By Meha Mathur

A few weeks ago, I got an opportunity to listen to Rajmohan Gandhi at the Saifuddin Kitchlew Lecture in Jamia Millia Islamia, New Delhi. The topic of his speech was ‘Enhancing Security:  Lessons from History and Geography’.

Urging Indians to reach out to Pakistan, at least the common man in Pakistan, he said:

“We are told that Pakistan’s Punjab today produces many recruits for the ideology of violent extremism. That seems to be true, and almost every day seems to bring new evidence to confirm this truth, plus a related truth that intimidation and fear silence many in Pakistan’s Punjab who are deeply troubled by violent extremism and fanaticism. Historical, economic and psychological explanations for this troubling reality should, and I believe can, be discovered. But anyone who knows even a little about Pakistan’s Punjab knows also that the vast majority of its people detest extremism and fanaticism…

“If Pakistan can find ways to move towards a healthier economy, a more stable and stronger polity, and a freer society, that would be very much in India’s interest.”

And then, he added,

“Meanwhile we in India must remind ourselves that Pakistan’s governing agencies and its people are two very different entities, and we must ask whether as a people and a government we have done what we can to reach both entities, and especially the more important one, the people of Pakistan.”

It was surprising that in his speech, while mentioning the aspirations of common people of Pakistan to lead normal lives and their antipathy to fanatism, he had not once mentioned the murder of Salman Taseer for his daring stand against the blasphemy law.  Such was the jubilation that his assassin Mumtaz Qadri was showered with praises and petals, and the legal fraternity stood up in solidarity to defend him. In contrast, I had not come across similar level of solidarity among intellectuals or common man, for the man who had dared to stand up for a liberal cause. So much so that his funeral had gone unattended – even by President Zardari!

So I raised this point with Gandhi in the Q & A session. My question was to the  following effect: While many Indians might be keen to reach out to common Pakistanis, and while you say that common Paksitanis are averse to this ideology of fanatism, looking at the praise that Taseer’s assassin got, we get signals to the contrary. And the message that comes across to us is horrifying.

The answer that I got from him does not satisfy me. His answer was: Let’s not forget that just because a few people, on the strength of bullet, are scaring people into submission, it does not mean that the majority supports their stand.

But that’s the moot point - Pakistan has come to a stage where a minority of religious fanatics now completely holds the majority to ransom. First, I have my doubts whether the minority is really a ‘handful’. The indoctrination through madrasas having seeped into the foundations of the society, the support base for fundamentalists has widened, as was clear from the widespread support for blasphemy law and more specifically, the lawyers’ stand in Taseer murder case.

Protests have been in the form of columns or blogs or facebook comments, not amounting to mass movement. These too expressed helplessness. For example, in an article titled ‘Much-belated Chest Beating’ that appeared in Dawn online in January end, Kamran Shafi says:

“Rather late in the day, what, to now beat their breasts and moan when it was quite clear years ago that we were travelling at the speed of light to the dark and stifling place we find ourselves in today…

“The point really is that you and I have no control over what the Deep State does or does not do. We can just roll with the punches and try and fight back as best we can and live by the values we were brought up with.”

In yet another article titled ‘Blind and Stupid and Savage’ that appeared in the same newspaper, Ardeshir Cowasjee already pronounces, “My generation and the one that followed have much to answer for. But we cannot, BECAUSE IT IS NOW TOO LATE (my emphasis). We let things slip and slide.”

Why I feel that Gandhi’s answer does not satisfy me and Cowasjee’s sense of despondency has a ring of realism to it is because of the realisation that Pakistan does not have the panacea at the moment that Indian common man possesses – the tool of democracy – to teach the rulers a lesson. Elections do not throw up the answers as the Indian election of 2004 did – of punishing the NDA dispensation for the Gujarat riots.

Options are shrinking and the time available to the Pakistani society fast passing by, and one can only pray that they manage to wriggle out a meaningful future from the jaws of the demon.

