Tughlaqi Farman

Note: This blog may or maynot have anything to do with the honourable PM's demonetization decision.

Not many years ago, in the Mughal era, in the same land as ours ruled Muhammad Bin Tughlaq. He thought himself to be the smartest of all rulers. One day, after a visit to a rich neighboring kingdom he became obsessed with the idea of increasing his wealth. The very next day he announced that all the gold coins in the kingdom used as currency will no longer be legal tender. All the coins will have to be submitted to the state treasury and in return copper, brass and leather coins will be circulated among the people. It was a brilliant decision. All Muhammad Bin Tughlaq's ministers rejoiced and praised his bold decision because as the gold in the state treasury will increase, so will their personal wealth. And also, because had they gone against the decision they would have been beheaded. The masses were confused. Those who blindly followed Tughlaq, sang his praises. The simple folks of the kingdom thought that gold or brass - it would have no effect on them what so ever.

But they were wrong. The queues outside the treasury grew long. Many clever fellows used cheap yellow metal to make fake coins and exchanged them for the new brass or copper currency. The simple folks forgo their daily wage jobs to stand in queues to exchange the money. But the problem that Muhammad Bin Tughlaq had not foreseen was that brass and copper were cheap metals - easily available. The clever masses started minting their own coins. The currency in circulation grew thrice in size leaving the king and his ministers flummoxed! The neighbouring kingdoms stopped trading with Muhammad bin Tughlaq's kingdom fearing his fake currency will penetrate their economic system as well. This paralysed the entire economy of the kingdom and business dropped tragically.

To try and control the situation, the king made new rules everyday - about 60 in number. But that just led to further chaos. The good people suffered. Due to his hasty decision, Tughlaq ended up punishing honest people and ruining his kingdom's economy.

To this day, remembering the king's hasty, unreasonable decisions, there is saying for when people end up taking hasty decisions without thinking them through - "Tughlaqi Faisla" or Tughlaq like decisions.

True story.

P.S.: For reasons best known to him, Tughlaq also decided to shift the capital of his kingdom from Delhi to Daulatabad (current Maharashtra). He thought it was more central and would save the capital from frequent attacks from Mongols. But he was not content with only shifting the official court to the new capital - he made the entire population of Delhi shift to Daulatabad too. This was an expensive decision. Once he reached Daulatabad, the Mongols attacked northern India. Thousands of lives and valuable property was lost and there were no forces to defend the former capital. Moreover, trade with neighbouring kingdoms declined. Tughlaq realised his mistake and moved the capital back to Delhi. Hundreds of thousands lost their life in the journey to Daulatabad and back. 

P.P.S: Maybe we should prepare for our capital to be shifted from Delhi to Ahmedabad too. 

How far does the fruit fall from the tree?

People say the fruit doesn't fall too far from the tree. Well, I strongly disagree. Not only can the fruit roll away very very far, it is highly possible that an apple tree might sprout up an orange! No, I am not talking botany or wonders of modern science here. I am talking about how different children can turn out to be from their parents despite all the influence, attention and patience lavished on them.

Especially in this generation, I think parents only manage to make an impression on their offspring till the time they are not exposed to the outside world. Once they are out and about - maybe since their play school years, the impact of new, shiny things like friends, celebrities, characters from books, people they find cool, television and mobile phones can supremely overpower any work a parent might have done to ensure their child grows up to be a good kid. Poor parents are left with about 3 years to teach their kids all about morals, rights, wrongs and to teach them in a way which the kid remembers for all her life. Now, who really remembers anything from when they were under 3 years?

So is it right to blame moms and dads for the wrong doings of their kids? We can say the same about the good stuff too but then, parents totally deserve all the accolades for their child's achievements because notwithstanding the eventual impact of their efforts, parents never cease to work hard to give their children the best they can and make them good humans.

