A soldier ambushes political leadership
by P.K. Vasudeva

This volume is in the form of a report to the Supreme Commander of the Indian armed forces. The author, a retired Brigadier, has attempted to trace the derailment of the armed forces from independence to the present day. He has covered the three Indo-Pak wars and the Chinese incursion in detail. He has also dealt with the counter-insurgency operations in the North-East and the low intensity conflict in Jammu and Kashmir. A separate chapter has been devoted to the IPKF operations in Sri Lanka.

In the first chapter, the author has quoted Field Marshal Wavell on the stability of the Indian Army. He said in 1946: “The stability of the Indian Army may perhaps be a deciding factor in the future of India.” On the quality and the morale of the forces the author has quoted three chiefs of the defence forces. They jointly signed on April, 1982 a memorandum saying, “Among officers intellect, self-respect and dedication are at a premium. The erosion that has taken place in this field in recent years has caused us grave concern and we would be failing in our duty if we were not to bring this to the notice of the Government’.”

It is alarming that the foreign ruler considered the armed forces stable, but after 36 years of independence the service chiefs feel that there has been an erosion of the quality and morale of the armed forces. There is no doubt that the service chiefs have been apprising the Ministry of Defence (MoD) regarding the causes of this malaise, but the bureaucrats have not bothered to rectify the situation which has led to further degradation.

The author says that every politician trying to cover up his misdeeds takes shelter behind the smokescreen of secrecy and public interest which often means his own interest. He has explained. how Mr Mulayam Singh as Defence Minister caused demoralisation in the armed forces.

The author in a chapter “Indian Army an ailing organisation” says the Army is “sick”. The sickness has been self evident since the resignation of General Thimayya in 1959, to protest favouritism in promotions encouraged by Nehru. The mere fact that the Army is not being preferred as a career by the youth speaks volumes of its status and public image. The Army is wanting both in quality and quantity. The youth opt for the army only as the last resort, when opportunities in all other fields are closed to them.

The armed forces face serious shortages in both manpower and equipment. In Army alone there is a shortage of 12,972 officers and 59,435 Junior Commissioned Officers (JCOs) and other ranks. In the Air Force the shortage is 508 pilots and 8,516 officers and airmen on ground duty and in the Navy it is 625 officers and 2,608 sailors.

Another point that shows up the poor morale of the defence services is the increasing number of court cases. In March, 1998, over 17,410 cases were pending before civil courts regarding promotion and discipline. The author says that more court case means more unhappy individuals and units. More unhappy units mean loss of the “will to fight” which is detrimental to national security. It is time the intelligentsia took note of the ailments of the armed forces.

Ex-servicemen have been let down by successive governments. During the Raj, an ex-serviceman had a status, says the author. He dressed well, ate will, and hosted tea parties for the higher strata of society. Now ex-servicemen are a frustrated lot. Employed as drivers, security guards or farm labourers, ex-servicemen’s plight discourages the youth from joining the army. In a country of over 990 million, ex-servicemen number 6.5 million.

The 1947 Indo-Pak war over Kashmir, the author thinks, is the beginning of the decline of the forces. In that war India lost one third of the territory (78,000sq km) of the state to Pakistan in spite of the brilliant performance by the armed forces and their leaders. There were two main causes for this outcome, says the author: indecisive leadership by Nehru and his failure to realise the British conspiracy to hand over Kashmir to Pakistan.

The British Raj helped Pakistan at every step. For example, on October 31, 1947, Major Brown, the Commandant of the Gilgit Scouts, rose in revolt, surrounded the residence of Brigadier Ghanshara Singh, Governor of Gilgit, and took him prisoner. Simultaneously, the Dogra soldiers of the contingent were either killed or made prisoners in a surprise attack led by British officers with the help of Muslim troops. After the operation Major Brown and his officers hoisted the Pakistani flag on government buildings. No doubt, Pakistan does not show Gilgit as part of the Pakistan-occupied Kashmir but part of Pakistan itself.

