Cabal Central

A long time ago, I had asked a wise old man if he knew anything about how the world was run.

With a smile, he had quickly replied that it was God who was in charge of that grim task. And then, rather hesitantly, he had added that there were seven, or perhaps nine old men, with long white beards who assisted God in his business of running the world. And then, he had made one more clarification -- that God, had really had enough of this world -- and, that he was looking forward to driving a convertible with its top down, in a colorful straw hat, that screamed the word retirement aloud.

And so, it was all down to the wise old men.  Perhaps seven, or perhaps nine. I am guessing that they too have similar issues with hiring, firing and retention that we do.

Image courtesy: http://zelda.wikia.com

When I first heard the word cabal a long time ago, I had thought that someone had misspelled the word cable. But, the context in which it was used, had nothing to do with messages that the postman brought home, with a grave expression on his face. And so, I had looked it up.

As a libertarian, I have always believed that in most democratic societies, there exists somewhat of a tyranny of the majority. In countries like the United States, where half the population pays an income tax, that tyranny is somewhat mild, or perhaps, medium. In a country like India, where only four percent of the population pays taxes, the tyranny is screaming habanero hot. Almost slavery, for those who pay their taxes. Through a system of giveaways and freebies, the ruling elite keep blowing public money to keep themselves in power -- and the dole recipients in perpetual poverty. And they do all that with a paternalistic halo around their heads, as if, God finally did turn his office key in.

I have long believed that in a society such as ours, where people are quick to trade their vote for a freebie, that democracy is essentially a waste of time. But then, no other system of governance is supposed to be as good as democracy. And, if I believe what my wise old friend had told me, there is no one more competent to run the world than the seven or nine gentlemen with white flowing beards. Then perhaps, the best way to run the world is to let the old men run it, and let people believe that they are in charge of who runs their world.

As a child, when I was barely four, I had thrown a tantrum that I wanted to ride my grandfather's bicycle, which was rather tall for me. But grandpa, had come up with an ingenious solution -- he had held the bike steady with his firm hands -- while I rode it.  I remember turning the handle from left to right, as the pedals mysteriously moved by themselves, while grandpa gently guided the bike around the courtyard.

After the show was over, I had joyfully told everyone I could find that I had ridden grandpa's bike --  all by myself. And grandpa had stood there with a poker face, nodding. After all, there is nothing like a self-sufficient grandson, even if he is four years old, and has legs that are yet to reach the peddles.  

I have always wondered if our small cabal of bearded old men, with the blessings of God almighty, could somehow get us a bike to ride. One, in which our feet didn't quite reach the peddle, but one, that was fun to ride.

In mature democracies around the world, that art of holding the bike has been mastered. In countries like India, we are still coming to terms with the fact that most of us are really a bunch of idiots, who don't know any better. In countries like Egypt, they still don't know what democracy really is.

And that is why when Uncle Sam announces yet another round of "quantitative easing" and our government installs portable "dole" machines for the poor, we can see yet another set of tents in Tahrir square. Perhaps, the Egyptians too, will come to terms with their leaders and their government in their own sweet time. Or perhaps, an old man in a long flowing beard will show them how to. Perhaps. 

The ten heads of Ravana

I know, it has been a while. You could say that I have been taking a break from writing.

Or, you could say that I have been enjoying Festivus. A friend of mine in the land of the free used to love using that word to describe the traveling circus of festivals that arrives around the time of Halloween, and continues to amuse us all, till the new year comes around. Officially, Festivus does exist as a nondenominational festival in its own right -- with its own pole, and an elaborate rigmarole.

Ever since I moved back to Des, to be Desi Babu, I started associating the word Festivus with the good times that come around the time of Navaratri and stay with us till Diwali. And every year, to add more spice to the wonderful curry that India is, a few other religious festivals appear around the same time. This year, we have been blessed with Bakrid -- if you tire of the laddus and jalebis easily, you could try a delicious bowl of sewai. Or, if you want a different taste in your mouth, wait for a couple of months for that delicious Christmas cake.

A few days ago, Dhanno ki Amma and I were admiring a pastry shop on television. Now that we don't watch news any more, we have switched to programs on travel and food. Over the years, we have realized that most cakes and pastries in Des don't taste as well as they look. In the years that I have been back, I haven't managed to find a single decent place to have cheesecake in India, including the hot-shot restaurants in five star hotels, with their fancy chefs in their Festivus hats. So, nowadays, we just prefer to look at pastries on television and sigh -- for the tastes that we know, aren't simply around any more. For whatever reasons that might be.

So, when I saw Dhanno ki Amma shaking her head sadly as the pastry chef described his truffles and blueberries, I couldn't quite resist saying, "You know, we should stick to our core competencies."

As she looked at me quizzically, I explained, "We Indians should finally admit that we are no good at baking this firang pastry stuff. And, we should move on to making jalebis and ladoos."

While the idea might appeal to a Desi, I don't think that Dhanno ki Amma quite  appreciates  the feelings most Desis have for Jalebis.  So, I turned to a friend of mine for support, during these trying times of Festivus.

