Adjusting with change

Gurbachan Jagat

Each New Year’s Day brings memories of past ones and recollections and reflections of past times. Before the advent of mobile phones and the flashy but impersonal greetings that they communicate, we used to have letters and greeting cards. Their arrival would start well before the day and continue a week after. It created a festive atmosphere in the house with colourful cards along with their messages from all over the country and some from abroad also. After the mantel pieces were full, one would put them on strings running across rooms and group them as per their origins: services, friends, relatives, close family, etc. It was a joy to do it personally and read the messages on each one of them, recollecting your association with the sender. The reverse process of sending out cards would carry on simultaneously and one would pull out lists and add names or delete some. I used to do it personally always and it normally took me a couple of days. Then, on the day itself, when posted in Chandigarh, a group of us colleagues would go and greet all our staff members in their offices and later on the seniors and wish them personally. It was the season of joy and joy in small celebrations.

Times change, age creeps upon you and retirement comes along, bringing both happiness and a sense of loss. Happiness on ending a long innings and loss because of a transition to another way of life. However, each phase of life brings its own plus and minus points and it is up to you to convert the minus into plus. The New Year season has also changed. No more greeting cards; cold, impersonal broadcast messages, except for those from family and close friends. Must all traditions be lost to technology? Letter writing today is a lost art — the email, WhatsApp, texting, etc, have all collectively sunk what for centuries was a splendid means of communication. There were different styles of letter writing ranging from the formal to the informal, from officialdom’s standard communiques to romantic paens between lovers — it was a form of art. Must it all be thrown away, why are we so quick at trashing tradition? The British are famous for retaining theirs, almost to a fault. We, on the other hand, trash everything from old monuments, temples, houses, art, food… as if we take no pride in our heritage. All over Europe, the cuisine dished out in their restaurants and cafes is mostly local and they take great pride in it. We, to the contrary, are hard-pressed to find local food, though our culinary abilities and traditions are far more complex and you will find that every 100 kilometres, both the cuisine and possibly the language change.

Institutions are the guardians of traditions: the armed forces, police, judiciary, universities, schools are all its keepers. Traditions not only help preserve our culture and ethos, but they also represent the gradual evolution of our civilisation, be it in the arts, sciences, medicine or martial traditions. It is this gradual evolution that is the key. The pride of Army formations in their colours, emblems, flags is deeply founded in their history — of old battles and achievements. They fight and die for their regimental flag and honour. Similarly, educational institutions have their own traditions. There are many schools in our country which are over a hundred years old. Schools with their origins in different faiths, ideologies and promoted through various acts of philanthropy. Must they all be painted a uniform colour? Even our temples have different traditions, though they pray to the same God, but isn’t that the essence of pluralism of our society — the uniqueness of being part of this great diverse country? Must it all be whitewashed in the desire to assimilate all under one flag and ideology? A most boring and uninspiring vision comes to my mind.

Coming back to New Year greetings, I still try to ring up some of the old colleagues, friends, seniors and wish them personally and I do get personal calls from some friends and old colleagues. Among those I cherish most are the ones from some of my old personal staff members. I get a call from Mahinderpal from Amritsar who was my telephone attendant in the late 1970s and early ’80s (no cell phones then). I get calls from Kapurthala, Bathinda. Balbir and Yashpal never fail to ring up from Jammu as also Ghulam Rasool from Srinagar, Prem from the UPSC, Digvijay and Chauhan from the BSF. I can do nothing for them now, nor do they expect it. We just exchange news of each other’s health and the welfare of the children. One person still stands out in my memory and in my heart, the late Sub-Inspector Ran Singh, who was with me from the early ’80s till his retirement. Recruited probably in the ’50s, he was a member of the old guard — stoic, simple, competent and disciplined are some of the adjectives that come to my mind. Ran Singh was of medium height, well-built and well-maintained, the posture was always ramrod straight, he was always neatly dressed and supported a pukka buzz cut. Also importantly, he and his stock of desi ghee were inseparable. His language was pure Haryanvi and he had a wry sense of humour.

I used to stroll sometimes in our lawn (government houses in Chandigarh have nice lawns) when one day, all of a sudden, Ran Singh appeared (quite agitated as he had no doubt heard of some incident gone badly for Punjab Police) and piped up in all seriousness that he would ensure that if something untoward happened to me, he would not spare the culprit. It took me a while to understand what he was saying and then I told him that his duty was to ensure that nothing happened to me as in the afterlife, I would not be bothered about what he would do to the culprits. He listened but repeated that he would not spare the man — I let the matter drop realising that he was in a serious mood and my mild attempt at humour was not working. With Ran Singh, there were very few dull moments. The other time, he developed a fever (it was a rare occurrence in his case) which was not being subdued with his usual cure-all formula of milk and ghee. This was making him the butt of jokes amongst the rest of the guards as he had loudly proclaimed on many occasions his immunity to such weakness. However, I persuaded him to go to the doctor and get some medicine. The next morning, I could hardly recognise him because his normal robust features had turned ashen. Apparently, the doctor had diagnosed him with malaria and given him some quinine tablets to be had over the full week. Ran Singh being Ran Singh decided the dosage to be too small for a man like him and proceeded to consume all the puny tablets given to him, accompanied with a litre of milk. Shortly thereafter, his skin peeled off and it took time and medication to restore his usual ruddy complexion. More than the damage to his skin was the hurt to his manliness.

Ran Singh had some hidden talents that we were yet to discover. It was New Year’s Eve and we had a couple of friends over for dinner. A fire had been lit and some victuals were being enjoyed and gossip exchanged. In walked Ran Singh with a dholak. Before we could react, he settled down on the carpet and began singing Haryanvi ‘Ragnis’ to the accompaniment of the dholak. Our surprise gave way to appreciation though some of the guests were not conversant with the language; not that it did deterred them from enjoying the music. Ran Singh carried on unmindful of the audience as he was in his own world and singing for his own pleasure. He got up as abruptly as he had come, but I retained him for some more time and then let him go with proper replenishments. I could go on but he then finally retired and went back to his village near Murthal to his wife and children where he gradually faded away. But the memory of a sincere, vibrant, disciplined member of the Punjab Police old guard remains. There is much to learn for the new generations from the high standards of their past flag-bearers.

I began with the New Year greetings and the changes that have come. However, traditions in every field of life undergo gradual changes and it is important to let the new merge with the old seamlessly. It is best to allow new generations to develop and evolve on their own rather than thrust something on them. Life is a mosaic of multiple splendid hues which together weave their own magic and meaning. Let us not force the pace of evolution and let us not interfere forcibly in nature’s evolution or our own.

— The writer is ex-chairman of UPSC, former Manipur Governor and served as J&K DGP

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