Imagine, being out with your boy friend on a date and suddenly finding the law- in all its majesty- looming large over the two of you, demanding to know your business in the park! The prospect is likely to douse the most romantic of your feelings and by the time it finishes off with you, the boy friend would be quivering like the proverbial quail! That he would have gained a few inches of quadriceps, thanks to the dead squats he has been made to perform, would have been the only bonus.

If news paper reports are to be believed, the law, it seems, was out with full force in Ghaziabad  to “provide maximum security for women” and to “stop innocent girls being trapped by boys with evil motives” for it was customary for eve-teasers to stand outside girl’s schools and colleges “to trap unwitting girls”. The top brass of the district police were reportedly perturbed at the rampant incidents of eve-teasing and had ordered “Operation Majnu” to control it. The result was that the police swooped down, with television crews in tow, on unsuspecting couples cavorting in public parks and generally roughed them up. That the police were led by a woman officer was only incidental! And that the media, gleefully, splashed pictures of the hapless couples, across their front pages, were only to be expected in these present times of the freedom of the press.

It would, of course, not have occurred to the police, that, the only circumstances warranting their intervention in the matter were if the girls were present without their consent or the parties involved were engaged in indecent or obscene acts. Such niceties are, in any case, not expected from a police force which admires Charles’ Dickens! Remember him in Oliver Twist? Did he not say that the law was an ass?

Would you rather risk breaking off with your girl friend than taking her out or be caught dead with your pants down in a park doing the squats? I agree, it’s not much of a choice, but it is not the best of the times either. It is the worst of the times, really. Give it a thought, though.

But if you are still skeptical, you may wish to examine, instead, the question when should a man marry? And since I am a firm believer in learning from the experience and wisdom of the masters, I would urge you to do likewise. Sir Francis Bacon answered this question by saying that, “a young man not yet, an elder man not at all.” And which married man, after his ardour has been cooled by experience, could argue with that!

And if you would still like to take the plunge, you may consider, at least, the question why should a man get married? For love, one might argue. But they say, love is the triumph of imagination over intelligence. And don’t forget Bacon on this. He said, “That it is impossible to love, and be wise.” Would you rather be foolish than wise?

For sex, then? But on this, who but an American actress should have the last word? Zsa Zsa Gabor said, and I quote again, “I know nothing about sex because I was always married.” Think again!

So it is up to you my friends. Learn from the masters and stay happy or get married now and repent later at your leisure. Remember, Mae West, who said that “­­Marriage is a great institution, but I’m not ready for an institution yet.” As for me, I would rather get a dog than a wife because if a dog smells another dog on you, they don’t get mad. They just think it’s interesting!

“The strength of a man isn’t in the weight he can lift.

It’s in the burdens he can carry”………

Oh, how absolutely lovely! I came across this poem, by a fortunate accident, while trawling the net. It is sweet, romantic and poignant. Ms Griffiths, the author, appears to have written it, I presume, for a Mr Hunt D. Rochon. If that be so, it is obvious from the feelings expressed, and how beautifully, that she thinks the world of him. He must be some man, and more, this Mr Rochon!

Here’s the complete poem:

The Strength of a Man

The strength of a man isn’t seen in the width of his shoulders.
It’s in the width of his arms that encircle you.

The strength of a man isn’t in the deep tone of his voice.
It’s in the gentle words he whispers.

The strength of a man isn’t how many buddies he has.
It’s how good a buddy he is with his kids.

The strength of a man isn’t in how respected he is at work.
It’s in how respected he is at home.

The strength of a man isn’t in how hard he hits.
It’s in how tender he touches.

The strength of a man isn’t in the hair on his chest.
It’s in his heart, that lies within his chest.

The strength of a man isn’t how many women he’s loved.
It’s in being true to one woman.

The strength of a man isn’t in the weight he can lift.
It’s in the burdens he can carry.

© July 15, 1999
Jacqueline Marie Griffiths
(written for Hunt D. Rochon)

Ms Griffiths appears to be an enigma, for she leaves no details about herself. From time to time, she visits sites carrying her poem and just leaves a message that her’s was a copyrighted work, which may be used so long as it was not for profit and not in bad taste. I am sharing this poem in the belief that she would not mind it. I wish we knew more about her and Mr. Rochon! But anyway, it’s wishing both of them the best.

