On the Campaign Trail

I got to the AAP office on Monday morning, late for the volunteer meeting that was scheduled at 9 am, and unsure if I would contribute much in any case. My 3-year-old Seher in tow, I was recognized instantly (I had mentioned that I would be campaigning with my little one). I was handed a coffee and I waited on the sidelines while the busy planning work continued. Sure enough, I had nothing to add – I was too new. I would be going to a rural area called Nuh, I was told. I hadn’t prepared for a day trip, and wasn’t sure how it would work, but figured that I could pick up supplies along the way. Alright, I shrugged, and got in the car. My teammates that day were three starry-eyed youngsters, all set to change the world for the better, and I was just sitting in the car wondering if I would survive the day.

We got on the road and in an hour pulled in front of a barebones AAP office in Nuh, the district headquarters of a particularly poor part of the Mewat region of Haryana. We got into the big van that had been arranged for us and set off for the villages. Seher had decided at this point that she did not like villages and did not want to campaign, so I steeled myself for what was going to be an interesting day. As we approached the first village, we put on our AAP hats and got the flyers and postcards out. The modus operandi as it turned out was to find a spot where a few people were gathered, send the youngest ones of the crowd out into the village to find others, and then start talking. We gave our speeches and were pleased to see people nodding in agreement. I talked at the end, not much to add, just wanted to share my reason for campaigning for AAP.

“My name is Sherebanu, I am a Muslim [the crowd was entirely Muslim] and my ancestors come from Gujarat. I wasn’t there in 2002, I was living in the US then, but like everyone else was horrified to see what happened. When I moved back, I went to Gujarat to talk to people there and was really shaken. Uptil now, I have been so upset that I have only voted for whoever would beat the BJP. Now, for the first time in my lifetime, a party that has come that has such good people that my vote is FOR them, not against anybody else. A party that I really like, so much that I am campaigning for them. I urge you to consider them.”

One of the elders in the crowd looked at me. “Are you telling the truth beti?” I nodded. “Then our vote is definitely for AAP.” He took my mobile number, am not sure why. I was shaking a bit at this point, not entirely sure if what I had said was appropriate. It turned out that it had resonated with the crowd. As we got back into the car, the locals that were accompanying us said “Make sure you say your story every time.”

As we drove along, I learned a bit about the region. Villages are sharply divided – they are either entirely Muslim or entirely Jat or entirely Brahmin. The Hindus and Muslims maintain a shallow truce, I could sense the tension. As for the history, I asked our guide, an elderly Muslim man about the name Nuh. “Oh that would take too long to explain to you all” he laughed and said. Now of course, we really wanted to know so we urged him on. The Meo Muslims (as the Muslims of Mewat call themselves) believe themselves to be descendants of the Pandavas who spent their 12 years of vanvaas in the nearby forests. There is a famous temple in the region which commemorates this tradition. From that temple, a holy cow had set out. When the cow stopped, she clawed on the ground (Nuh means claw mark) to mark the spot where the settlement was to be built and hence the area’s name. It was a picturesque area, some ponds for aquaculture, wheat fields, small hills every now and then dotted with quaint villages. The local people weren’t happy though. High salinity in the region had ruined their water supply, the quaintness that I liked in the villages was read as extreme backwardness. Schools were few and far away, jobs were non-existent.

As we entered what I thought was the prettiest village, I noticed that the main road into the village was basically mud and sewerage mixed together. I wouldn’t even call it a dirt road. There was one TV antenna sticking out in the entire village (a good thing in my book, but not so much for the locals). After talking to the usual group of men, the young ladies in my team ventured into the village to find the women of the village. We asked passing girls to come and bring their mothers and got a decent crowd of women to form in the aangan of one home. As we started the speech, we quickly realized that the women knew nothing of Modi, Kejriwal or any of our usual speech points. We changed tactics and pulled out the postcards. We were handing these out with Yogender Yadavs home address printed on them and asking people to write down their grievances and send them in. With the ladies, we simply had to start writing down their grievances when the flood burst and everyone had something to say. I was amused – how little in common I had with these women, yet how many times have I sat in a drawing room of a Gurgaon house when we start putting forth our grievances against the government and everyone perks up to participate in that conversation.