Tribesmen and Pakistani troops crossed into J&K in a full scale invasion on October 22,1947. On October 24 Maharaja Hari Singh appealed to the Indian government for help. Lord Mountbatten stalled the dispatch of Indian troops for three days until October 27 on the dubious plea that the state had not joined the Indian Union.

Major General Scot, the Chief of Staff of the J&K State forces during Pakistani attack, deliberately spread his forces in penny packets. When the main threat developed along the Rawalpindi-Srinagar road, there were no troops available in the state to oppose the advance of the invaders. The initiative was lost to Pakistan.

The information about Pakistani intentions to invade and annex Kashmir was received by India in September, 1947, from Shiv Saran Lal, the then Deputy Commissioner of Dehra Ismail Khan, a border district in the North-West Frontier Province of Pakistan. Nehru ignored the warning signals. On October 24, 1947, when India received official information about the invasion Nehru was hosting a dinner in honour of the Foreign Minister of Thailand. When he visited Srinagar he said “India will fight until the last raider is out of Kashmir”. He did not allow the Indian army to throw out the raiders, but declared a cease-fire resulting in the present situation.

The author also accuses Nehru of sowing the seeds of corruption and favouritism in the Army. The late Lieut-Gen B.M. Kaul, of the 1962 debacle notoriety, was a family friend of Nehru. During World War II he was made in charge of “Dilkhush Sabha” (entertainment) troupes) and visited the Italian and other fronts. Some of his misdeeds included reporting directly to Nehru on the happenings of Neutral Nations Repatriation Commission in Korea which led to unsavoury correspondence between the Chairman and the Indian Government. In 1957, Major-Gen Kaul used troops as labour force to construct army barracks and houses in Ambala and he was praised by Nehru and Krishna Menon, but the troops resented the act.

China started encroaching on the Tibet-Indian border in 1954. A series of incidents along the border led to the Chinese surrounding the Longju post in Arunachal Pradesh where they inflicted some casualties on the Indian troops. The reports of the local commanders were ignored and Kaul helicoptered there to submit a report to Prime Minister Nehru.

In October, 1962, (16 days before the invasion), NEFA Corps Commander Lieut-Gen Umrao Singh was unceremoniously replaced by Kaul who was too keen to “evict the Chinese” even before drawing a detailed plan, says the author. The results are well known and till today the Indian army remembers the Chinese debacle.

It is unfortunate that our political and bureaucratic leaders who dictate terms to the armed forces have no clue to matters military. Our Defence Ministers do not know the difference between a battalion and a division. They have no knowledge of tactics and strategy, a rifle grenade and a hand grenade, a missile and a rocket and so on. Yet they advise the service chiefs how to manage the Army and how to defeat the country against foreign invasion.

About the concept of civil supremacy, he says: “Civil supremacy Nehruvian style reminds me of the Punjabi tale of a Brahmin (civil supremacy) and a Jat (soldier) who decided to catch a snake. The Brahmin suggested that the Jat should catch the snake whilst he would chant mantras and thus render the snake non-poisonous. And since the snake was not a party to this agreement, it bit the Jat who died. Some day the Jat is sure to refuse to catch the snake. Control by civil authorities does nor mean command by the civil services and civil supremacy does not mean the superiority of the civil services.”

The author calls the Indian Peace Keeping Force (IPKF) as India’s “people killing force” in Sri Lanka. The confidence that the soldiers had acquired after the Indo-Pak conflicts of 1965 and 1971 was quickly and irrevocably shattered by Operation Bluestar and the IPKF. The author says a dispassionate appraisal and assessment of the performance of the Indian Army in Sri Lanka against the LTTE would reveal that it had been a military misadventure of the magnitude of 1962.

During the IPKF operation, Rajiv Gandhi went twice to Madras (now Chennai) to work out a poll alliance with DMK, but could not find any time to meet the overall force commader Lieut-Gen Depinder Singh. General Depinder Singh persisted and asked the COAS, Gen Sunderji, why the views of the Army were not being heeded? Sunderji replied: “Woh sunta nahin hai.” It was a purposeless bloodshed of the Indian soldiers.

This volume makes interesting reading and the author has used Hindi dialogues and phrases which cannot be easily translated into English.