He tells their stories as a sympathetic outsider who has been long enough in the country not to perpetuate any western myths about them. They are easy to read and relate to, as his style is simple and unencumbered without any literary flourishes or pretences. Some of them are about ordinary folks living ordinary lives like that of Ram Chander, his servant. Mark’s visit to his village to attend his daughter’s wedding became an event in their lives. Roop Kunwar’s life was equally non-descript until she became a sati. The narrative, about what her family and her community feel about the unfortunate happening and what the feminists make of the same, explains the disconnect between the ordinary folk and the western educated lot in the country.Some stories like that of Operation Black Thunder are about momentous events which come but once in a nation’s life but change it forever. The Kumbh Mela and the Rewriting of the Ramayan tell us of the simple beliefs of countless people for whom religion is a way of life despite much tall talk of secularism in the country. The Typhoon in Ahmedabad is about ordinary people coping with communal riots and yet believing that only a few of the ‘other side’ were driven to murder at the behest of the politicians. There are other equally engrossing stories.

Mark has a theory about India. He believes that it “is a land dominated by foreign thinking.” Its ‘ruling elite’ have adopted western social, economic, scientific and political concepts in a bid to emulate their erstwhile colonial masters. They are looking for solutions to her problems without adapting western knowledge to her genius. The stories about the common man, however, prove that they are still rooted in their traditions and beliefs. Indian life is complex. It is not cut and dried according to any one formula.That is why he says that there are no full stops in India.

Though this book was first published in 1991, subsequent events have only underlined the accuracy of his diagnosis. We have, since then, embarked on a quest for a future based on the “trickle -down effect” of western economic philosophy which has widened the gulf between the richest and the poorest. It is, however, a moot issue whether we will be first overtaken by the wrath of the “have-nots” before its benefits trickle down to the last of them.

Corbett is best known for his encounters with man eaters. But those are not the only stories that he wrote. He recounts his childhood years in this little known book-Jungle Lore. His family had a summer home in Nainital and they walked down fifteen miles to Kaladhungi for the winters. It was here that he absorbed much from the book of nature, which in his own words “has no beginning, as it has no end.” The jungle surrounding their estate, much of it now gone, then teemed with an abundance of birds, animals and crawling creatures. He learnt to recognise them by their tracks, habits and language. Fear taught him to walk stealthily, climb trees, shoot accurately and often enough to pick up his feet and run for dear life! No wonder he says that he came in physical contact with a wild animal only once in his life!

He has an easy conversational style and a keen eye for detail which makes the reader feel as he himself is present in the jungle and participating in the proceedings. His wry sense of humour comes through occasionally and more often than not the joke is on himself only. Though he killed many animals, both for food and sport, he does not come across as a wanton killer. His respect for nature and the part played by each animal in its scheme is all too evident to be ignored. He had realized in his life time only that the jungle and its folk were threatened and he gave up the gun for the pen and the camera. One message that shines through clearly in this book is his love and sensitivity for the natural world and all its residents-winged, bipeds, quadrupeds or crawlers.

Truly, an exciting read and a must for any one even remotely interested in the jungle and the jungle folk.

It is against this backdrop that David Davidar weaves his story of three generations of Dorais- the traditional headmen of a village on the Coromandel Coast. Solomon, the grandfather- the archetypal headman- is confronted by an equally powerful rival. Inevitably, the clash of the titans leaves the village in ruins. It is left to his rather ‘effete’ son-Daniel- to don his mantle and repopulate the village while Aaron-the younger son, cast more in his mould, is caught up in the nationalist movement and dies as a result of torture in a British prison. Kannan- the grandson- estranges his father by marrying an Anglo-Indian girl and settles on a tea estate as a planter- a brown sahib. He, too, however cannot resist the call of his native soil and eventually returns to the village where his father had constructed a grand mansion- Neelam Illum or the house of blue mangoes.

The plot is simple. The characters, both Indian and British, appear real. Their relationships- of love, hate, rivalries, and politics- seem so familiar. The everyday incidents in their lives-births, marriages, feasts, deaths- happen in our lives too. The pace of the narrative is not frantic. Yet, the book is entertaining. Its effect lies in the extraordinary skill with which different strands of these lives have been woven into a coherent whole. The prose is charming and evocative. It vividly captures the beauty of the landscape and nuances of Indian life.

There is only one complaint that I have. The book could have been much shorter without compromising on its  value. Some of the incidents, for instance, the search for the best mangoes and the story about the man-eating tiger are wholly unnecessary. But, nevertheless, it is an engrossing story and recommended highly.

William Dalrymple is an acclaimed travel writer. His book, Nine Lives- In Search of the Sacred in Modern India,   is also a search for the exotic in modern India. The idea of the book occurred to him during a trek to Kedarnath where he met a naga sadhu who was formerly a ‘cosmopolitan’ corporate ‘high flyer’. The sheer incongruity of such a character in modern India set him in search of the place of spirituality in contemporary Indian society. His quest took him across India during which he discovered a Jain mataji or nun in Sravanbelgola, a dalit theyyam dancer in Kerala, a devdasi or a woman who is ‘dedicated’ to a goddess in Karnataka, a traditional Rajasthani singer or bhopa, a lady fakir at a sufi shrine in rural Sindh, a Tibetan lama or monk who was formerly a soldier, a south Indian sculptor, a Bengali lady tantric and a baul or Bengali folk singer. He does not tell us whether he just chanced upon them in his wanderings but one is left with a lingering feeling that the cast was carefully assembled to pander to a primarily Western readership.