So whatever age we are, keeping in mind some simple things will always keep us good and grounded:

1. Make your parents proud, always: In a society like ours, every action of ours is linked back to our parents and the sanskar they have given us. Every good deed we do, every award we win, every success of ours will make our parents a thousand times more happy and proud than we feel at that moment. Similarly, every wrongdoing of ours can reflect poorly on them. Of course, they will stand by us and support us even when we have outdone ourselves when it comes to going against morals - because that is what parents do. But let us not take that for granted. It breaks their hearts when we ignore all the good they have done for us, taught us and instead act otherwise. Do we really want to be the cause of heartache for our parents?

2. Communicate: Our parents are our first best friends. And then teenage hits. Suddenly, fathers no longer seem like the supermen we imagined them to be and our mothers take backseats in our lives. Our parents become people who live with us, feed us and give us money. Well, we can blame puberty for that. But breaking the thread of communication with the only people you can be sure will always mean your good, creates rift that can be hard to fill when we become adults. No matter how trivial, they will always be interested in knowing every little detail of your life. So share your thoughts, troubles, feelings, experiences with them - whatever age you are - and you may find you have your best friends back.

3. Listen: Friendship is not a one way road. Hence, communication should not be one sided too. Your parents might have their share of troubles too - be it something at work, health related or even little things about how the maid is always late and how they believe they are always short on milk. So listen to them. Shut down the TV, put aside your mobile, make a nice cup of tea for them or take them out for coffee and make them talk. You will feel more comfortable sharing your thoughts with them when you see them baring their hearts to you.

Facebook messages posted on Mother's Day and Father's Day is a sweet gesture, but showing your love and respect for them in the littlest manner will mean the world to them. Be your own fruit, but always remember and honour the tree that you came from.

Whose Job Is It Anyway?

A lot has been said and written about gender equality and how, even the most intellectual women in the Indian society, often end up being a glorified maid. But still, not enough times. Millions of times I have asked this question to my peers that why is house work considered to be a woman's job. I am not looking for an answer when I ask this. I look for someone who would come up and say - you are right - men and women should share all responsibilities. There should be no labels like man's job or woman's job. 

I have great respect for all homemakers. The responsibility is neatly divided - the wife runs the house and the husband earns the money for the same. But I have no regret in saying that I look down upon the big earners who think managing the kitchen, the laundry, the kids, the parents and the house is not really a job and feel superior.

I come from a big joint family. The woman in my family are all strong willed ladies who lead their families or participate equally in all decision making - working or homemakers. Both my parents are teachers. My parents do the laundry together. If my mother cooks, then my father takes over the job of slicing and dicing fruits and vegetables. If my mother does the dusting,  my father scrubs the bathroom. If my mother irons clothes, my father arranges the wardrobe. My mother never bothers about the finances, the investments the policies. My father is the finance minister. But not a penny is spent without her opinion and approval.My mother likes to read books, she does her yoga everyday and goes out with her friends. My father likes to play cards on his computer, surf the internet and run his religious group. My mother is the calm one. My father is strong willed. My mother follows my father but when she puts her foot down, my father has no option but to obey.

They are both independent individuals, but still so co-dependent. 

My mother often asked me to at least step in the kitchen once in a while and learn to cook enough to not starve when alone. But I am sure she would have done the same if I had a brother. It was my father who taught me how to ride a bicycle and he was also the one who taught me to make round chapattis and make bread rolls.Gender roles in my family were never clear cut. Maybe that is why I always found it mildly offensive when people said girls should know how to cook before her wedding, girls should know the housework.

I will soon be married for 4 years now. I do the cooking and keep tabs on the groceries. My husband does the laundry and buys the groceries. On weekends and rainy evenings, my husband fries pakoras while I make the tea. At times I come home from the office to find my husband cleaning the fan or scrubbing the bathroom. My friends tell me you are so lucky! Some say - how much work you make your husband do! Of course I enjoy the compliments and playfully snub the comments on making my husband work. But I wonder why such sharing of load is not considered normal but extraordinary? Why should I feel special if I'm enjoying a book when my husband does the laundry? Is he expected to feel special too when I sweat before the stove and he catches up on his evening news? Of course not.