Of saturn,sun and sapphire
by Cookie Maini

“THE Sun is now Lord of the Tenth House and occupies the Ninth. In March, the Saturn is coming into the House of the Sun. The Saturn is strong and will bring trouble. Be careful, otherwise he will do you harm.” Predictions such as this sound very familiar even in this age of Internet, e-mail and satellite television.

In fact, there seems to be an increasing reliance on astrologers and soothsayers. Every leading newspaper devotes space to astrology, the auspicious and inauspicious time in the day, and our politicians do not step out of the house without an astrologer’s nod.

I wonder if this reflects a growing sense of insecurity among the people as they are surrounded by gizmos alienating them from family and society and perhaps even from themselves.

This book focuses on individuals totally besotted with horoscopes and “pundits”, and the characters though comical are indentifiable and resemble people we meet in day-to-day life. Meira Chand, an NRI writer, anchors her novels in India and its habits with traces of nostalgia. The difference is that Meira reminisces about some comical aspects of her compatriots, particularly their obsession with astrology. What is amazing is the simplicity of her language which still effectively amuses the reader with a string of interesting observations.

In response to the forecast in the first paragraph, Mrs Hathiramani reacts: “Aiee,” Mrs Hathiramani moaned softly, “How long will he stay in the House of the Sun.” She pulled the end of her sari tightly about her ample breasts. She was a soft-fleshed, mountainous woman with a small, beaked nose, and small hooded eyes.

“He will not move out until June. Three months he will be in the House of the Sun,” Bhaisahib announced. He stood up to spit out of the window. A crow rose with a squawk, Bhaisahib sat down again. The bird settled back, a mean look in its eye, its gaze upon the cashew nut sweets.

“What shall I do?” Mrs Hathiramani implored, hands to her cheeks. The upper half of her face was narrow, as if all the flesh had suddenly slipped to her jaw.

“The only thing the Saturn fears is a sapphire. Wear a sapphire: then nothing can harm you,” Bhaisahib replied and suppressed a yawn. The air in the room was unmoving, he stood up to turn on the ceiling fan. From the window the crow croaked in an insolent manner.

Mrs Hathiramani nodded at Bhaisahib’s advice, and held down her sari against the sudden air sweeping the room. She looked up at the creaking, speeding fan apprehensively.

“I will buy a sapphire,” Mrs Hathiramani decided hurriedly. “I will buy one right now from Mr Bhagwandas. He will be home for lunch.” She paused then asked, “A cheap one will do?”

“The quality is not mattering, only the stone is mattering. It must be a sapphire,” Bhaisahib replied. “I will also perform some rites, so that no real harm can come to you,” he added, averting her eyes.

The book rambles on with Mrs Hathiramani’s efforts to buy a sapphire to protect herself from the evil spell of the Saturn. The backdrop of the novel is typically Sindhi, the residents of Sadhbela, a Mumbai apartment, where the novel is set. The inhabitants are refugees from Sindh, now in Pakistan. All these Sindhi exiles are settled in one building and live as one big family. The author traces the vicissitudes of this typical family with her succinct similes and hilarious descriptions.

“Donkey,” Mrs Hathiramani roared. “Tomorrow I will throw you out. Like a rotten onion from the window, I will throw you out.” She turned towards the bedroom where she knew she would find her husband.

She stood by the bed looking down at Mr Hathiramani’s slumbering form. His grey hair was greasily askew, and the bridge of his large nose carried a permanent groove from the weight of his spectacles. These were now folded upon a side table on top of a magazine. Mrs Hathiramani sat down heavily at the end of the bed, unwinding part of her sari. She stretched and yawned; she too was used to a nap after her lunch. She spread herself across the width of the bed at a right angle to her husband’s feet, and closed her eyes.

“Memsahib, tea,” Raju rattled the china on the tray.

“Tea? Who is asking for tea?” Mrs Hathiramani sat up. “It is only three o’clock. This is the time for sleep. Get away...” She closed her eyes again.