As we got on the road, our guide told us that the next village on our way was a Jat village, a BJP stronghold. We debated whether it would be worth our time to stop there. The young ladies insisted that we try. As we got into the village, we saw a few young men hurry into their homes. They came out wearing a saffron version of the AAP hat, and a lotus insignia scarf wrapped around their neck. One such man very graciously said that we will hear you out and a small group sat down. He proceeded to pepper us with questions about the integrity of Arvind Kejriwal, getting louder by the minute. I watched from the distance. Seher had decided that she had had enough of meetings and was far more interested in the defecation habits of the village buffaloes. “Look Mama, this one is peeing!” A woman from a nearby house beckoned me in and handed me some chai. “Don’t pay attention to that fellow, he’s drunk as usual” she said shyly. We were struck by the village. Paved roads, well built houses, TV antennae sticking out of each of them (by now I had come to terms with the Development=TV equation). The starkness of the differences between Hindu and Muslim villages were clear – a pathetic example of vote bank politics I thought. Later I was told that since the 1857 revolution, the Muslims of the area (who actively participated, entire villages were hung) were oppressed by the British and their poverty is a legacy of those times. Another historical tidbit – during Partition, the entire Meo Muslim population had packed up to leave for Pakistan. Gandhiji himself arrived in the area and begged them to stay, upon which they changed their mind, even recalling some of their relatives who had already moved.

By now Seher had fully warmed to rural life. We stopped in the middle of some fields and she ran out onto a path, checking out the growing wheat (“Look Mama, this wheat is brown and this is green!”) Later it turned out this little run in the field was the high point of her day, edging out defecating buffaloes by a narrow margin.

The last village we stopped at was quite large, almost a small town, again entirely Muslim and entirely devoid of real infrastructure. A large crowd gathered here. After our speeches, we went into town looking for the women. While the young women of our team were chatting with the ladies, I was sitting aside with Seher who was thoroughly done with meetings and busy running up and down some stairs. A few women came over, very curious about us. “You’re here without your husband? Is this your only child? (One said proudly, “I have four, and I’m only twenty-two!”) Why do you have short hair? (I pointed to Seher and they all nodded in sympathy) Why no bangles?” The crowd grew. This was far more interesting, for the younger girls especially.

When we came out, we were told that word of mouth had spread about us and lots of others in the village wanted to meet us too. We had a couple more meetings like that. People plied us with cold drinks and snacks and the list of people signing up to volunteer for AAP grew quickly. As we walked down the streets I could hear people whispering – “That one, she’s Muslim, an engineer, from America”. Totally cool experience.

Blue Jeans

You are old, my friends
So old and frayed
You are torn, my friends
Scraped, stained, a-fade

Yet nothing, my friends
Feels as good on me
No nothing, my friends
Feels so comfy

The people they say
Chhi! Throw them away
The people may say
You're wearing THAT today?

But they just don't know
All we've gone through together
They just don't know
I've dwelt in you forever

Yes forever...
In so many lives you have been
My comfort, my stalwart,
My pair of blue jeans

I'm Safe

A crazed mob is at my gate
They want me 
They wave their torches, tridents ferociously 
We will burn down this house
If she doesn’t come out
My family weeps and tries to stop me
But I know I have to go
Draining myself of my fear
 Face of stone
 I step out alone

 I wake up
 Shivering
 My pillow soaked in sweat
 I’m safe
 This won’t happen to me
 I reassure myself
 I have married a Hindu
 I live behind strong gates
 I have money, pull, influence, education
 The police will come if I need them
 The army will come if I need them
 Right?

So what if my very Muslim name Is etched in voter rolls
 They won’t look up these lists
 And come for me
 Right? 

