Sunday 22 March 2015

Under Holy Cow's Shadow: A Buffalo's Lament

I am told even in United States, where colour of one's skin is a polarising factor, there are towns, military regiments (courtesy Bob Marley popular number Buffalo soldier...) football teams and even universities named after me. But in India every student studying Hindi in his or her tenth class has to mug up the popular proverb - kala akshar bhains barabar (loosely translated it means an illiterate person). Other Indian languages also don't treat me kindly and I figure in phrases used to convey, ugliness, sloth and sloppiness. My jet black skin is something this acutely pigment obsessed country could never come to terms with, though they never had any problem in devouring what comes out of my udder!
 

So thanks to this deeply ingrained prejudice I have to live in the shadows of my fair skinned cousin the cow - which is worshipped as the earthly embodiment of the Kamadhenu - a mythical animal believed to be the source of all prosperity. For bulls in most Shiva temples there is the statue of Nandi, which is also worshipped with great reverence.
 

As for me the only reference in Hindu mythology is as a vehicle of Yama, the god of death. If there were social media those days forget getting 'like' or 'followers', I would have been trolled and reported for abuse by cow lovers.
 

Whether it is newspaper ad of some dairy major or on a tin of ghee or butter it is always the cow that enjoys pride of place. I never figure in any of them.
 

However, what baffles me most is that despite this big time belittling the dairy farmers in the so called cow belt rely heavily on my milk. The reasons vary from milk quality and output to their very survival in the business. Firstly milk flowing out of my udder has higher amount of fat and the overall output better than what my privileged cousin offers. Moreover compared with cows we are not very finicky regarding food and hence rearing us is much more cost effective. No wonder we command a high price in the market, and some of our high milk yielding Murrah cousins get sold for prices on par with some luxury car brands.
 

Then of course there is the ticklish issue of ban on cow slaughter. Even at the risk of sounding naive, I often wonder why no such ban for me? Ultimately the burden of providing meat, leather and even milk falls squarely on my shoulders. Quite ironically once the ban is imposed, the demand for cow tapers off. The dairy farmers, though not as cutthroat as the wily banias, are practical people and definitely factor in the costs cows may incur once they stop producing milk. Hence they gradually switch to rearing buffaloes. On the other hand states where cow slaughter is allowed dairy farmers continue to prefer cows.
 

The issue of cow slaughter is again being flogged with some more states issuing a ban. It would only mean more dairy farmers relying on me (India is already home to half the number of buffaloes in the world) for milk; beef exporters and tanneries for my flesh. In short I am the de facto Kamadhenu in most parts of the country.

Another intriguing factor is that there is ban on sale of beef only in domestic market, but not on exports, which of course is a cash cow no government, even with purest of shakahari DNA, can afford to renounce. Last year beef exports stood at $4.3 billion and is expected to increase this year, notwithstanding the current government's aversion to 'pink revolution'. Hence, the long arm of law is only meant for those who do the lowly task of transporting cattle in trucks and trying to sell it in the dusty, flea infested local markets, while well heeled exporters are left untouched.

In addition to tanneries, the beef industry also sustains other lesser known businesses such as bone crushing and powder industry, horn processing industry, blood processing, animal fat and soap industry, which employ large number of people.

Also Read: Bangalore Beat

Monday 9 March 2015

Confessions Of a Gtalk Addict



This withdrawal symptom refuses to go.

For me it used to be the first ritual after logging on to the computer. A small chat box with my username as default used to pop on the right side of the monitor and all I needed to do was type the password.

In addition to all those green dots denoting 'available' and orange ones conveying 'idle', it used to provide a sneak peek about the new mails that landed in my Gmail inbox, since my last login. It helped me separate wheat from the chaff (Linked-In, Wayn friends' requests, credit card discount offers and of late mail from Prime Minister's Office and other central ministries). It used to help me decide whether there was any mail compelling enough to suffer the toil of clicking the Firefox or Chrome icon.