In this atmosphere of hopelessness, a ray of light emerges from the most unexpected quarter. Entertainment – even most trivial one – can provide solutions when all other platforms fail. In India, the film industry and cricket have performed the task of acting as a adhesive for years. In the current Pakistani malaise, when none dared defy the diktats of Islamists, a b-grade entertainer, whose claim to fame now is appearance in Big Boss season four, valiantly faught for her individual rights on a Pakistani TV show. As the cleric Mufti Abdul Malik Kawi spewed the usual venom against Veena Malik for having brought disrepute to Pakistan and Islam by appearing on the show, Malik defended herself brilliatly and valiantly, arguing that neither her clothes, not her behaviour were offending; what she wore was routine for people of the film fraternity; and that worse crimes like rape and killings were happening each day in cities and villages of Pakistan, with no protest from any quarter. And she asked the cleric in a manner no individual in the present scenario in Pakistan today dares to ask, “What’s your problem with me tell me your problems.” It was conventional way of fighting for a woman – almost the way subcontinental woman fight at the tubewell. Straight from the heart, without any finesse or fears. But in a moment she had won herself more fans on both sides of border than in the entire 13 weeks of Big Boss. More importantly, she had provided a prescription to the millions like her: if you want to rid the society of fanatics, take them on, face to face, million times over.

PS: I also remember the brave effort in 2009 and 2010 by the designer fraternity to stage the fashion show in the strife-torn Karachi. I remember that international media organsations had pulled out correspondents from the war zone to cover this event. And I can never forget the tall models in their bold outfits giving out loud and clear message to the fanatics presiding over Pak affairs. If they can risk their lives to give out a message, surely President Zardari can be courteous enough to attend the funeral of his colleague?

By Meha Mathur

“It was just a foot overbridge,” is how our Urban Development Minister described the tragedy that struck near Jawaharlal Nehru Stadium, New Delhi, the main venue of the Commonwealth Games. The overbridge collapsed on September 21, injuring 40 workers, 5 of them critically. It was just two days before the athletes were to arrive in Delhi. Every authority interviewed on electronic media displayed a nonchalant attitude, giving out a loud and clear signal that the one skill we have perfected is that of glib talk and passing the buck.

It was a day of double embarrassment, when four foreign delegations pointed out how unlivable the residential quarters were, with excreta in toilets, paan stains, and even a dog using a bed. But for an organising committee that had been boasting of a “world-class” infrastructure, it was only a matter of altering the words to suit the occasion: “I might have different standards of cleanliness, you might have different standards. Similarly the other countries have different standards of cleanliness.” Indian standards in a ‘world-class’ games village?

It’s one matter to mesmerise the world with money play. But that is what proved to be the undoing in this case. Every interested party, big or small, lapped on to the CWG bandwagon. The attitude can best be described in Hindi phrase “Behti Ganga mein haath dho lein”. Contrast it with smaller events India has held, where money might have been stingily control, and some person might have held the reins. Think Asiad 1982 - a smaller, less ambitious, but a more graceful event.

As a teenager, I witnessed the involvement of one and all, from top to bottom, to make the Asian Games successful. And I witnessed the pride in Indians and Delhiites then. Today, in contrast, what I witness are brazenness and shamelessness. At a University hostel in Delhi, which is being handed over to the CWG organising committee for use during the Games, I, along with a University authority got a taste of it. The authority pointed out to the contractor that the rooms on the top floor were not yet clean, when the handing over date was near. The contractor replied that the rooms were being finally cleaned and locked from ground floor onwards. But the toilets on the ground floor were unclean, the provost pointed out. “Actually sir, we are cleaning the toilets and locking them from top floor downwards,” the contractor smartly replied.

This brings me to the moot point. When we boast of being the skills capital of the word on the strength of JUST our numbers, we miss the point. ‘Largest work force’, ‘youngest workforce’ and other such tall claims lose meaning when the world witnesses the shoddy job. Beauty lies in a small task being done to perfection, not in a mega project buckling under rain. God lies in detail. As important as skills is the attitude towards what you are doing. It’s the difference between a worker who treats his work just as laying bricks and the one who thinks he is laying the foundations of a temple. You can make out which set of workers would leave the toilets in shambles.