So what if another Muslim somewhere
 Has done an awful thing
 They won’t seek me out
 To vent their fury
 To teach us a lesson 
To assert their manhood

So what
 I’m safe
 Go back to sleep

10 Things I Learned from my 3-Year-Old

1. Cry when you’re hurt. Get it all out, there and then. And then completely forget about it and move on to the next interesting thing.
2. Dance, often and freely. If there’s no music, sing and dance. Or dance to the music in your head. Either way, dance.
3. Yearn to fly.
4. Pay attention to the unusual. Bulldozers, horses, cows, trains, cement mixer trucks, pigs, airplanes – these are all supercool things to be seeing on your daily commute.
5. Move. All the time.
6. Enjoy being tickled. Beg the tickler to stop, and then ask for more. Repeat.
7. Eat your fill. Then stop abruptly and completely.
8. Experiences are only real after they have been reported to the person you love.
9. Anything that is spilt, stained, torn or broken can be wiped, cleaned, taped or fixed. 
10. Insist on doing what you want to do. If you insist forcefully enough, the universe will make it happen.

Book Review: Soulful Symphony by Meenaxi Singh

Just got my hands on Soulful Symphony, a collection of poems by Meenaxi Singh. In her maiden work, Meenaxi reveals herself. She pours every feeling, thought and idea she has had into her poems and you are in there, in her heart, experiencing each one of them with her. Since I've had this book, I read it through once, and then spent some time just opening a random page and soaking in the sentiment. Some poems, like her ode to her mother, brought tears to my eyes. Some, like her poem to her daughters, had me nodding thoughtfully in agreement. Her poems on love are just lovely to sink into an armchair with. Overall, a powerful synthesis of womanhood, with all the glory, love, sacrifices and melancholy it entails.

Pounding the Pavement 2

"I have never voted before, but I will go cast my vote this time."
(A 70 year old grandmother)

"I know all about Arvindji, so I did not hesitate to let you in when I saw the hats"
(A 30 yr old lady)

The feedback we are getting from our door-to-door campaign is incredible. People know that this time things are different. They are comfortable opening their houses to us, offering us water, apples, and love to chat about politics.

Before I embarked on this campaign, I had done a google search on effective door-to-door campaigns. One thing I had noted (these were all US based sites) was that they had all said to spend not more than a minute per household. During our campaign though, we were sitting and listening and expounding on politics. I mentioned to the group that 15 minutes per household may be a bit excessive. They shrugged, "that's what it takes..."

I've thought about it some more since then. One thing we found very amusing was that when we pulled out voter lists, there would be upto 25-30 registered voters in a single house! This was because most houses had either large joint families or had made flats above their existing bungalow. So we may have spent extra time, but we had also garnered the vote of the entire clan!

Some anecdotes from today...

- A Sikh family we visited had guests over. We spent a lot of time discussing as a group why the perpetrators of the '84 Sikh massacre were still holding positions of power in the local Congress body instead of being in jail. How many other rapists, murderers, thieves and dacoits hold positions of power? (Answer: A lot)

- A highly irate Bengali lady answered our doorbell. "Too many people have written down my cell number only to bother me with SMSes all day and night!" We promised we wouldn't and explained who we were. "Oh, I'm done with politics! I did so much work first for the Congress, then the BJP, but we have nothing to show for it." She talked for a while about how exasperated she was with security, water quality, cow dung, and many other issues. We listened and tried to provide explanations of why things would be different with AAP. At the end she conceded, "My family was discussing politics last night and we all decided to vote for AAP anyhow."

Lots of such stories. Construction workers, cycle rickshaw drivers, domestic help, small shopkeepers called out to us as we walked through the street to tell us their stories of why they already support AAP. Incredible energy around it all.

Pounding the Pavement

This has been an action-packed couple of days in an otherwise leisurely life. Yesterday I went to the Aam Aadmi Party's office. I had volunteered my services, and they told me to join a volunteer meeting that day. So I got there, thinking I'd meet a few people, pick up some pamphlets, ask how I could help. Little did I foresee the two-day adrenalin ride I had embarked on.