He sets about ‘bringing the lives of the people I have met to the fore and placing their stories firmly centre stage’ as ‘the people I met were so extraordinary, and their own stories and voices so strong.’ He hoped ‘to avoid many of the clichés about Mystic India that blight so much of Western writing on Indian religion’ by just providing a ‘frame’  and ‘with each of the characters telling his or her own story.’ Unfortunately, he only ends up reinforcing the very stereotypes that he had hoped to avoid.

One may very well ask what makes these characters eligible for being included in this book. Are they unconventional? Yes-for they are a minority; and no, they are all a part of a long-standing tradition familiar to Indians. In fact, they are simply incongruous in modern India, a dying breed, exotic and bizarre at the same time. And that is why they are in the book.

The clichés about India abound in descriptions of the practice of sallekhana or death by starvation among the Jains and how Hari Das, the theyyam dancer is possessed and transformed into the god Vishnu. The same are perpetrated by references to women ‘married’ to a god and forced to prostitute themselves. The author reinforces them further by descriptions of a ‘huge, dark-skinned, red-clad woman of between fifty and sixty, dancing with an enormous wooden club’ at a sufi shrine and of a lady tantric sitting ‘amid smoking funerals of the cremation ground’ and exhorting him to ‘first find the right corpse’ before he drank from a skull. He pontificates on erotico-mystical rites including ‘oral ingestion of sexual fluids’, ‘forbidden substances and practices-alcohal, ganja and ritualized sex, sometimes with menstruating women’ and animal sacrifices in which the body ‘lay writhing on the ground.’

No doubt, the stories of these people would appear compelling to Dalrymple’s Western readers but to Indians neither the cast nor the setting is unfamiliar. This book is meant for the firangi, a good read before embarking on their own quest of the ‘mystical’. We don’t need a five-page glossary to understand aarti and agarbatti!

It has been reported, that, the court has ruled recently that sex outside marriage amounted to rape. It denied anticipatory bail to a man for this reason. The bare facts of the case were, that, a man engaged to a woman had repeated consensual sexual intercourse with her. When he refused to marry her, she filed a police case alleging rape. The court held, that, sex on the basis of a false promise of marriage amounted to rape. Normally, the Indian law defines rape as sexual intercourse when it is:- 

i)          Against the will of the woman;

ii)         Without her consent;

iii)         With her consent, if she has been put under fear of death or hurt;

iv)        With her consent when the man knows that he is not her husband but she believes he is;

v)         With her consent, if it is obtained under unsoundness of her mind or intoxication etc; and

vi)        With her consent if she is less than sixteen years of age.  

Even consensual sex, therefore, is rape under the last four conditions. Now, the court has added another category-when consent is obtained on a false promise of marriage-when it will be considered as an incident of rape. The new expanded meaning has been taken, ostensibly, for protecting innocent girls from victimization and exploitation by unscrupulous and mischievous persons who take undue advantage by promising marriage with them. 

Normally, the accused in a rape case is required to prove his innocence, as the victim’s statement is taken to be true. This is so as it is generally believed, that, no Indian woman would level false charges for fear of social ridicule. In the present case, since the two were engaged, it was not difficult to draw an inference, that, she might have consented because they were in any case to be married. But it may be difficult in other cases to prove whether a false promise was held out or not. If a woman, therefore, alleges rape on this ground, the boy friend may land in serious trouble.

So if you would rather be safe and not sorry-ABSTAIN.

He reached India when Muhammad Tuglak was the Sultan at Delhi. He favoured foreigners over Indians and most of his courtiers, officers, generals and relatives were foreigners. Battuta appears to have heard of this and came in the hope of benefitting from his largesse. He was not disappointed as the Sultan was pleased with him and appointed him the qazi of Delhi on an annual salary of 12000 dinaars and other gifts.

