The Tribune - Windows - This Above All (original) (raw)

EARLIER COLUMNS Vajpayee, the poet January 12, 2002 When Indian writers meet January 5, 2002 Behind the mask of a terrorist December 29, 2001 An exercise in futility December 15, 2001 The power of self-destruction December 1, 2001 Jaipur and its Rajmata November 24, 2001 Meting out humiliation as punishment November 10, 2001 Women like her do not die... November 3, 2001 The Karnataka-Canada connection October 27, 2001 Making English an Indian language October 20, 2001 Worshipping the mother of all rivers October 13, 2001 Salman Rushdie: Genius or eccentric? September 29, 2001 A Telugu saga set in 19th century September 22, 2001 A blot on the face of Mother India September 15, 2001 Leaving for the heavenly abode September 8, 2001 Controlling the urge to backchat September 1, 2001

Freeing oneself of ambition, though it lightens the burden of life to a great extent, leaves a certain sense of regret for failing to have achieved it and also leaves one envious of those who have done better. Envy is insidious and can spread like cancer from inside and ruin one�s peace of mind. You owe it to yourself to get the better of it because mere passage of time does not lessen it. Running down people who have done well only adds fuel to the fire. It is strange that we do not envy the success of people we do not know but find it difficult to stomach the success of people close to us � our brothers, cousins and friends. We may go to their homes to congratulate them with bouquets of flowers and embrace them but inside we feel all burnt up. It is much easier to love and sympathise with people who have suffered setbacks in life � so perverse is human nature. I do not know how exactly one can eradicate envy. I know prayer and temple-going do not help one bit. The more effective way is to ponder over it in silence and ask yourself: "Why does that fellow�s success hurt me?" The answer you will give yourself is "because I am a small man. I will try to be a bigger man and can become one if I get envy out of my system." Our real ambassadors Seven years or so ago I got an invitation to deliver lectures in some Norwegian universities. I knew no one in Norway. I reached Oslo on a mid-winter evening to find snow piled high along the runways. The first people to greet me were a group of Sardars and a fat Sardarni, holding placards that read "Go home, traitor". This was at the height of the Khalistani agitation. Two men, a Norwegian professor and an Indian who introduced himself as Harcharan Chawla, rescued me from the demonstrators and drove me to my hotel. The government posted a security guard in the hotel lobby. I did my rounds of lectures in distant snow-bound university towns and ended my trip with four days in Oslo. Harcharan Chawla arranged a few meetings with local Indians, Pakistanis and the Press. The Ambassador was kind enough to arrange a small party for me. I forget his name. But Chawla�s name remains etched in my memory. Although he and his wife Purnima had made their home in Oslo and taken Norwegian citizenship, they remained as Indian as if they had never left their mother country. Both were into writing. Harcharan�s first language was Urdu. He continued writing novels, poems, memoirs and travelogues in Urdu and then in Hindi and Punjabi as well. He went on to translate Scandinavian classics: Hans Andersen�s fairy tales and Nobel Laureate Knut Hamsun�s Viktoria in both Urdu and Hindi. He won several awards from literary bodies of different countries. Chawla and his wife visited India as often as they could and then proceeded to Australia where their daughters had settled. On their visit to Delhi two years ago, Purnima was taken ill and died. She wanted to die in her homeland. Last December, Harcharan died in Oslo. In every country I have visited I have met one or two Indians dedicated to spreading India�s message to the people of the country of their domicile. Ambassadors appointed by the government do their term of three years and are soon forgotten. Though these men and women carry foreign passports, they remain ever conscious of their roots and spread the Indian ittar (perfume) wherever they are. Let the children take over They may not know economics, politics, diplomacy, They may not be able to rewrite history, They may not know how to pit street against street, They may not be able to rend the sky with war cry, They may not plan and execute a sly ambush, They may not be able to make millions out of UTI, They may not have perfected demagogy yet, They may not be able to generate sufficient hatred, They may ask for love and equality instead, They may think of happiness, laughter, play grounds, They might commit the sin of innocence, idealism, honesty, They might lisp, be playful and offend our ponderousness, They might banish prejudice, prudery, even hypocrisy They might outlaw war and harm arms industry, And in this world, at home with anxiety, Like birds, they might sing and dance � These risks are certainly there, but I think, They should be given a chance. (Courtesy: Kuldip Salil, Delhi) Punjabi Angrezi Teacher of a primary school in Punjab advised his class in the best traditions of Punjabi English: "When you are empty meet me behind the class." On another occasion he told them if they had any question to ask: "Stand your hand". Once when he had some problem with his eyes, he sent an application to the Principal asking for leave: "Sir, I cannot come to school because my eyes have come. I will report for duty when they go." (Contributed by J.P. Singh Kaka, Bhopal)