|
|
|
Saturday, June 16, 2007 |
|
|
|
Saturday, June 16, 2007 |
|
Take a look at our newspapers and magazines. More and more space is devoted to business, commerce, banking, finance, corporations and the profits they made. Sensex has become a gauge of our life-giving support system. In reality our main preoccupation in life is making money, the more the better. Our national motto has become sab say badaa rupaiyaa — so let us sing in praise of the almighty rupee.
Consequently, our newspapers and magazines are becoming less readable. They devote a sizeable part of space to the doings of film stars, fashion designers and their scantily clad models, cooking recipes, how to mix drinks at cocktail parties and that sort of trivia. The little readable material they publish is taken from foreign journals, American or English. It is not journalism; it is whoring in the name of journalism. I also take a look at my past. I have been a journalist of some kind or the other most of my long life — free lancer, whole-timer, editor and now a syndicated columnist. I never bargained about my salary or fringe benefits because I was well-paid, was given a chauffeur driven car (I never employed a driver), got a handsome entertainment allowance which I rarely spent. I am dazzled by earnings of men in my profession today: Some editors get upwards of Rs 3 lakh a month — Rs 1 lakh a month is considered below par. What do they do with all this money? I have a few suggestions to make: first they should attend coaching classes and learn to write correct, grammatical and readable English; and second, try and think of something that is worth writing about. Also, they should bear in mind that making big money is not all there is to life. Butterflies This May I saw more butterflies in my small garden in Kasauli than I have ever seen before. Though they were occasionally blue, brown or yellow, most of them were white and of two sizes, one large than the other. I noticed that the larger variety preferred sitting on flowers while the smaller preferred leaves. Their habits were also different. The larger variety was often seen in flocks of a dozen or more spiralling skywards and than descending to scatter away in pairs. I know next to nothing about butterflies except the fact that they are a species of insects known as lepidoptera, which includes moths. They are born out of eggs, grow into caterpillars and emerge with colourful wings. I was under the impression that their span of life was very short — about a day or so. I was wrong. Most of them live for about a fortnight in their butterfly form, some as long as a year. After searching my bookshelves, I found an old book on the subject, published by the Bombay National History Society in 1957: Butterflies of the Indian Region by M.A. Synter-Blyth. Apparently, there are thousands of varieties of butterflies divided into species and sub-species known largely by their shapes and colours. After considerable research I came to the conclusion that two species of whites that fluttered about my garden were Hill Jezebels, commonly seen in the lower Himalayas from Kashmir to Assam. Why were they named Jezebels, which stands for nasty, vicious women, I was not able to discover because my butterflies were a friendly lot, harming nobody. Perhaps like some other species they have poisonous substance in their bodies. That is why birds do not eat them. Much ado about nothing The controversy raked up over the Richard Gere-Shilpa Shetty issue shows the extent of the perversion in the minds of pseudo moralists in our country. I happen to be invited to various Page 3 parties, where all kinds of kissing, air kissing, pecks or even lip-locking (only in fashion parties) is generously exchanged among young and middle-aged alike. Print and electronic media give wide coverage. Nobody takes it as vulgarity or an assault on Indian culture, simply because it is a way of expressing affection. I am reminded of a poem written by a Punjabi poet, Isher Singh Bhaiya, who was known for his humour and public satire. The title of his poem was Mazhab tey Mohabbat and I quote a few lines: Kidhrey vaji tarree, taan mazhab noo khatra; Kissey bannee darhee, taan mazhab noo khatra; Kisey bannee saree, taan mazhab noo khatra; Ai mazhab na hoya, tey hoi mombattee; Pighal gai zaraa lagee dhup tattee (If somebody claps, our religion is in danger If somebody ties his beard, our religion is in danger If somebody wears a saree, our religion is in peril, Is our religion made of wax candle which melts the moment it is exposed to the sun?) Then there is no dearth of vehlas (idlers) in our country and one of them filed a criminal complaint against a man devoted to a noble cause like prevention of Aids. Our moral policemen/women are not interested in the end but only in the means. (Contributed by Paramjit S. Kochar, New Delhi)
|
|
|
AM I wrong in believing that we Indians who pride ourselves in being spiritual and indifferent to worldly matters have begun to talk more about money than ever before? We want to know who is the richest man in the world. Who is the richest Indian? How many have made it to the Forbes list of the richest of the rich? It is not how they made it: it may be haraam kee kamaayee. It is not how much they gave away to the needy, but how much they have in banks, shares and property. We feel impressed with their styles of living: do they have private aircraft? Their own yachts? Do their women go to London, Paris or Singapore to do their week-end shopping? Do they go to Phuket and Hawaii on holidays or on cruises aboard luxury liners? How much did they blow up at their sons’ or daughters’ weddings? And that sort of thing. Without sounding sanctimonious, I find their obsession with other people’s wealth somewhat sickening and un-Indian.