leaked out. It was learnt that the minister was in sync with his plans to step down but broke after learning about his wish to lead an austere life. The minister tried hard to persuade Yeddyurappa and fell on his feet but he was unyielding.
The chief minister recently had a chat with the swami of the Mutt over phone who readily offered refuge to him. The same unreliable sources continued to claim that the scene, when chief minister would step down (which may occur anytime within a week, they say), would be similar to Rama’s exile. They also claimed his fans have elaborate plans to make his entry to ascetic life a memorable one and have bought an ochre robe for him!