A few years ago, at the Hindustan Times Leadership Summit 2008 I met a NASA astronaut, who recounted how he had helped resolve a life-threatening crisis in the space station. I asked him how the team managed that. And he replied that in such situations, the team thinks that if each member does his task properly, a task can be accomplished. “I do my bit, and I trust that my teammates would be doing their bit.” After all, right intention always pays, just as wrong intention invites Rain God’s wrath.

Published in Educare in December 2007

By Meha Mathur

When poor Cinderella expressed her embarrassment at going to the ball in tattered clothes, the fairy queen felt sad for her and transformed her clothes into the most graceful evening dress one could have seen. She then transformed the garden pumpkin into a chariot, the dogs into horses and rats into attendants.

In Indian mythology, when Sudama paid a visit to his childhood friend Krishna, the latter realised the dire condition his friend was in, and transformed his miserable hut into a mighty palace. When Sudama returned, he found his family basking in new-found wealth.

Well, Indians today desire similar job with their homes. Only, they want it in reverse order, because minimum is the order of the day. Oh, those old tiles, the bulky Godrej almirahs, the double beds, the Victorian sofas and the six-seater dining table. How out of style, these!  If only they could vanish somehow, and make way for bean bags, bunker beds, sleek sofas and dining tables with glass tops. But since there’s no fairy queen to wave her wand this time, and no Krishna to realise our wishes and grant them on his own, the task becomes tedious.

It’s not that money is a problem. We are ready to shell out any amount for leading life in this moment. Whatever we want, we have to have it now. The problems exist elsewhere. There might be old parents to contend with. Parents who purchased that ‘old-fashioned’ furniture with their first pay, got it along with wedding trousseau, or assembled it over a period of time as and when they could afford it. Hence their attachment with the items, and the unwillingness to part with it. Almost every three-generation family would be going through these tussles now – whether to retain the sewing machine which was so essential for the upkeep of a family’s wardrobe earlier, but which is utterly redundant now; whether to dump the steel cupboard that the lady of the house got in dowry then, but which looks shabby in front of the Bhutan Board in-built cupboards, whether to retain the two-burner cooking range, when there’s Microwave and hob at home. And who eats in steel plates and steel glasses anymore? Don’t the oldies understand that overcrowding of furniture invites pests and cobwebs? The entire

value systems come into clash, with accusations as mean as ‘miserliness’ and

‘unhygienic living’.

Once the disputes are resolved in-house, the next trouble is whom to give the old furniture to? There are enough takers around – the household helps, the electrician, the plumber… Only, who will give the desired price? The home becomes bargain ground, with the maids quoting less, the young generation, eager to get the stuff out of way, agreeing instantly, and the old generation arguing desperately to get a few hundred bucks more for the belongings that they assembled with their sweat and toil.

The home has now been stripped of its belongings, which are now somehow accommodated in the maid’s one-room home. (For her, space and minimalism is not an issue, for her the possession is.) Now becomes the most dreadful task of ripping the walls of old window frames and doors, changing the pipes, bathroom fittings, doing PoP work, changing the tiles and the whitewash. What this entails is several rounds of showrooms, tolerating an army of workers, braving the minute dust particles for two months (lower estimate) and making the family and neighbours suffer deafening sounds. Finally, comes the new furniture and tapestry. The dream home is complete.

It seems that street after street, locality after locality, city after city, Indian homes are renovating themselves. There’s almost a frenzy. The cost of construction?

Not just a hole into the family’s pocket but the enormous piles of discarded brick and mortar, the dust deposited in trachea and the damaged self-esteem of a generation whose possessions have been dumped away.