All this changed one fine morning. When I tried to login to Gtalk I got message 'wrong password', then I tried again and this time with more caution checking each key stroke, but to no avail. A dreadful thought crossed my mind, 'has my mail account been hacked'. Somewhat panicky I double clicked Firefox and tried to log in to my Gmail account. It opened without a hitch, but there was a mail stating that Gtalk services are no longer 'supported' by Google and one must download Google Hangouts instead to enjoy the service.

Then I remembered about a fortnight ago when I had logged in to Gtalk, I had received a message from Google team stating that they were going to scrap the service sometime in February last. But somehow I totally forgot about it. So the day of reckoning finally arrived and I was totally ill-prepared.

Had vaguely heard about Hangouts, but never bothered to check as both my fingers and eyes have very low mobile internet compatibility and are easily vulnerable to the guile of Auto-correct. Hence was wary of even trying it.

Later through some site I came to know how to upgrade to Hangout inside my Gmail inbox, but no stand-alone messenger box for those wanting to stay put with browsing on desktops and laptops, a rapidly depleting market segment. For them as a consolation prize Google was offering access via third-party applications like Jitsi, Psi, Instantbird, Miranda IM and others (the very names sound dubious) with a ominous caveat, "Please bear in mind that these aren't Google products, so exercise caution when signing in with your Google account."

In an oblique manner Google was telling technology laggards like me  that better become smartphone savvy, or else ... Meanwhile my Gmail inbox already has quite a pile (and still counting) of entries  with subject line 'Google Talk for Windows is no longer supported’ a tell-tale reminder of the number of absent-minded attempts I made to log on to good old Gtalk!

Also Read: Bangalore Beat


Thursday 5 March 2015

Memoirs Of a File At Petroleum Ministry



Being a cog in the so called steel frame of Indian bureaucracy, it is difficult to spot me (only a trained babu/chaprasi eyes can do that) as I sit among those faceless heaps of files dotting the cupboards of Shastri Bhawan. The life cycle of my counterparts in other ministries is no different - spend long years in shelves, gather dust, get nibbled by silverfish and then get hawked off to kabadi wallahs. From there end up as wrapper for bhel puris and peanuts and then get trashed or litter around aimlessly.

For us labels like 'confidential' or 'top secret' is as coveted as green card for Aam Aadmi. That stamp is a game changer, suddenly we become worth our weight in gold. While some officials (probably the guys who wrote it) go to any length to keep us away from the prying hands, for most others (ranging from lowly chaprasi to gazetted officers) it’s an opportunity to fatten wallets by finding the highest bidder. And the list of seekers is long -  corporate lobbyists, PR firms, journalists, spies...

Opening the gates for private players to explore the country's hydrocarbon reserves in 1999 ushered in the tailwinds of crony capitalism into our ministry. Soon the babus began aligning with one corporate house or other and the corridors got overrun by  lobbyists. They not only moved heaven and earth to swing deals in favour of their clients, but even began to influence some top postings in the ministry. However the sanctimonious stand taken by our successive governments towards lobbying ensured that it remained a thriving industry, but with under the table dealings.

The modus operandi for pinching files vary, but in most cases it involves the connivance of an insider. For a short period these files disappear and return after undergoing a 'scan' at a friendly neighbourhood photocopying outlet. These activities intensify when crucial moments such as calling of bids for oil fields or if Finance Ministry seeks inputs for Union Budget.

They say every man has his price, hence the favours doled out also vary. It may range from very predictable and mundane as few wads of currency notes or an all expenses paid holiday to something more rarefied as offer for top posts in the ministry with a quid pro quo to act as per the bidding of 'sponsors'.

The procurers have their own axes to grind - for lobbyists and PR firms it's to keep their clients ahead of their competitors, get a wind of any adverse action being contemplated by the government or do firefighting for their clients. For journalists it’s to whet their eternal quest for exclusives to be on the safe zone during performance appraisals.

For spies it could something far more lethal ranging from one time sabotage to endangering our long term energy security altogether.

Lastly as a poet said 'Paths of glory lead but to the grave', so even for an elite 'confidential' file a time comes to call it a day, when it outlives its utility. However it goes to shredders, instead of kabadis. Sometimes it even meets with untimely end due to fire accidents, often caused by not so natural causes.

(A work of an imagination riddled with silver fish nibbling)

Also Read: Bangalore Beat