"You have a car? Good" said the lady that greeted me. Three people hopped in, we picked up another along the way and they told me to keep driving. We reached a slum. "Your car should be safe right outside".  I nodded.

We walked in through the tiny streets of the slum and came to railway tracks. Lots of people everywhere, ladies chatting, children playing. I waited for instructions. Would we now go to the designated meeting spot? There was an open sewer next to where we were standing, mosquitoes and flies buzzing everywhere. I tried not to swat them, not wanting to appear as uncomfortable as I felt. That didn't work too well, and I noticed that everyone was swatting too, so no problem. A few minutes passed, people in AAP hats were walking around looking busy. Then a man brought out a few straw mats. This was the meeting spot. We were having a neighbourhood meeting and ladies were being rounded up to attend.

As the lady who had first met me, Pushpa Singh, started talking, a substantial crowd gathered around out of sheer curiosity. She looked at me pointedly. "You're going to have to speak too" she said. She spoke, then another lady. I didn't hear a word they said. I spent the next 15 minutes trying to figure out what I would say, and more importantly, how I would say it in Hindi. Not my first language. A distant second. Not to mention, I had never ever given a political speech before.

I started. [translating to English] I come from Bombay, so my Hindi is er.. different. But I shall make sure that I am loud and that you will understand. [giggles from the crowd]. Some of you mentioned earlier that you had concerns about ration cards. Let me inform you, that's where Arvind Kejriwal started. He left a high-paying job at the income tax office and spent the next few years working in slums to help people get ration cards and utilize them. In the process, his people were attacked, his office was attacked. That's where he started. Ration cards. Now he is famous, and has formed a party and is asking for your votes. One of you mentioned, How is this party going to be any different? They will say good things until they get power, then it will all be the same. Let me tell you. Each paisa received is made public. Who gives money to the big parties? Nobody knows and for a reason. Very rich people give them money to get elected, and then they want something in return. Where do the politicians find money to give them? From looting us. Aam Aadmi Party has accounted for each small donation and we know exactly who donated it. They do not owe anything to anybody. That's where the difference lies.

I don't know how the speech went over. I got a few pats on the back afterwards. People had stayed really quiet and seemed engaged. I was shaking. A woman came over from the crowd. "My son has been trying to take the entrance test to the Railways. He gave the exam twice but hasn't gotten through. Anything you can do to help?" she said. I smiled weakly and shook my head. She shrugged and walked off.

The next day I met the volunteers again for a door-to-door campaigning session. The veteran campaigners arrived with voter lists and we got started. One of the ladies I had met the previous day, a tough 60-year old yoga teacher was leading us through her immediate neighbourhood, so everyone knew her and was welcoming. Of course we will vote for the jhadoo was the gist of the meetings. One person, an old man who had seen much, said that he would vote for AAP, but didn't think they would be able to resist the compromises and corruption that comes with power. I listened with interest, didn't talk much. We got most people to sign up to be members of the party, even got a little donation from one person.

From these conversations and others, I am getting the sense that the elderly are hearing a lot about Aam Aadmi Party from their children, most of whom are living far away. People are excited, but a little hesitant. Rightly so, I'm sure. But they also know that this is the only glimmer of hope. And this is the only small window of opportunity (elections for Delhi Vidhan Sabha are on December 4th).

Time for a New Religion

The problem with the grand old religions is that they are, well, old. They were wise and progressive, even revolutionary, for their era. And now they're not.

I was born a Muslim, so let me start there. Islam is based on the life of the prophet Mohammed and the words dictated to him by an angel of Allah. It was a remarkably rational, scientific framework for its time. Problem is, that time was 1300 years ago. It was a radically revolutionary feminist religion. No no, don't scoff, it really was. Women getting equal inheritance was huge at a time when women were trophies at best, but mostly just considered property. Restricting wives to four was a relief to women who were part of enormous harems of tribal lords. This kind of thinking must have (and did) generate a lot of opposition to Mohammed, and to his credit he stuck to his guns (swords, actually). But that was a very different world. A world where a 50 year old man could marry an 8 year old child (Mohammed did). We live in a better world today. Thank God.

