Symbol, action and meaning

It’s not very often that you read  something positive about politicians.  And by ‘positive’ I mean ‘doing things they’re elected to do’. (Isn’t that sad? That we only get to read that they’re doing their job, not that  they’re doing much more?)

So when I read this news item in The Hindu today I was happy.  I’ve been following the  Lok Satta’s  survey of government schools, wondering if it would be just another report that tells us what we all know anyway.  And I was pleasantly surprised to read that they’ve transformed a government school in Kukatpally (the constituency that JP represents), giving it amenities like drinking water, toilets, and a clean, white-washed building.  At a cost of Rs. 60,000,  over a period of a fortnight, through donations collected by the party. Which makes you wonder: sixty grand plus two weeks  per government school.  Is this too much to ask of the government? Isn’t this the kind of thing one wants to see done with tax-payer money?

But of course the government has other priorities — like sponsoring Varuna Yagams to propitiate the rain-god.   (In the process, the TTD not only gets free publicity, it also gets paid!) And once the rains do come down, thanks to the monsoon, the government will of course claim credit and tell us: “See! We will bring the heavens down for you!”

What’s a government school by comparison? Pshaw! Insignificant stuff.

But I’m being foolish. Is education even on the agenda for the government? If it were, Kapil Sibal would be tackling the real problems plaguing education, like the  wildly diverging standards of schools  even within a single state,  not just across the country, and the commercialization of (and thereby restricted access to) education. Problems which can only be exacerbated by making school-leaving examinations optional and FDI the focus of reforms.

Education is all set to become THE  cash cow for  the next five years. Cui bono? one asks (not) in utter despair.

Tokenism. We’ve become so accustomed to it, that  we’ve come to expect it as the norm.  Not just tokenism, but symbolism as well.   Like Mayawati’s statue-unveiling spree? So much is being made out of it — that it’s  a symbolic act of claiming public space for the unrepresented, that its purpose is not self-glorification, but self-respect for Dalits.

And people actually buy this. That self-respect comes not from having decent education, healthcare, sanitation, and employment, but from statues! That all of these can be deferred, achieved at a later date once self-respect has been achieved.

Yes, Mayawati is an awe-inspiring  phenomenon; a Dalit woman serving as Chief Minister of the country’s most populous state for four terms is nothing short of a miracle. And yes, the media and opposition parties’ criticism is unfair, given the legacy of the upper caste parties as far as statues and memorials go.  So Mayawati’s statues become  symbolic  attacks on this upper caste legacy.

Again, cui bono?  The people whom  upper caste parties represent have the means, the resources, the abilities to  run their lives without government help. The people whom Mayawati represents do not.  Give them self-respect? Give them (her famed birthday) cake?

As S. Anand puts it in this wonderfully balanced piece on the issue:

“While symbolic politics have played a significant part in democratization, today this seems a convenient motive for the Dalit middle class leadership to sweep issues of class under the carpet and to talk exclusively of issues of dignity.”

Education is the only thing that can dignify the lives of Dalits.  And to think that Mayawati had the opportunity given to her to make this change happen, not once but four times . . . tragic.

The ape-man cometh

(Image courtesy: Clicked by this blogger’s little brat in Hyderabad’s MMTS . Forgive the slightly blurred text — he wouldn’t wait for the train to stop moving.)

So some  fly-by-night outfit that offers to transform apes into ‘cool dudes’. Gah.  I can’t shake off the feeling that it’s an appalling insult to the good apes. I mean, did they ask the apes if they wanted to become men? (And, was  becoming woman even an option?)

So you’re thinking what a ridiculously trite flyer (which it is), but I urge you to look deeper. Last I heard, the evolution of apes into man is OVER, communication skills or no communication skills, so they’re now two distinct  species (debatable, I grant).  Surely they must know that? Which must mean that this is actually some sinister scheme to morph apes into men. Only, it seems, thankfully. Or wait. Since there’s no clue to the sex of the ape, is there some sex change involved,  too?

The mind boggles.

Do cast your eye on the last two lines. No, not on that orphan comma (although it nearly caused this blogger apoplexy) but that word Erragadda. As Hyderabad locaals know very well, saying that someone/something is at/from Erragadda always elicits a knowing smile. For outsiders — well, acute PC-itis prevents my telling you what that means, unfortunately.

On a serious note: There ought to be a law against absurd claims that ‘communication skills’  are some kind of miraculous mantra, meaning merely ‘Spoken English.’  The number of people who buy that is seriously unfunny.

 

Postscript:  Post dedicated to The Quirky One, who would have done greater justice. Verily.

I will do my job. Only.

Ratnakar Choudry from Vanasthalipuram, Hyderabad, has this incredible photo to share with The Hindu:

Acknowledging the jaw-dropping integrity of people who refuse to usurp someone else’s work, the paper captions it thus:

 Presenting this year’s ‘not my job’ award to the National Highway Department (painting division).

 

Courtesy (and much gratitude to): The Hindu Metro Plus, Hyderabad, June 20.

The dust is spat out

OK, I give in. To the  connoisseurs frequenting this blog (Yes, yes, I know flattery will get me nowhere.) who insist that snuffing out a blog is a crime that ill becomes me. 

The dust is spat out, SB! And I return.

So what did  un-blogging help achieve?  Well, among other things, there were soulful  early mornings and late evenings spent gazing into those trees that you see in the image below.  That’s the view from my balcony at home. A view enjoyed over a  companionable morning coffee with the spouse. And a fretful evening one when I generally give myself hell brooding over everything I’ve managed not to get done during the day.  

 If you look closely you’ll see a patch of lighter green through the branches of those trees . That’s what I’m usually gazing at. Mournfully. 

Let me explain. 

That patch of green is the number one reason we  moved to this flat a year ago. It’s a park across the road in front, which the balcony, the entire flat in fact, overlooks.  When we moved here  the park was still under construction, but I had wonderful visions of robust and regular morning and evening walks. It’s  a year now  and the three gates of the park are still locked, the park still out of bounds. 

A couple of months before the elections there was hectic activity and it looked like it would be ready before voting day. Well, the Congress won this constituency (although I didn’t vote for them, which fact revealed to me the significance of my vote), but, inexplicably, after the elections all work stopped and hasn’t resumed since. The children of the locality simply jump over the wall and romp on the grass. The curse of adulthood prevents me from  doing likewise.  

Yet another instance of a citizen of this great country denied a  basic right. The right to walk. That park seems positively evil now, a force conspiring to keep me from walking. And health.

Now that I’ve recognized and confronted (but not really done anything about!) this self-fulfilling prophesy, the park has come to symbolize something else, too. The book I’m struggling with.  In my bid to make it one of the world’s great ELT masterpieces, I’m  dragging my feet and can’t let it go. While the publisher waits wrathfully.

There will be a great place to walk pretty soon, so I’ll start walking then. My book will be a masterpiece if I give it more time, so I won’t give it in now.

The mind. And heaven. And hell.

In other news, in all the reading that I’ve been wading through over  the summer, three books that I thoroughly enjoyed were David Crystal’s txting. the gr8 db8,  Watts and Trudgill’s  Alternative Histories of English and Sailaja Pingali’s (a colleague)  Dialects of English: Indian English.  All full of great ideas and insights that I will blog about. Soon. I hope.

Hiatus

My sins, it appears, have come home to roost.

So ciao, folks.