So, here I go again. Who put labels on jobs - work of men and work of women? My friends often tell me that I have a different point of view which is not realistic for the Indian society. Some say I am a feminist. I say I am an equalist. It is just sad that asking for equality is seen by some as privileges to women.

If I ever have children - I will want them to grow up in a label less atmosphere - like I did. I won't want my boy to think that kitchen work is for women and I won't want my girl to think that tightening the screw on a rickety chair is a man's task. And trust me, it is not too much to ask for. We just need to ask ourselves - who put the labels? 

Whose wedding is it?

Have you noticed, the wedding season is now never ending? Be it summers, rains or winters, weddings are happening every day. Which translates into - 

• all you can eat buffets, 
• dusting off and wearing all the expensive clothes and shoes that you bought but never quite found the right occasion to wear,
• looking at and passing judgement on others who deep dived  into the depths of their wardrobes or pockets for expensive clothes and shoes, and
• getting dolled up (unisex statement. Playing dress up is now common to both men and women) by waxing, scrubbing, polishing and painting various parts of the body

But the weddings are not about us. They are about the bride. Although in most cases, she is the one who least enjoys her own wedding. What with wearing 40 kilos of wedding finery, 10 kilos of gajra, jewellery and heavily embroidered dupattas hanging from the back of her head (that neck ache takes time to go away!) and the pressure of a thousand faces staring at her from all angles noticing her every movement, and the video cameras thrust in her face ensuring she can't get a decent morsel of food in her mouth, and forget about having a sip of water without straw because she can't risk ruining her lipstick. But yeah, weddings are still about the bride. It is her long time dream coming true. It is her day to feel like a princess, even though she can't feel her face with all the layers of make - up on her.

Yes, the weddings are about the bride. And the bride wants everything to be perfect, every hair in place, no lipstick on teeth and the smile she spent hours mastering in front of the mirror. Even if she does not look or feel herself, it is fine, because everything has to be perfect. But is it really fine?

With close friends getting married, I have been subjected to the torture of giving my opinion on a thousand pictures of brides. I have seen ugly ducklings transform into shy fairies on their weddings. My jaw has dropped tens of time and my mind has refused to believe that a woman who looks like any regular girl can become goddess like - with only traces of similarity left with her original self.But do they forget that they will have to wash off that make-up in a few hours. I am sure her to-be husband and his family would have seen the girl in her original form. Would they not wonder - who this woman is, we saw someone else? When after a few years, the bride's kids will watch the pictures and videos from their mother's wedding - would they believe that their mother is the same woman their father married - because she would look nothing like her!

How fair is it to become so superficial on your D-Day that the most honest compliment you get is - "Wow! You look nothing like yourself. Totally changed!". Is it satisfying to know that you looked extraordinarily beautiful on your wedding - but nothing like yourself? Or is it the pressure of the society that makes them want to give in to their expectations of looking utterly and unbelievable gorgeous and lose her own identity. How does it feel to look into the mirror and find a stranger looking back at you - knowing - that your groom would be marrying this stranger and not the woman he met and liked/ fell in love with.

Here are some examples of transformation:

I have nothing against make-up and wanting to look pretty. All I am suggesting is that there should be a limit to a make-over. Especially on the day which will be immortalised in albums, videos, posters and fridge magnets for years to come! 

Oh, and I am not showing off, but just to prove my point and highlight that I am not hypocrite, here goes:

So ladies, you are beautiful the way you are and that is what your new family believes too! Just to fulfill your dream of looking ravishing on your special day, don't let someone else take the center stage at your own wedding. 

Taxi Tales

The fact that I have not written in a long time highlights the non-existence of any adventures in my life. But over the years I have come to realize that boring is good. Boring is smooth. But then, boring leaves me with a pen hanging in mid air wondering about what to write. Especially, when writing about your friends can cause too much trouble - and I talk from experience! So, what I needed was an anonymous subject - unrelated to me. And then, a cab ride later, I found my next subject. 