Published in Educare in November 2007

By Meha Mathur

Time was, when mummy and papa with Bunty and Babli visited mausi, bua, chacha every week, making an inconvenient journey in city transport. That wait for the bus, that jostling for boarding the bus, the anxiety of father whether everyone has managed to board, that relief when mummy would get a seat and manage to accommodate the two children on her lap, and the anxiety again when the family would make its way to the exit gate and pray they wouldn’t miss the stop — all that was part of the excitement of making a journey to the beloved ones. Inconvenience was not even a factor then, because that was how life was. No alternative existed, to make the family aspire for any other way of commuting. Time management was paramount. Old families in Delhi recount how marriage feasts and other festivities would wind up in time, to make the guests free for the last bus service of 10 pm.

Now everyone is supposedly more mobile. Daddy takes a car to office, mummy has a car at her disposal, to attend the office, the PTA meetings, and social dos. Bunty and Babli (sorry, these should be replaced with the in names, Aayush and Aayushi) also have a car at their disposal, for the dance class, gym, friend’s birthday… Only, are we more mobile? Has the fleet of car facilitated our travel? Sorry, the answer is no. At least in Metros and other big cities. For you might want to carry the car to your friend’s birthday, but if your friend lives in a posh, yet car-crowded locality, where will you park the car to show off to your friends at the end of the party? Chances are, your driver would have parked the car on the main road, two lanes away. And you will have to walk all that distance to reach your car.

Your school function is to get over at 10 and to avoid inconvenience you decide to take a car. The school is in a residential locality, 200 parents turn up (not more, because school authorities, in view of the parking problem, now have functions in different batches) each one in his car, and park the car in front of whichever bungalow they can manage to. By the time you manage to reverse the car, emerge out of the mess created due to your school function, it’s 12 at night!

Your father cringes at the thought of taking the family to the central shopping

district because it simply can’t accommodate his car.

You arrive in time for a crucial event, but get late for the event, because you wasted 20 minutes looking for a parking place!

And friends prefer wishing you on phone or secretly wish that you would invite them to McDonald than at your place/ take them out to a farmhouse. Why? Not because they suspect your mom’s culinary skills, your hospitality or your little brother’s manners, but because you can’t offer parking for more than a car at a time. So out with large social get-togethers at home.

And here, as I write this piece and watch out of the office window, I too wonder, how long will I be able to afford the luxury of a car. Because with two more office blocks under construction, that parking space is already gone, and in another three months’ time, the precious space that is left along the drive area between the offices will also vanish. Because the office occupants of those newly-opened blocks will jostle for that space with my car.

Where will it lead us to? Will we again turn to public transport? Yes, if it’s something as grand as Metro, no if it’s the same old bus service.

Will we become arm-chair citizens, ordering pizzas at home, subscribing to movies at home and chatting with friends on internet, sending them flowers through online services, rather than visiting them?  More likely, but the party instinct will overpower our ‘home is best’ approach every weekend.

Will we continue ignoring this inconvenience and decide our weekends irrespective of the parking availability? Again likely. After all, we have already accustomed ourselves to bumpy roads, garbage heaps, and traffic nuisances.

Published in Educare in October 2007

By Meha Mathur

The magnum opus of post-independence history — India after Gandhi — had a rather upsetting thought in it. Its author Ramachandra Guha, a historian and an environmentalist, separates urban concern for environment from grass-root environmental issues. In spite of the fact that environment degradation is impacting the urban and the rural populace alike, why create this divide, I wondered.

But think harder and his point begins to make sense. Does he belittle the efforts of urbanites in keeping their spaces clean and green? I think not. The point he is driving at is different.

The difference that he is highlighting is one of approach, not of impact. This has set me thinking, what is environmentalism, and who qualifies for being on the right side of environmentalism?

Is it about tree-planting? Yes and no. Who wouldn’t like green spaces around one’s home? What’s wrong about aiming for locality after locality with shady trees soothing to your eyes and lungs? But then, planting a neem sapling in your street and at the same time possessing a fleet of cars doesn’t make sense, does it? Nor does it make sense that the trees have to adhere to your idea of beauty, your idea of landscaping, and hence endure brutal chopping and shaping.