The use of amusing similes enhances the impact of humour. “The skin was as wrinkled as a prune”, “Your reputation will stick to you like the tail of a dog”.

The novel is a welcome diversion and each character has his or her own brand of humour and comic characteristics.

Mr Hathiramani does not do any work since his electrical company is doing well, so he maintains a diary and generally spies on the activities of other building contractors. His diary is another story. “Mr Hathiramani used a large, blue ledger for his diary. Each double page was divided; the left-hand page had three columns, two narrow ones titled “Arrivals” and “Departures”, and a wider one for “Comments”. The righthand page was divided into “Miscellaneous Past” and “Miscellaneous Present” The notings had little to do with the life of Sadhbela but consisted in “Miscellaneous Present”. Mr Hathiramani’s thoughts on life and fragments from newspapers he read lying down on his bed for a large part of each day. In “Miscellaneous Past,” he compiled his own English translations of the history and culture of his homeland, which had flowered in the Indus valley 2000 years before the Aryans invaded India with their primitive ways.”

Mrs Watumal too decides to visit an astrologer whose name board reads “S.D.R Burmawalla, Horoscope. Clairvoyance. Special Powers”. It is a typical description which one can imagine. “At the end of a short corridor a lavatory door was open. The stench of urine was overpowering.” On the walls were pictures of Nehru, Mrs Gandhi and the King of Burma (sic) adorned with a top knot and gold earrings. Several framed Urdu scripts hung beside them.

“The room was crowded with people. Two assistants, a small swarthy man in a yellow checked shirt, and a muscular ayah with a pockmarked face, appeared frequently in the waiting room to scrutinise the clients. Each time they passed the lavatory they slammed the door shut. It opened again immediately. Since they passed often there was a constant banging noise.”

Meanwhile, life continues with all its tension for Mrs Hathiramani before the Saturn is finally blown out of the house of Sun. Sham Pumnani, embezzler of building funds, finds a new, unexpected future. Old Lokumal Devnani prepares tremulously for his precisely predicted death. While Mr Hathiramani writes furiously against time to complete a translation of Shah Abdul Latifi, an immortal poet of medieval Sind, to ensure that in the Sadhbela building a proud past and a dying man will not be totally forgotten.

On the whole, the novel is a good, entertaining read and offers a peep into typical Sindhi ethos. It ends on a comical note in tune with the rest. Mrs Hathiramani one day decides that it is better to string beans than to be educated. Why? Because her educated husband does not believe in astrology and dismisses it as hocus-pocus!

The book is no great literacy feat but entertaining off and on.

Swallow the food with wisdom of guru
by Harjinder Singh

Someone mentioned to a friend that I am reviewing a book on Krishnamurti. Prompt came the response from the avid Krishnamurthi reader: “I have 25 books on him...” Indeed, Krishnamurti is one of the most talked and written about savants of our times. It is said by his followers that he spoke in person to more people than anyone else in history.

Even as one who is accused of being a rationalist, I am tempted to read more about this man with a great following. Nothing could be a better beginning than a book written by the chef de cuisine who fed him for ten years in California.

The true self of a person is revealed more at moments when he or she is relaxed in a safe private environment. Mealtime is such a part of our lives, when we are closest to being honest. Delicious food or the lack of it can bring out suppressed emotions which may be hidden in more formal occasions of sermon giving and business meeting.

The least that can be said about Krishnamurti is that his writings are excellent poetic expressions. Krohnen uses his words frequently and with a remarkable sense of selectivity. For instance, read the quote at the beginning of the third chapter “Full Taste”, a typical Krishnamurti expression: “Truth is not at the top of the ladder; truth is where you are, in what you are doing, thinking, feeling, when you kiss and hug, when you exploit you must see the truth of all that, not a truth at the end of innumerable cycles of life”.

Krohnen was taken by such words of the aged and more mature Krishnamurti. More precisely, he was awed and seduced by his personality. Born in Germany near the end of World War II and growing up with the burden of all the crimes committed in the Hitler era, he was a lost young man searching for the meaning of life in religious texts, travelling across the world, when he encountered Krishnamurti. He was immediately drawn towards him.