So because of work, I end up taking quite a few cabs to meetings. Some recent untoward incidents that have happened in cabs make me keep my guard up at all the time. So I have come up with this strategy to chat up with the cab driver, when alone. Engage him in conversation, ask him about his hometown, his journey, his family etc. etc. so that the cabbie feels a kinship with me and doesn't attempt anything which he shouldn't. Although this strategy has worked for me so far, I wouldn't advise it to others. You see, there are a lot of attached disadvantages. The cabbies can turn out to be too chatty and leave you with a headache. Or might answer only in monosyllables, leaving you with that chilly feeling that he has something else on his mind and you end up making fake phone calls to people just to ensure that the driver knows that a LOT of people know where you are, who you are with, when you are expected home, make of car etc.! Yeah, true story!

So this strategy means I am left with quite some interesting stories. Here go a couple of them:

1. Hindi bhashi Nepali: Subebahadur is Nepali, which I could never have guessed despite the crinkly small eyes, considering his impeccable Hindi - which he said he learned in 5 months when he came to India at the age of 14. When I pointed out that he did not look anything like the picture on Ola, he told me he was driving his friend's car. You see, he had met his targets. His friend was unwell and he was helping his friend meet targets by driving his cab. Subebahadur ran away from his home and family in Nepal at the age of 12 with a tourist family who told him stories about how luck changed for better in Delhi. And, the family kept it's promise. They taught him Hindi, sent him to school, paid for his driving lessons when he showed interest, helped him buy his first car and got him married to a nice Indian girl. That was 15 years back. Although the family has now shifted to the US, Subebahadur is forever in their debt and always ready at their service whenever they visit. While Subebahadur misses his home in Nepal, but his family will now never accept him because he married against their wishes in another community. He is glad that his two brothers are taking good care of his parents. Throughout the 1.5 hour journey, Subebahadur shared anecdotes from his life, told him how the Ola system worked, how he loved driving, how he met his targets well in time to earn extra incentives. He was happy and satisfied. Something in his smile, cheerful demeanour and his story, made me feel superficial and insignificant. But I am glad I took his cab.

 2. The Tag Heuer: After a long, fruitless meeting at a Ministry, I booked a shared Ola. The car that came to pick me up was a Chevrolet Enjoy. It is quite like Chevrolet's version of Maruti Eeco - you know the sort where rapes happen. Controlling a shudder that chilled my spine, I got into the cab and hoped that I will get a fellow passenger in the shared cab. The driver was young - which often adds up to my worry. So, I turned on my strategy full swing on him. Unfortunately, Ranbir Singh turned out to be a quiet guy. He answered my prying questions in monosyllables and clearly begrudged me when he had to answer in two words instead of one. After resorting to two fake phone calls (yes, I can be very paranoid), I noticed a glittering watch on his hand as he shifted gears. The big dialled golden watch sat proud on Ranbir Singh's wrist glinting in the afternoon sun. I casually complimented the driver on the watch and voila! Those were the magic words. Ranbir Singh instantly warmed up to and told me the story behind his Tag Heuer. Ranbir Singh used to be a chauffeur for hotels. He liked his job, even though the hours were tough. He drove a BMW, and a Mercedes at times. His clients were usually foreigners because he spoke a little English. This one time, a Russian businessman travelled in Ranbir Singh's car. The loyal driver, swatted away the street urchins who gathered around the big, red Russian. Ranbir Singh helped the Russian buy presents for his family back home. Ranbir Singh sang him Hindi songs in his not in tune voice and also learned a Russian song from him. After 15 days, when it was time for the Russian to leave, Ranbir Singh brought him home cooked paranthas for the flight - because as Ranbir Singh recalled - the Russian did not like plane food. The teary eyes Russian hugged Ranbir Singh, slipped his expensive and beautiful Tag Heuer off his wrist and gave it to Ranbir Singh. Ranbir Singh wears the watch every day. While his family made him quit his job because of odd hours and little pay, he misses the hotel run. The Tag Heuer is a reminder of his glamour days.

I have so many more cab stories - some half forgotten, some names without faces and some faces without names. But almost every cab ride that I have taken alone is a small adventure - a window in someone else's life. Try my strategy someday, maybe you will get to hear some great stories too.