I live in India and have married a Hindu (well, a Jain). Now that is truly an ancient religion. Perhaps too ancient? Yes yes, the point of scriptures is that they are timeless, and some are. Some. A small minority. Well, maybe just the Bhagvad Gita. Can we change the rest please? We already have, here and there. No thinking person would justify the caste system, sutti, dowry. But there's too damn many non-thinkers out there.

And we can dissect all major religions and come up with the same critiques. The world has evolved in thought, but religions simply cannot. So here we are, defending our own religions, bickering within and without, going nowhere. No messiah in sight, all we have is our texts. So we read them, discard the embarrassing parts, cherry picking the rituals and beliefs that we like. We can do better.

Look around. There are values that we all believe in. Gender equality. Equality of opportunity. Environmental protection. Peace and nonviolence. Scientific thought.

Now look around again. Does the world we live in reflect these? If like me, you are chuckling morosely, then you disagree. Alright, so how do we go from here to there? Yes you guessed it... A new religion. New texts, new prophets, a few miracles thrown in, some great stories to raise the kids on, and boom! Now we're all on the same page and we're all moving together to create a fantastic world!

And a hundred years down the line, when values evolve, I sure as hell hope someone gracefully discards this religion and comes up with something better

The problem with the grand old religions is that they are, well, old. They were wise and progressive, even revolutionary, for their era. And now they're not.

I was born a Muslim, so let me start there. Islam is based on the life of the prophet Mohammed and the words dictated to him by an angel of Allah. It was a remarkably rational, scientific framework for its time. Problem is, that time was 1300 years ago. It was a radically revolutionary feminist religion. No no, don't scoff, it really was. Women getting equal inheritance was huge at a time when women were trophies at best, but mostly just considered property. Restricting wives to four was a relief to women who were part of enormous harems of tribal lords. This kind of thinking must have (and did) generate a lot of opposition to Mohammed, and to his credit he stuck to his guns (swords, actually). But that was a very different world. A world where a 50 year old man could marry an 8 year old child (Mohammed did). We live in a better world today. Thank God.

I live in India and have married a Hindu (well, a Jain). Now that is truly an ancient religion. Perhaps too ancient? Yes yes, the point of scriptures is that they are timeless, and some are. Some. A small minority. Well, maybe just the Bhagvad Gita. Can we change the rest please? We already have, here and there. No thinking person would justify the caste system, sutti, dowry. But there's too damn many non-thinkers out there.

And we can dissect all major religions and come up with the same critiques. The world has evolved in thought, but religions simply cannot. So here we are, defending our own religions, bickering within and without, going nowhere. No messiah in sight, all we have is our texts. So we read them, discard the embarrassing parts, cherry picking the rituals and beliefs that we like. We can do better.

Look around. There are values that we all believe in. Gender equality. Equality of opportunity. Environmental protection. Peace and nonviolence. Scientific thought.

Now look around again. Does the world we live in reflect these? If like me, you are chuckling morosely, then you disagree. Alright, so how do we go from here to there? Yes you guessed it... A new religion. New texts, new prophets, a few miracles thrown in, some great stories to raise the kids on, and boom! Now we're all on the same page and we're all moving together to create a fantastic world!

And a hundred years down the line, when values evolve, I sure as hell hope someone gracefully discards this religion and comes up with something better

Capital Sincerity

Yesterday I met a particular breed of Delhi-ite at a bar. He came and sat down – introductions all around. Then he started talking.

“I’m rich,” he said, “very very rich.” Or words to that effect (disclaimer, I didn’t take notes, so a lot of this conversation is vague - from memories making their way out of the fog of this damned hangover). Anyhow, we were suitably impressed. Then he went on to tell us how he got to be this way.