He describes it thus: “His sharp glance softened, his head tilted minutely, and a smile played around his features as he said with some forbearance, `No darling!’....he really had just called me ‘darling’. I was in two minds how to take this, then I chose to accept it in a positive and personal sense. That my view had been rejected seemed to matter little”. And later: “As I was listening to his words, to the tone of his voice, everything he said appeared so true, such a precise description of reality ...It was as if a door in my mind was opened and I was looking at a breathtakingly beautiful landscape, vast and without limits”.

And more: “His walk and gestures were graceful; his looks, despite his age, radiant; and he appeared in all respects like an extraordinary human being: a prince.”

Krohnen is not alone in having “wanted to have more personal contact with him” or “felt like being in love — with Krishnamurti the person”. All normal people go through phases of infatuation with more mature individuals. Most of us get out of it because the person to look up to is not always a Krishnamurti, and the drive for conformity is too intense to resist.

Some are caught up in “enlightenment” for longer periods. Others simply find better sources of inspiration and work on their own to solve the riddles of spirituality and material life.

The aura of a great person is so overwhelming that it is often shocking to discover the human in him. So Krohnen found it shocking to discover that Krishnamurti polished his own shoes. That it could not be otherwise does not occur to the blind devotee. The more the guru refuses to accept gurudom, the more the follower insists on it. Could this be a sign of escaping from the hardwork of learning the Truth oneself (only the guru, for he is extraordinary, must be the one who is enlightened)? Thus it is shocking to discover that Krishnamurti enjoyed reading detective stories and watching Westerns on television.

Such reaction is seen in all cases of relationships where an individual wishes to submit blindly to a perceived image of another. I once received violent reaction to a short story that I wrote about a well-known revolutionary of our times, who appears as a ghost and refuses to be anything other than a normal human being with simple desires.

“1001 lunches...” reveals nothing new about the wise man. It says much more about Krohnen and many others like him. In fact, his initiation into the cult (and is there no cult!) took a bizarre course. Krohnen spied on Krishnamurti, lacking courage to face him straight.

Finally, he did have a “culinary baptism” and became the catering in-charge for a conference on thought and knowledge organised by Krishnamurti and the famous theoretical physicist David Bohm who has worked on the foundations of quantum mechanics. He continued in his role of the chef for the next ten years.

The conferences, the participating personalities and their eccentricities, the jokes that Krishnamurti cracked make interesting reading, other than knowing the person called Michael Krohnen. There are frequent references to Krishnamurti’s rejection of gurudom and the simultaneous irony of his actually being a guru.

At an international conference with trustees from India and USA, the conversation turned to the “darshan” concept, whereby the disciple receives the blessings of the guru. Krohnen writes: “Probably everyone ... was aware that Krishnamurti deeply questioned this concept. While listening..., it occurred to me that most of us here, in one way or other, were paradoxically in the situation of listening to the master, though in attenuated circumstances”. The episode ends with a humorous story narrated by Krishnamurti explaining the futility of looking up to a guru for gaining enlightenment.

As for the menu, lunches with Krishnamurti could not be any less delicious than with any similar leader of a financially well-managed group or foundation. Indeed, the menu does not end with what hermits find in the now disappearing forests of the Himalayas; it has such items as can be found in the few lavish and exclusive restaurants of the world. Simple, healthy and yet exotic.

And the jokes about politics confirm a well-known fact. Individualistic “enlightenment” can only lead to apathy towards the real and if you think about it, the escapism is simply sickening. Life is not exotic poetry. It is hard and real. Feeding a cat with “finely pointed fingertips” is a fine thing, but ending all conversations about political events which seriously affect the lives of millions of human beings with jokes is not always so interesting.

One cannot expect those seduced by gurus or who have gone into severe depression because of challenging circumstances in their lives, to understand this. But then, those living on food (when available) that is much less palatable than what was served in the 1001 lunches are not the ones who read such engrossing accounts of luncheons with enlightened souls.