Is it about cleanliness, hygiene and civic sense? Yes and no. Garbage-littered roads and public spaces with pan stains all over are an assault on our pride, and individuals and local groups working in this area are certainly contributing towards urban environment. But does it make sense that while finding the garbage heaps revolting, you are leaving a trail of discarded Uncle Chips and Ruffles packets, cold drink cans, gift wrappers, mineral water bottles, which is what the garbage heap is about?

Is it about having energy-efficient appliances? Again, yes and no. It’s nobody’s case that every drop of water is precious, that every bit of electricity must be wisely spent. And leaking taps at home and bulbs on in an empty classroom are a crime. As responsible citizens, we would be doing our duty by mending the tap and switching off the bulb. But are we grateful about the out-of-turn favours we city-dwellers are getting in the form of water and electricity? Or do we take these for granted?

Here’s the crux of environmentalism. Understanding the sacrifices that a majority of India is making to ensure ‘good living’ for us. Foregoing days of electricity so that we can study with lights on till 2.00 in the night. Foregoing a bath so that we can push the flush knob every time we go to the toilet. It’s also about being more actively involved at grassroots, than doing deeds of a responsible citizen. Of course, for the rural people, environment is about struggling for their bare sustenance and their right for resources.

I consider myself environment-conscious and feel strongly about the loss of green cover, the ever-expanding concrete cover, roads chocking on cars and the melting of glaciers. I feel as if a part of me is gone when a tree is chopped off. In fact, I love the lush wild patch of forest on my way to office, and am saddened that it’s slowly and steadily making way for manicured gardens. I am particular about economy with water, switch of the lamp when I don’t need it, make it a point to take a carry bag to green grocer so as not to bring polythene home, and never throw garbage on road. I hate summers because AC is imperative now.

Do these ideas and habits qualify me to be called an environment-sensitive person?

I wonder.

Published in Educare in September 2007

By Meha Mathur

How does a person maintain himself? To make a judgment don’t look at his face but at his feet. How does a lady maintain her house? Don’t make an assessment looking just at the drawing room. Toilet and kitchen upkeep are better pointers. Similarly, how hygienic and aesthetic a society are we? Don’t go by our manicured parks and swanky

shopping areas. Look at the garbage piles.

For all the progress we claim to have made as a country as a society, garbage disposal and drain clearance gives the game away. We have invested billions in making our presence felt in the Space, but refrain from taking any initiative for an organised, cohesive garbage management system that could improve the sight and smell of our cities. We now boast of plush Penthouses in Belvedere Park, Pent Houses in Great Lakes Apartments. But even though we have borrowed these modern names from the West, we stop when it comes to garbage disposal rules followed in every American and West European home since many decades — that of keeping two dustbins at home, discarding degradable waste like peels in one bin and nondegradable waste like bottles in another bins, thus making easier the task of segregation of waste. And to use the old example, we insist on keeping our home and front lane swanky clean, but look the other way if the back lane is emitting foul smell or if the drainage in the next lane is clogged thanks to polypacks our household help has dumped there.

This perhaps has to do with the quintessentially Indian hatred of filth, and our inhibition in cleaning it. To say that public sanitation is a non-issue, that Indians are used to living with it, is being off the mark. Our emphasis on the daily sweeping-mopping testifies to our finickiness about cleanliness. Why would we not demand cleanliness in public spaces and on roads when we appreciate it at home? It’s more a result of some very strange notions of cleanliness, purity and pollution. It’s something like: ‘My hands need to remain pollution-free, the flush button could be polluted, so I will not flush before leaving the toilet.’

It’s also a result of our ‘I-me-myself’ mindframe, coupled with ‘chalta hai’ attitude. Once the garbage has left my home, it’s none of my concerns. Such is the height of apathy that we don’t even want to admit, for simple laziness, that stench-free atmosphere is our right. For the bijli-paani problems, we take to streets, block traffic and beat up government staff. But I have never heard of a demonstration over garbage issue.