“My parents are rich,” he said, “very very rich.” He’d been doing his MBA in America, when a call came from home – the family business needed him. He came back. Then the opinion at home was that he should get married. Alright, done. Subsequently two sons. He thought he’d start his own side business, but his father insisted that he would not give our man a single penny to start it up – so he built it from scratch. Working long, stressful hours, six days a week he’s built it up. He enumerated all his big clients – again, we nodded our heads, widening our eyes enough to indicate that note had been taken. “But Saturday afternoon,” he said, “I make it a point to get home by 4 pm to play with my two young sons. They’re at that age, you know, where you have to cherish every moment.”

I was loving it. A bit drunk, a bit depressed (we had just come to the bar after a book reading – where I hung at the fringes convinced that nothing I’d ever write would be interesting enough to be anything but mocked by this crowd). And here is this guy, on a long soliloquy about his life, and it was absolutely delightful.

“I’m a BJP man,” he said, “not particularly because I like BJP, but because I absolutely hate the Congress. And the Left! – come on – only idiots could vote for the Left.” Uh-huh, I said to myself. Of course he’s a BJP man.

Then he said something that made me sit up from the leaning-back-on-barseat-clutching-mojito-for-dear-dear-life stance that I had adopted. “Now Mayawati,” he said, “I could see her as our next PM.”

Really?

“You see,” he said, “the BSP and the BJP are very complementary. The BSP starts at the bottom of the caste system and works its way up, and the BJP starts from the top and can potentially work down. They are both forward-thinking, very constructive…”

Constructive! BJP! “Now hold it there cowboy!” I said (again, perhaps not in those exact words). “What about the nasty communalism?” He gave me a pitying look. “Yes, the VHP et al. are making a mess of things,” he said “but communalism is not what the BJP stands for at the core. And it’s a truly democratic party – people have worked their way up to the top – not simply landing there because they happen to be descended in some way from Nehru.”

True, I grudgingly agreed. I had gone to the Congress website to register as a supporter, but got turned off when I was asked to tick a box pledging undying fealty to Sonia Gandhi. (Sidebar: What’s up with that?! How would Nehru have felt about that?!)

But I quickly gathered myself together. I was agreeing with a BJP man?! It must be the alcohol (not really – only one mojito, that too on a full stomach, does not a drunk Sherry make).

Alright, so on to the litmus test. “Modi as PM, or not?” He pursed his lips, settling in for a fight. “Absolutely,” he said, “I don’t see why not.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, “I cannot continue this conversation.”

“Yes, yes, a massacre happened,” he said, “and it shouldn’t have. Modi would have to ‘regret’ it in some form or the other before taking the national stage. But keep things in perspective – people are being massacred all over India – Naxalites, policemen, tribals, Christians – it’s a tough country. But look at all the good things Modi has done.”

“Is it so hard,” I asked, “for someone to be an honest and effective politician and NOT be a mass murderer? I mean, Modi was doing fine along the career track when 2002 happened. He didn’t Need to do it.” Our man shook his head and said - “the way the constitution of this country is written, it’s almost impossible…”

“Sheila Dikshit!” I yelled triumphantly, interrupting him. “Honest, effective, and hasn’t yet overseen any genocides.” He graciously gave me the point.

“And of course bad things happen all over the country,” I said. “The point is that ALL the perpetrators should be imprisoned. Jagdish Tytler should be in jail for the ’84 Sikh massacres.”

“Yes,” he nodded eagerly, “and so should Rajiv Gandhi.”

“Well…” I said, “I’m not sure about that one… but sure, he should’ve been investigated like anyone else. The Salwa Judum should be incarcerated, so should any Naxalites that have committed murders, and here’s the kicker: SO SHOULD MODI!!”

Was that a hint of acquiescence I detected in his eyes?

He changed the subject – “so what would you think of Mayawati as PM?”

My turn to purse the lips. “She would be an embarrassment to the country,” I said.

“Oh, because she doesn’t speak English!” he sputtered.