This friend and I, have been friends for many years, and every time I wish him a happy Dussehra, our focus inevitably turns to cracking a joke or two on Ravana. For those of you who don't know a lot about Indian festivals, Dussehra is the celebration of the victory of good over evil, and it celebrates the slaying of the ten-headed demon king Ravana by Lord Rama. The demon king had abducted Rama's wife Sita with the intention of marrying her, but Rama tracked him down to his magical kingdom hidden in the jungles of Lanka, and defeated him in battle.

Usually, in Dussehra, an effigy of Ravana is burnt in a public place, with a local actor dressed up as the Lord himself, with a bow and an arrow to tug along. And, if you are really in the mood, you are encouraged to crack a joke or two -- on ten headed monsters that could have been Ravana.

Years ago, I had asked this friend of mine if it was possible for a single person to conduct a board meeting, all by himself.  Unless you are into money laundering and Delaware corporations, you can probably guess the answer right away. Of course, it is possible if the chairman of the board happens to be Ravana himself -- ten heads can always make up a company board, can't they?

This Dussehra, when I called up my friend, I felt that it was once again time for a ten-headed demon joke. But, my friend, having turned wiser over the years, gave me some deep philosophical stuff.

"You know, it took one Ravana with ten heads to look lustfully at one Sita. How times have changed! Now, one Ravana with one head looks lustfully at ten Sitas all the time. And sadly, nothing happens to him."

I wanted to cheer him up. So, I told him about Festivus. And how, due to its non-commercial, non-denominational nature, no one would have to worry about Ravanas any more. My friend seemed genuinely excited. But then he paused for a second and asked me the question that reaffirmed my faith in our shared Desi backgrounds.

"I have no problems with Festivus. In fact, it sounds quite festive. However, I am guessing that I am still allowed to celebrate with Jalebis, right?"

I couldn't resist saying it, and so, I just did.

"Of course you are, my friend -- you can have as many Jalebis as you want. And you can eat them with as many heads as you would like. Ten, if you wish."

The crap that matters

If you live in India, the times might seem a little depressing. Every day, you watch or read something in the news that makes you depressed. You worry about the economic health of the country, or about the sanctity of various institutions that you have come to respect over the years. You worry about the government and democracy, that you might think have stopped working for you. And, you worry about the future.

These are indeed difficult times. I have been using the phrase "oh crap" so often in the recent past, that I have stopped wondering if it is the right thing to say in public. And recently, while reading an article about the proliferation of public toilets in developing countries, I came across the name of  Mr.Thomas Crapper. And that,  made me do a little research on crap -- and Mr. Crapper.

Apparently, Mr. Crapper, a plumber by trade, was one of the few enlightened individuals at the turn of the nineteenth century, who dared to look at places that others would not even dream about. He made several improvements to the flush toilet and the plumbing around it, and took out several patents.  He ran a very successful business, creating products that let people enjoy the peace and quiet as they -- you got it right -- crapped.

People believe that Mr. Crapper's name became synonymous with the bodily function we all need to perform. And eventually, he became immortalized in a four letter word, that we all have learned to use -- generally, to avoid using the other ones that raise a few eyebrows. In public.

Strangely, and contrary to popular wisdom, I found that Mr. Crapper's name does not have anything to do with the word crap. Apparently, its origins are in medieval English, as any well versed researcher in the linguistics of crap would tell you. But then, that is an entirely different discussion to have. What matters is the fact that had it not been for the inventions of Mr. Crapper, our cities would look a lot different from what they do today. And every day, you would have to deal with loads of crap that you would rather not.

Courtesy: http://www.pmmag.com

Recently, while I was telling Dhanno ki Amma about the modern marvel of the flush toilet and its plumbing, I  started singing paeans to Mr. Crapper. And she floored me with information about another modern marvel that has saved us from loads of crap. Of a different kind.

I am guessing that you have heard about horse-manure.

I often heard that word from my fifth-grade English teacher when he passed critical judgement on what I had written. But, right around the time that Mr. Thomas Crapper was solving a problem that mattered, there was another on the streets of London and New York, which threatened world peace and stability.

Before the automobile, there were horses. Thousands of them. And when they came out of the stables that housed them, they dirtied the streets of big cities with manure. Things were so bad, that people were knee deep in horse-crap. Literally and figuratively. And the predictors of doom and gloom had predicted their doom and gloom. Apparently, the world was to be submerged in loads of crap. Horse-crap to be precise.

And right from this point of no return,  the automobile industry rescued us. Horses, were replaced by cars galore. And the horse manure went back to where it belonged -- the stable.   

That day, Dhanno ki Amma, in her matter of fact way, gave me an important life lesson by telling me about the horse manure crisis. When we reach a point of crisis, sometimes, of gigantic proportions, we usually innovate our way out of it. So, perhaps Henry Ford and his mass produced model-T, saved the world from as much crap, as Mr. Thomas Crapper did.

While standing knee deep in a lot of crap that I am seeing on a daily basis, I keep wondering, what innovation is going to get us out this time. As I remain optimistic that someone will surely invent something to fix the broken world that we see around us, I keep wondering if we will honor that person by naming a four letter word after him or her. And if we do, I hope that this time around, it will be a word much better than crap.