Appalling and unbearable as the condition of Indian cities is becoming, garbage management is one taboo area among Indians. Indians are fanning out in every possible area, coming out with new ideas and encashing them, but only a handful have dared to enter this beat. Interestingly, it’s a mountain of opportunity waiting out there. Clubbing your scientific understanding with a business idea could turn out to be a winning proposition, and could usher in a new wave altogether. You could think of a new way to recycle batteries, which leak out into soil and underground water and cause immense harm. You could think of producing special material for dustbins, which, while being leak resistant, is biodegradable. Or you could think of faster decomposition of waste matter. Or you could think of a revenue model, tie up with various companies and send them back their empty packs.

IT sector might become saturated in a few years’ time, but the management of software refuse is an unexplored territory, not yet opened up in India.

Published in Educare in August 2007

By Meha Mathur

Haq se maango, Priya Gold,’ advised the late activist actress, Priya Tendulkar, a few years ago. Tendulkar, in her TV avatar of Rajni, had always talked of rights, but those were the rights of aam admi. The issues she took up belonged to the bijli-paani-gas category. But when she talked of ‘rights’ in the biscuit ad, it left a sour taste. Is a biscuit brand a matter of ‘right’, I wondered even then, when most products and their ads had not yet asked the customers to adopt this arrogant tone. The product brand talking of ‘rights’ was such an inane one, yet every time I saw the ad, I felt that there was something preposterous about the tag-line.

There were a few more ads in the same league, like the Red & White ad, exhorting people to ‘Live Life Kingsize’, implying thereby that people had the right to live life as lavishly as they wanted to.

The ‘haq se maango’ doctrine has only now firmly gained ground, aided by the ever-tempting offers being offered by one and all. The message that producers and advertisers give out is: the world resources are at your beck and call. Use them to the fullest.

Agreed, the earlier scenario of queuing up in June heat for a litre of milk was nowhere close to the ideal of good living, but the new buying opportunities have taken the pendulum to the other extreme. Enter a Sabka Bazaar and the goodies on display will really make you feel like a king. From liquid soaps in most flashy bottles and colours to the all-time favourite glucose biscuits in bigger and bigger packs to jams of all possible fruits in the most attractive bottles. Even pulses looking so attractive on the shelves, each product is crying out, ‘pick me up’. The ‘feel good’ factor is evident on every customer’s face, as he or she trudges the loaded trolley back to his car. But while the trolley of goodies has become a symbol of the right to live life to the fullest, the corresponding sense of duty is only diminishing by the day. Do we stop for a second to wonder how much water will be required for the liquid soap we are picking up? At least the blue liquid soap we picked up has proved to be a water-guzzling affair. Ever pondered about the recycling possibility of the umpteen packets of grocery items, shampoos, soaps and other ‘must-haves’ we pick up? And as the assistant at the counter mercilessly seals the big poly-bags in the centre, how many of us feel bad that in the process the bag has been rendered useless for any future use?

Even more ruthless face of the ‘rights’ movement are the car producers and the car users. The car users as a constituency, even though not a substantial size in terms of vote bank, are being appeased all the time. The line of thoughts of the car producers seems to be: It’s the supreme right of every worthy individual to travel in a bigger and bigger car. Don’t worry about narrow roads. Trees will be felled in due time to make way for broader roads. Don’t worry about cyclists and slow vehicles. We will liaison with the authorities to ensure that the slow-moving vehicles are banned in posh areas. And don’t worry about parking problem. You are the king. Choose your slot.

In these times of ‘all rights and no duties’, one advertisement surprisingly struck as soothing to senses. Actor Irrfan, in a Hutch ad, advised users to exercise restraint in the last few days of the month. “Kuchh hi dinon ki to baat hai. Fir sher ho jaaenge”, he commented. How much like our parents’ days, when they had to manage budget in those last crisis days each month. While I was surprised at the suicidal note of the ad at first — after all which advertiser would ask its consumers to not to spend — the ad serves an important social purpose of reminding people to live within their limits.

Published in Educare in July 2007

By Meha Mathur

“The purpose of this new infrastructure project is to make it more convenient for those who would try to make an assault on the world’s highest peak.”