“No,” I said, “because she steals money from her very impoverished state. To build big elephants, big monuments to herself; throw the infamously big birthday parties, stuff the party coffers.”

“I deal with big projects in Noida,” he puffed, “and she’s very effective at getting things done.”

“That’s because she personally owns a large share of each of the companies that get these big projects!” I exclaimed. “A bit of a conflict of interest, no?”

A pause.

“The important thing,” he said, “is to stay open to these arguments. Keep your mind open. For example, I myself was an atheist till ten years ago,” (again, a pricking up of interest – this was another little departure from the box that I had inserted his stereotyped character into), “but now I think, how can I be so sure there is no God?”

“Sure,” I said, relaxing back to my mojito, “I’m all about open minds.”

I’m not sure why I’m reporting this conversation. Part of my general warming-up to middle-class Delhi, I think. I’ve been reading a lot of the popular Delhi-walla blog and I do resent, a little bit, the way it, and the literati class, dismiss suburban Delhi as being uncouth, unread, uninteresting. It just seems wrong to be so contemptuous of this huge class of people – they are hard working after all, they do love their families as much as anyone. They weren’t brought up to read tomes about the profound ironies of meaningless Russian lives, or the absurd cruelties inflicted on Prague after its famed spring. But, or maybe because of this, they have a sweet sincerity, a generosity, a lack of sarcasm and cynicism that is refreshing to someone like me, who is constantly inflicting more jadedness on what is, really, a perfectly lovely life.

I didn’t win points on all aspects of our conversation. A lot of times, there weren’t any to win.

“We have extensive garment businesses,” he said, “and I went to the government to ask for a tax break.” (The government had increased the minimum wage, hitting their bottom line hard). The guy in charge basically said that he’d give their business an exception (for a fee, needless to say). The garment industry could keep the minimum wages low. Our man protested, saying that he didn’t mind increasing the wages; he just wanted some help on other aspects of the tax code. The babu said, “Saab, isn’t getting more money all you want?” “No,” our man protested vehemently, “it’s giving employment, creating a good business.”

“For nine years,” he said (unsolicited, again, and in no context that I can remember), “I have ensured that no matter what, we get our employees their salaries on the first of the month. That is the top priority, the thing I’d never compromise on.”

Now, in a land cringing beneath the jadedness inflicted by Satyam, that’s kind of sweet.

My Irrationality

We have several superstitions in our community. Some of which I internalized, and still follow stubbornly, despite the scorn and jibes of the rational; the rest I mock for their utter stupidity.

There’s one where, if you’re lying down, and somebody steps over you, they have to step back. Or… well no one is quite sure of the specifics, but some kind of misfortune will be invited in. I follow that a bit halfheartedly, where I ask that the steppers-over step over again, but I don’t push it if they refuse. Its just a preference on my part. I heard a story of a distant cousin who refused to move for an entire day until he was restepped-on, but that’s just ridiculous. I wouldn’t, um, do that. 

Another one, which is more universal, and which I adhere to more strictly is touching wood when I allude to my good fortune, or that of anyone else that I care about.

There’s also a little Arabic prayer that was taught to me, whose meaning I never knew (and most of my very religious family doesn’t either, which is OK because now I almost don’t want to know). But I will swear on anything that saying it puts up a protective shield around me, and it has calmed me in the face of numerous dark nights, would-be ghosts, interviews and dates. 

I learned a Spanish custom that I use quite often. Its very specific. If you hit your elbow hard against something, it is very important that you do not touch it or cry out in pain until you say the following: “If its good let it come, if its bad let it go”. Three times. Then yell out in pain or rub your elbow or whatever. At which point you’ll find that it doesn’t hurt anymore. So it works.

And then there are all the superstitions I mock. Which I’m not going to list, because they seem alarmingly similar to the (rather more numerous than I had previously thought) ones of my own. 

Wishes are strange things. They are perhaps the only reason I believe in the supernatural, the unknowable. Yet so much of Eastern philosophy talks about giving up wishes, desires, fears. Then, what would we be left with?