Preemptive Strike

‘Pluralitas non est ponenda sine necessitate’ or Occam's Razor.

The 13th century English Franciscan friar Occam was put on trial for heresy for this statement. Loosely translated it means if there are competing theories making the same prediction, the one that is simpler is the better. And now we know that any statement that made its proponent fall out with the powers that be (read The Church) in the middle ages is worth its weight in gold.

Last few days have seen the theory mill work overtime. The moment Malia, or was it Sasha, ran into the Oval office to announce that their Dad had won the Nobel Peace Prize, everyone and their neighbor had a theory. So much so that the man himself had a few. While he knew it was Bo’s birthday (Bo is America’s first dog) but what kind of people gift a Nobel Prize to a dog’s owner for its birthday. Given the owner is the President of the world, don’t they all behave or more importantly believe that, but its still stretching things a bit far. Even Occam might turn in his grave, simple he would say, not stupid.

So if we discount the Bo’s birthday theory, the next one in order of simplicity is the Eve meet Snake theory. Harry Belafonte explained it thus, ‘ Garden of Eden was very nice, Adam never worked in Paradise, Eve meet Snake, Paradise gone, Adam had to work from that day on’. In India this theory is further simplified and is called the ‘Make Marriage will be responsible’ theory. In other words, if your son is good for nothing, get him married. Once he realizes he has to shoulder the responsibility of a family, he will automatically get responsible and make a family. In other words Responsibility maketh man responsible. And India’s burgeoning population is a living example of the success of this theory. Get them married and the next thing you know there is a family of half a dozen staring at you.

Now how does this apply to ‘hum do hamare do’ Obama ji. Well, it doesn’t apply to him at all. It applies to a bunch of Norwegians who every year get together to decide the winner of Nobel Prize for Peace. Why the peace prize is given by the Norwegians and not the Swedes is a different topic. Alfred Noble chose Norway and according to Nobel's will, the Peace Prize should be awarded to the person who:
“
during the preceding year [...] shall have done the most or the best work for fraternity between nations, for the abolition or reduction of standing armies and for the holding and promotion of peace congresses.
For someone who had just spent two weeks in the White House when this year’s nominations were made and spent the entire last year fighting McCain, Palin and the Clintons, none of the above applies. So why? As I said earlier, ‘Make marriage will be responsible’. And here I do not imply that Obamaji is not responsible, in-fact I have been a huge fan and believe ‘Yes we can’. What the Norwegians have done is put the onus of responsibility of world peace on the White House as an institution. They believe that it will be very difficult for a Nobel Peace prize winner to send troops to Iran, or not recall troops from Afghanistan, or at the very least not go and bomb Iraq just because it was his Dad’s unfinished agenda. So in effect the Norwegians have made a preemptive strike.

And by doing so the Nobel Peace committee has tried to buy a few years without American war adventures. In other words war Insurance. And that makes one think, if Bush Junior or rather Dick Cheney was awarded the Peace Prize in 2001 after 9-11……oh no come on that’s too far-fetched. I can see Occam’s ghost throwing up. And as far as the Obama Insurance Policy is concerned, the Norwegians tried the same with a certain Dr Kissinger in 1973 and it didn’t stop the Cambodia, East Timur and Latin American adventures. Maybe the world deserves better this time.

Cricketing Blues....

Every fifth human being is an Indian. But if you live in the British Isles, especially in and around Greater London, you know this is pure baloney. Every second person on the streets of this great Metropolis is from the subcontinent, or it seems. And on that bright sunny June afternoon, every single one of them, or rather us, descended on the Home of Cricket. “Two of us and two million of you”, exclaimed the “gora” standing behind me in the queue for a Pimm’s refill. And it sure felt like that. Venue: Lords, Occasion: India-England 20-20 game. But hold on. Where were the two million when India’s national anthem was being played. A whisper here, a murmur there, a few like yours truly mouthing the words, self conscious, careful not to emit any sound. And then the handful of “goras” reverberated the stadium with God Save the Queen. 1-0 England, and it pretty much stayed that way through the evening.

I have often wondered how a few Goras ruled over millions of us. And imagine they were playing away from home in alien conditions. Not only did they rule us, they battered our ego so badly it will take generations to overcome the deep rooted stigma, the chronic inferiority nesting in our subconscious. And all this façade of a super power in making has done nothing to (yess my GRE/GMAT friends, I have been dying to use this word) ameliorate this. A few hours spent at The Lords, and I think I have part of the answer.

One of the reasons espoused by historians, and here the JNU Pinkos and the ultra-right we-don’t-believe-history-in-English-whether-by-English-or-not see eye to eye, for the failure of the revolt of 1857 is that Indians didn’t fight British soldiers. Indians fought Indians. And ‘revolt’ is right, as by no stretch of imagination was it a fight for independence. There were enough and more reasons for that chingari to become sholey. Economics (soldiers had grievances regarding their cost to company and the calculation of the same), Religion (they did have a beef and a lard issue), Racism(obviously), you name it, all the ingredients of a pot boiler. And what did we get. RGV ki Aag. Instead of an uprising it became such a damp squib that even the otherwise bankable Amir Khan couldn’t make anything out of it. And why, because the Sikhs and the Madrasis (now my friends south of Vindhyas, don’t get offended as I am using the term to refer to the Madras Sappers) had a bone with the Purbias and the Bengalis, who they thought helped the Brits beat them in the Punjab and down south. So in 1857 the Sikhs and the Madrasis fought the Bhaiyyas and the Bongs in what is touted by many as a glorious outcry for Indian Independence.

And 150 years later the same drama unfolds between Messrs Dalmia, Pawar, Yadav, Muthaia and Bindra. The epic of BCCI. And the winner is?