— Sun Jiazheng

Chinese culture minister

When I first heard the news that China is planning to build a metal road to the Everest base camp, I felt numb, just as any right-thinking person would feel. I had already written a piece for these pages when this news arrived, and believe me, it took a mental battle to convince myself to write another piece on this news. Because I realise the futility of expressing anguish on this development. Given the vengeance with which the Chinese accomplish projects, it’s clear that no objection at even the highest level will cut any ice with them.

But is there any objection? Barring a few army officers who forewarn of an ecological disaster, no Indian government functionary has come up with a statement. Defence personnel have assured the country that they need not worry about any military threat from this road. But why has the environment ministry kept quiet? Why is there no word of protest in the international community, the kind of anger we witnessed during the Tiananmen Square massacre of students? If that was violation of human rights and the world community felt it pertinent to speak up, isn’t the ecosystem in this region a matter of grave concern for the whole world? When adventure-lovers from across the world take immense pride in reaching the top of Everest, why this silence now, as if building a road is a local matter, which affects only China?

What hurts me equally about the Chinese project is the language they are using to justify the road. The word “assault” reflects the highest degree of arrogance, and also ignorance of the psyche of a mountaineer. No person who actually loves adventure would care for that convenience at the Everest base camp. Or else, why would he torment his body again and again, and even risk frostbites, rather than enjoy the cozy confines of a hill resort? And do the adventure lovers really call their Everest feat an assault? All the adventure-lovers I have got a chance to interact with, have the same sentiment — that is humility and insignificance in the presence of nature. One such person whom we have featured in the pages of Educare — Major HPS Ahluwalia — reached the Everest summit in 1965. And this is what he says about the experience: “You feel very insignificant in front of this huge universe. You become very humble.” Another adventure lover we featured, Nirad Grover, has been on a number of river-rafting expeditions, including the Brahmaputra. You won’t expect words of veneration from this hardened man, but this is what he has to say: “What attracts me to the river is the fact that it’s one of the essential life-giving factors. It has a great persona.” Wildlife photographer Rupin Dang, author of a number of birds and flowers in the Himalayas, describes the joy of the pain you take to observe even a tiny fleck of creation at that height. “One has to make the effort and pay a price, to reach a wild flower in the Himalaya. And one is amply rewarded.”

And what does the first man to reach Everest, Edmund Hillary, feel about his feat? No, I haven’t had the chance to meet him or interview him, but this is what he wrote for National Geographic in 2003, on the 50th anniversary of his expedition: “I’ve done lots of expeditions and projects in remote parts of the world. I’ve stood at both the North and South Poles as well as on the world’s highest peak. When I look back over my life, though, I have little doubt that the most worthwhile things I have done have not been getting to the summits of great mountains. My most important projects have been the building and maintaining of schools and medical clinics for my dear friends in the Himalaya and helping restore their beautiful monasteries too.”

So much for the Chinese understanding of development.

Published in Educare in June 2007

By Meha Mathur

Been there, done that, is the new face of Gandhi I have come to discover, as I read Mohandas: A True Story of a Man, his People and an Empire by Rajmohan Gandhi. His early life, till his student days in London, when he was just 20, are the most startling. The Kathiawar background was not too yielding. The extended family had strict rules as to what to eat, what (and whom) to touch. Yet young Gandhi created his own rules, befriended whom he liked and ate what he liked. In the face of stiff opposition, he managed to get finances and sailed forth to England, and there, impressed by the English civilisation, took dancing lessons, violin lessons, French and elocution. But the young student realised in such an early age that it was not personality but inner firmness that was required. “Not a power to charm or impress with figures or voice, but an internal spirit that holds on to a goal.” He gave up the lessons. Gandhi’s life henceforth became a journey of selfdiscovery. Back to India, and thence to South Africa, where he spent 18 years, Gandhi constantly searched for the right lifestyle — including religion that he should follow. Interestingly, even as he discarded one western element after another, his western following and friends’ circle only grew. The Tolstoy Farm and Phoenix settlement in South Africa were teeming with White men, who came on their own, impressed by strength of Gandhi’s character. Back to India in 1914, he stood out as an Indian who was able to talk to westerners on an equal footing, not mesmerised, not in awe.