That indeed is the last word about the peace corporates led by Krishnamurtis of this world. They change individuals, presumably into better beings, but however many these transformed individuals are, there still remain those, many times more in number, who go on suffering the consequences of far more organised institutions of exploitation. When we read Krohnen, we must forget this reality to enjoy the book. As for them, who do get the best out of it, the reviewer expresses his compliments.

Reports as comments on society’s quirks
By Roopinder Singh

There is a growing school of thought which holds that the linear transfer models of communication reflected particularly in print journalism — that “sources” create “messages” and “transmit” them through “channels” (media) with minimum “noise” (interference) to “receivers” — will fail our times and conditions; that journalism can no longer pretend to be a conduit of information to an uninformed public; and that it should reformulate itself as the informational commons where “people can learn, mature, agree, and disagree — and from which social change can grow.” (“The Conversation of Journalism” by Anderson, Dardenne and Killenberg, 1994)

As a communication discipline, journalism has to go beyond reporting and writing to assume “roles and responsibilities within a far broader context of communication”, without which “the profession risks further erosion of its influence and place in society’s conversation”.

It is maintained that “journalism actually must become a communication discipline” — a redefinition that is important because (a) its range of invitation will produce deeper and more comprehensive accounts of social issues; (b) its inclusion and empathy will be more suited to the needs and tensions of an era of multicultural diversity; and (c) its alignment with emerging and literary theories will encourage journalism’s full partnership in the academic and scholarly dialogue.

What is being sought by the proponents of similar schools of thought is not a complete replacement of traditional hard news reporting that has been the mainstay of newspapers all this while, but a recognition that there is need for other kind of reporting which does not fit into the traditional mould, one that has feeling, a narrative of everyday world that touches us.

This is what we see in the stories that have been published in this book. What sets these stories apart from what fills thousands of tonnes of newsprint every days is that “reading them is like reading a novel, seeing a movie or watching a play—they evoke the sensation of life happening before our eyes.” And it is a story we can all relate to, because it is from the leaves of everyday life.

The book starts with the story of “The Man Who Couldn’t Read”. It is just what the title says…and nobody knew about it, “not his old college professors, not the high school students he had taught for 18 years, not the business associates in his multimillion-dollar real estate development company, in Southern California. Only Kathy knew….”

As you read the story, you empathise with a man who lived a life of deceit…how he faced everyday situations living such a lie makes you want to read more and more.

Garry Smith makes you meet a man and almost feel his desperation, his life. Garry Smith’s story, “Shadow of a Nation,” is about Jonathan Takes Enemy, a great basketball Crowe Indian who, like his teammates Everette Walks, Miles Fighter, Jo Jo Pretty Paint, Darren Big Medicine… can shoot high and true, but are dealt a pretty low card by life. Their pride and isolation, the life on a reservation, drinking, story-telling and total morass. A situation where when Jonathan gets his high school graduation diploma, an assistant principal says: “I hope we are not looking at the first day of the end of his life.” His words are prophetic — but not quite.

Such stories require a lot of work, Smith recalls how he interviewed John Corcoran for five or six hours a day for a week, he interviewed 35 people, read five books about Crowe Indians, talked to people for three or four days on the phone and went to Montana for nine or 10 days….

These stories are crafted with care; they take time, and stay in the mind of the reader for long.

Madeline Blais, professor of journalism at the University of Massachusetts, gives us a totally different snapshot of the world of sports. “In these girls, hope is muscle,” is a story about the members of Amherst Regional High School girls’ basketball team and its quest for state championship. Here is a world where you can feel the punches, smell the sweat and share the triumph.

Susan Orlean depicts an unusual world view in “The American Man at 10.” Colin is a typical youngster, he plays ball, and the lottery, and spends hours in the backyard building evil-spider web trap. Orlean spends two weeks day and night with Colin to write this short piece for Esquire, and it took another 10 days to write. If the subject left the author trapped in his web, she leaves the reader trapped in the one she wove.

David Finkel’s account “The last housewife in America” is something many urban Indians would easily relate to, though one is not sure if someone would be able to pen a similar account as and when a similar situation comes up here too. As for watching “TV without guilt”, the goings on in Delmar house with its multiple TVs should not come as a surprise to anyone here.