Chakley or Chak Ley

A few years after Independence, Sahir wrote ‘Chakley’ (Brothels). The poem was later immortalized by Rafi in Gurudutt’s Pyasa, circa 1957. However for the celluloid version, Sahir simplified it for the masses and replaced “sanaa-Khwaan-e-taqdees-e-mashriq kahaaN haiN?” with “jinhe naaz hai hind par vo kahaaN haiN”. For those of us challenged in our Alif Be Pe Te’s, the former can be loosely translated as “those who praise the pious Eastern ways”. In contemporary, India International Center terms, they range in varying degrees from The Sri Ram Sene, Baba Ramdev, The Old men from Deoband and the Older Man from Delhi’s Jama Masjid. The self appointed Treasurers of “Our Culture”.

And as the sex appeal of Yoga grows, voices espousing “our culture” and more importantly those denouncing “their culture” are increasing in decibel levels. As always, it’s easier to de-sell competition than sell on one’s own merit. Its easier to say don’t call your mother “Mummy” because it means a wrapped corpse rather than call her “Ma” because, well personally, it just sounds right. All successful salesmen play to the gallery. Otherwise why on earth would anyone ever buy a bottle of coloured water, knowing fairly well that it doesn’t do any good. So if Baba Ramdev says that their coloured water is only good as a toilet cleaner, and instead drink the coloured water that he sells, I for one see nothing wrong. Haven’t we been enjoying the cola wars since the day Richard The Lion Heart and Salahuddin Al Ayoubi featured in the finals of Extereme Crusades 3 (First on Playstation). Oh sorry, my bad. I often get my wars mixed up.

But truth be told, and here I use the word ‘truth’ very loosely as I haven’t laid a hand, or anything else for that matter, on Gita or even Sita or Rita. Just Punita and I don’t know how much that helps. (Ever wondered, in an Indian courtroom, the clerk who holds the ‘book’ and the witness who touches it are the only custodians of truth. Everyone else, the lawyers, the judge and the bailiff who shouts ‘haazir ho’ have full liberty to say whatever is convenient, as they haven’t touched Gita. But then for Gita’s sake we don’t want her to be molested). So truth be told, I have often contemplated, and on many occasions especially with the aid of good Single Malt this contemplation has woken up my neighbours, on what is “our culture”.

I can think of many elements of our lives that over the years, generations after generations, have passed on as “sanskriti and sabhyata” or rather “our culture”. Some good, some not so, and some outright ridiculous. But to say that ours is better than theirs!

Moreover if culture is passed from generation to generation, does it remain constant or it evolves? If it evolves, then what we have today is a morphed, bastardized version of the original that generations before us have shaped to their convenience. And if it remains constant, it must be out of context and stale. If caste system is our culture, I would trade it any day with any element of ‘western culture’. And what most attackers of things western do not understand, or rather choose not to understand is elements like divorce, bikini, valentine day greetings, women in pubs, do not a culture make. Similarly purdah, the inability to say no, literally painting the town red with one’s spit are not elements of “our culture”. These are conveniences that we try to legitimize. And what better way to do that than package it nicely and call it Sanskriti.

And to say that the west is adopting our ways. Yes they find Yoga beneficial. In the same way as we find aspirin helpful. Sahir saw through this charade within 5 years of the birth of our nation. As they say, “ poot ke pair paalne mein….”.

Indian No. 1

Last week two events, unconnected unless you take into account the string theory which manages to connect yours truly with both Mr Obama and Mr Osama, shook my faith in numerical ratings of any kind. India became the No. 1 ODI cricket team in the world and an Indian, Mr Vijender Singh became the No. 1 boxer in the world in his weight category,

The eternal whiner, some friends might comment. He doesn’t find joy in the fact that his countrymen are achieving the distinction of being the best in the world. Hold on friends, don’t get me wrong. I like the first numeral as much as the next bloke. Infact so much that I am partly responsible for the success of a certain Mr Dhawan and his string of Heroes, Coolies and Biwies, all of whom shared a single trait, that of being No. 1. I rejoiced with my countrymen whenever Mr Anand’s ILO PILO ratings made him the No. 1 chess player in the world. I know that it is not often that we get a chance to celebrate anything Indian being Numero Uno, unless we are talking about population growth, illiteracy, poverty, number of blind people, the list goes on. And more so Indians and being No. 1 in sports, you must be kidding. We rank 148 ^th in Football. I think the only country ranked lower than us is Vatican City, and that too because priests are forbidden to don football jerseys and it gets kind of unwieldy running around in those costumes and the hats.

So why am I not jumping from the rooftop when the Indian cricket team reaches the Number 1 ranking. Well, here is a team that is outplayed in every department of the game by New Zealand, Pakistan and Australia (those of you who think India had a chance against the Aussies in that rained out fixture, well sir, hats off, you personify everything that is wrong with sports in our country) within the matter of a week. And while we are losing game after game, our rankings go up. Why, I ask? Because South Africa is losing too, the purists are quick to point out. The same holds true in boxing. Here is a man who came 3 ^rd in the recently concluded World Championships. No mean feat by Indian standards. But suddenly he rises to No. 1 in the world, and guess who is No. 2, the guy who just beat him in the world championships and has consistently performed better. Can someone explain this? Performance and rankings, I thought they went hand in hand, or glove. Or maybe in order to make rankings more scientific, we have taken out the art of performance from the equation.

On the flip side, I feel vindicated. I kept telling my parents that not getting the first rank in school didn’t mean I was not the best student. And standing first is as much about me getting more marks as it is about the next person getting less marks. Or maybe its about making the rating system so complicated that you need to be a rocket scientist to decipher. And off late we Indians have been doing exceptionally well in rocket science. While we haven’t been able to find water in Delhi, we have found it on Moon. First country to do so. And this is one rating I would want to believe.