Why am I taking you back in time? Well, because I feel that a mid-course correction is needed in the way we are moving ahead. It was in 1890 when Gandhi had been able to make out what constituted modernity. A point we refuse to see. Perhaps the glitz of the malls is too blinding.

The point of debate is this: do we as a society give any freedom to each one to decide how each one wants to live? This debate first started in the fashion world, following the crownings of Indian beauty queens. A heated TV debate I attended had Diana Hayden angrily snub an activist lawyer with the argument ‘if a woman doesn’t want to go for fashion, no one is forcing her to’, even as the audience applauded. Now, the same debate is raging as the retail majors romp India. Each time, the argument offered is that it’s up to an individual whether he wants to adopt the new lifestyle or not.

Unfortunately, it’s not that simple. The lip service to individual choices notwithstanding, the options are narrowing down. The ones opting for simple-living-high-thinking thought, are losers. Even the concept of ‘who is a good person’ has changed. You are backward if you can’t operate gadgets, you are untidy of you don’t get your arms waxed, not too broadminded if you are not buying your outfits from a branded showroom, and a miser if you can’t change your car, tapestry and other home decor every few years. What you wear, what you eat, what crockery you use, where you go for shopping, everything is being scanned, not just by prospective friends, but by near ones too. “What you do is ethnic shopping. Mainstream shopping is done in malls now,” a young man tells his aged parents who still go to the local kirana shop for grocery.

The writing on the wall is clear: join the bandwagon, or get trampelled under it.

Published in Educare in May 2007

By Meha Mathur

School drives should not be docile. There should be an environmental education programme where children are taught about all the environmental problems emerging from households — the way the mother misuses water, the way the father misuses his car. They should teach students to question the parents if they are wasting resources. We have to get out of this thinking that children have to be sweet to parents.”

I had interviewed late Anil Agarwal, editor, Down to Earth, when he was fighting a losing battle against cancer. A few tablets lay next to a plate of sliced fruits on the table, and the environmentalist, known for his phenomenal work on traditional water systems in India, apologised for continuing with the helping even as I interviewed him. Even in his failing health, he spoke with great passion about mobilising children for environment cause. Environment education, he said, was not just about lip service in classes. It required children to question their parents’ wasteful ways, he said. It also called for hard actions, like a compulsory one-year rural stay for each child. I promptly reproduced his views in Educare. The interview was published in August 2001. Agarwal didn’t survive long after that.

Six years later, I understand what Agarwal meant. I am in the hot seat and my little one, seven years old, interrogates me. It started with his loud thinking one day which actually made me feel proud. “When authors publish books saying people should not cut trees, are they themselves not cutting trees for their books?” he asked me. I was thrilled at his clarity of thought. He posed the same question to the teacher in the class. The teacher too was stunned and took out a chocolate from her purse as a reward. Neither me, nor the teacher, really bothered to continue the discussion ahead with him.

But there was no satisfying him. He took up the discussion again one day. “If you say we should not cut trees, why do you get me books?”

What answer do I have to this?

While at home I tried to reason out with him that the books that I get for him at home can be read by others too, can be passed on to a library or another child, so that more than one persons can make use of it, I confess I am uncomfortable. Uncomfortable with the fact that he has a point. With the fact that he can bring other habits of mine under green scanner.

Going by the same logic, he will next question me, why do I bring out a magazine when I express environmental concern in Ecologic? Next, he will question my use of car.

How do I balance my urge to get books for kids, and the commitment to make minimum wastage? Also, what options can I explore to lead an eco-friendly life in a resource-intensive city?

I do not have a satisfactory answer. But in whatever little ways I can, I will have to demonstrate that I care. I will have to keep his questioning spirit going, in spite of the heat that I face. Perhaps it’s this questioning spirit, this constant prodding, that will lead me to answers. To greener alternatives.