Battuta lived in Delhi for nine years, married several times and fathered many children. He admits in his book that he was perpetually in debt and the Sultan had to bail him out from time to time. He was generally well received by the Sultan, but feared for his life from his eccentricities. Battuta thought that the Sultan was generous, well read and religious but ruthless and blood-thirsty. He had people beheaded, quartered, trampled upon by elephants or even skinned alive routinely.  Battuta has described several incidents of his blood lust when many well-known and respected persons were killed at the slightest pretext. He served the Sultan for many years but still feared for his life. So he begged leave of the Sultan to go on Hajj, which was actually a polite way of running away. However, he was appointed ambassador to China and was ship wrecked at Calicut while on his way there. Having lost all the gifts that the Sultan had sent with him, he did not return to Delhi fearing his wrath and went to Maldives instead.

Battuta must have been a keen observer with a fantastic memory as he has commented minutely on what he saw or heard when he was in India.He marvelled at the excellent postal system then prevailing in India. It was of two kinds- through horse and on foot. Horses were provided by the Sultan and were changed every four kos or miles. For the other type, there were Dawah or stage posts every 1/3 Kos or mile where runners or Harkaras would be waiting. They carried bamboo poles, on one end of which were tied brass bells. They would start running the moment they received a letter and on reaching the next stage hand it over to the next person who having been alerted by the sound of bells, would carry the letter at full speed. This was even faster than sending post by horses and it reached the sultan at Delhi in five days from Multan. If it were true, it must be said that the system was quite efficient!

He recalled having seen a rhinoceros after crossing the Indus. This is quite remarkable as rhinoceros are now found only in north-eastern India. He has described Indian fruits like mango, jack-fruit, jamun, mahua and pomegranate; grains like rice, wheat, and barley; lentils like moong, moth, chana etc. He wrote that khichri with ghee was a popular dish and samosas, chapattis, pooris, and halwa were served at meals. The diet of the commoner was of coarse grains like barley and maize. Indians used to eat pickles and relishes also. They used to put mustard oil in their hair and offered betel leaves and nuts as mark of respect. Coal was unknown then, sati was prevalent, Ganga was revered and Hindus were obsessed with purity and pollution. He has described Indian coins, weights and measurements and a thousand other details about the daily lives of Indians which make for wonderful reading.

 Though Battuta wrote ( or rather dictated) his book in the fourteenth century, he remained generally obscure till the nineteenth century when he was rediscovered and translated in English and other languages. Now thanks to Gulzar he may gain another lease of life. Amen!

Al-Biruni was a prolific writer, for it is mentioned that the weight of his books exceeded a camel’s load! Among the many books that he wrote, Kitabu’l Hind stands unparalleled in the range of topics that it examined concerning the Hindus. How and why did he get interested in the lives of Hindus is not sure, but he was deeply interested in mathematics and astronomy, subjects on which there was considerable Hindu literature. He must have had access to such literature and also contact with learned pundits who may have similarly been held hostage at Ghazani. Whatever may have been his motivation for studying Hindu society, his work provides a deep insight into those distant times.

His book digs deep into Hindu religion, science, literature, philosophy, social organization, geography, astronomy, life, customs, festivals etc. There is hardly a subject which he left untouched. His work was perhaps the first major exposition of Hindu thought and life by an Islamic scholar and it sheds great light on the then Hindu society which then was facing a challenge to its very existence from Muslim invaders. Though Islam came to India in the eighth century from the Arabian Peninsula, it was then limited to certain areas in Sindh only. Mahmud of Ghazani was the first to systematically exploit the fissures in the Hindu society and launch a sustained attack on Hindu kingdoms all over the north and the west.

Al-Biruni was aware of the deep differences between the Hindu and Islamic way of life. He observed that Hindus were so different in all aspects of their language, religion, manners, usages and customs from Muslims ‘as to frighten their children with us.’ Their aversion against Muslims increased with the conquest by Mahmud by whose exploits ‘the Hindus became like atoms of dust scattered in all directions.’ He thought that ‘the Hindus believe that there is no country but theirs, no nation like theirs, no king like theirs, no religion like theirs, no science like theirs. They are haughty, foolishly vain, self- conceited, and stolid. They are by nature niggardly in communicating that which they know, and they take the greatest possible care to withhold it from men of another caste among their own people, still much more, of course, from any foreigner. According to their belief, there is no other country on earth but theirs, no other race of man but theirs, and no created beings besides them have any knowledge or science whatsoever. Their haughtiness is such that, if you tell them of any science or scholar in Khurasan and Persis, they will think you to be both an ignoramus and a liar.’ He however acknowledged that ‘If they traveled and mixed with other nations, they would soon change their mind, for their ancestors were not as narrow-minded as the present generation is …’

Though his views on Hindus need to be examined in the overall context of his work but there is no gainsaying the fact that eleventh century Hindu society was moribund, stagnant and inward looking for a variety of reasons. It had lost the glory that it once had and it seemed to want to wish away the foreigners by erecting mental walls against them. If only they had taken Al-Biruni’s reality check seriously, their history might have been different!