You battle along with Dr Thomas Barbee Ducker, chief brain surgeon at the University of Maryland hospital as he struggles to tame “Mrs Kelly’s Monster”, a brain in Joe Franklin’s story, and empathise with Pete Earley as he takes a painful journey down to Fowler, Colorado, as he comes to terms with the death of his sister who had been dead for 19 years.

Madeline Blais in the story on Edward Zepp brings out the cussedness of someone who feel he has been wronged, uncommon commitment of a non-conformist to set the record straight, as she takes us along with Zepp for a journey into the past, into Pentagon’s bureaucratic battlefield, as a conscientious objector battles to remove the black mark of dishonourable discharge from the US army. She brings out the ironies of the story, and leaves some ambiguities that live.

This is a book that comprises a fine collection of touching stories which make for what Walt Harrington calls “intimate journalism.” Journalism of everyday life is a way to repair the torn social fabric that journalism has undeniably helped to shred. It is a journalism that is needed today, as much as reporting on greed, corruption and social injustice was needed at the turn of the century, perhaps more.

Spot the artist in your kid
by Kavita Soni Sharma

THIS book must be read by all those who have an interest in enhancing the extra-curricular life of children and enriching their lives with an exposure to painting and drawing. It is not meant for children. It is for teachers. It is also for concerned parents who might be interested in integrating the fine arts into the lives of their children.

The book enables us to notice how normal life and the arts do exist in a harmonious relationship. And it again reiterates the old wisdom that a life that is enriched by the fine arts makes a person more sensitive to the various nuances of creativity around us and thereby makes us a better human being.

Such a book is welcome when life, as it is believed by many today, is made up of two kinds of activities: those that earn you money and those that don’t. The latter is always presumed to be pleasurable while the former is supposed to be the opposite. Such a binary way of looking at life expresses itself most dramatically during the summer school holidays. And its most overt expression happens when we see parents search for the pleasurable things that the kids could do away from school during the vacation.

The neighbourhood music teacher is roped in to teach dear Babloo how to sit still and play the tabla or hormonium while a pucca raga flows out of the recently purchased CD player. The art teacher is asked to teach little Bindu that a pencil is better used for drawing rather than poking Babloo in the ribs. This is if both Babloo and Bindu do not dream of becoming the next Bill Gates and start preparing for it by registering with the nearby computer training institute.

Unfortunately, once school starts, this interest in the arts is made to give way to the slog through the textbooks. The aim of life, for the parents, after vacations at least, gets narrowed down to scoring high marks in the examinations. It is usually said, during term time and especially when the unit test results come out, that the primary need is to teach the child how to get along in the world rather than make him sensitive to the arts.

In such a social scenario it is heartening that an educationist and artist of the stature of Devi Prasad has made an effort to use his experience as a teacher in the Nayee Talim Educational Institute at Gandhi’s Ashram in Sevagram, and put together his ideas on the teaching of art as the basis of education.

Devi Prasad goes in rigorous detail about the various stages through which children develop their artistic capabilities. One would find guidance on how a child views the world in colour and expresses it through drawings and paintings.

The child’s ability to draw changes with age. A maturer child would be able to go into greater details. Sensitivity to how the child was expressing in artistic terms could help the teacher or the parent to better guide the child in future activities.

Devi Prasad also deals with many frequently asked questions about the best way to help a child develop artistic sensibilities. Do the gaudily coloured children’s books in the market help the child develop a sense of colour? No. Is it important that the child be asked to draw objects at a young age? No. Should the child be encouraged to draw and paint whatever catches its fancy? Yes. Should the child be encouraged to copy the masters? Yes, but only after considerable coaching in the arts.

His answers, of course, are not monosyllabic. He takes considerable pains to explain his reasoning and convince even the Devil’s Advocate.

The book carries many photographs of work produced by children, which are used to illustrate the arguments that are put forth about the manner in which normal life and an artistic sensitivity need to be best integrated.

All in all, an excellent book to buy and read, even though the NBT does not make much of an effort to market it.