Bhopal Notes :: 72 :: Ridge Road half done despite minister’s intervention

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I nave several times used this column to project the difficulties of my neighbourhood where for want of a decent road life seemed to have gone haywire. Around five years ago the Mayor had happened to visit the neighbourhood and had found the Ridge Road in a deplorable condition so much so that he promised to build a cement concrete road for the benefit of the residents. More than four years went by and the new cement concrete road was nowhere in sight. A new election for the municipal councilors is now in sight. But before that the state elections took place in which the ruling dispensation, BJP, lost and a state government led by Indian National Congress is in position.

Last February when 40 CRPF policemen lost their lives there was a general feeling of outrage in the country and people assembled at Martyrs’ Memorials in their respective towns to pay homage. The local MP and the new Minister for Housing and Urban Development (a Cornell University Graduate and son of former chief minister Digvijay Singh) happened to visit the Bhopal Memorial which is very close to Idgah Hills. Some enterprising residents took both of them on a ride on various Idgah Hills Roads in order to give them a feel of the condition of the roads. Having seen for themselves the condition they let loose their ire on the municipality officials and the councilors concerned.

Promptly roadbuilding material and equipment were sighted on the road. The road building commenced earlier this month but, alas, it is yet to be completed. The contractor two works simultaneously and would work each of them for two days and move on to the other for thenext few days The result wase quite by design of the contractor we were imprisoned within the confines of our house as he blocked the exits on both sides.

The road largely remained undone With the festival of Holi commencing, the work was stopped and is expected to recommence after 31^st March when the last of the series of festivals “Dol gyaras” is to be celebrated.

One does not know what action the MP and the Minister are going to take against the contractor and the officials concerned for the serious inconvenience caused for years together to the people residing on the Ridge Road. The primary responsibility should be that of the municipal councilor who should be  hauled up. One hopes the minister who is in charge of Urban Development does something like this so that others in the municipality look sharp about providing due facilities and conveniences to the people in good time

Kashmir 50 years ago :: 10 :: Army "Bara Khana"

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The road to Baramula

The colleagues from the Army Postal Services came calling one afternoon. They had come to invite me for their Bara Khana at Baramula. The khana was to commence late in the evening and go on till about10 in the night. Army Bara Khanas are meals in which all ranks join and they eat together. Despite the strict hierarchical system the Army men become somewhat socialistic on such days and freely mix with all ranks.

Initially I was reluctant to travel 30–odd miles just for a khana. But then our Deputy Director, CP Thomas, also got an invite. He rang up to say that we would be going giving me no option. I said my car was all jacked up for the winter and hence could not move an inch but he said we would be using his car. He had a 1964 Herald and was a sheer beauty to drive. I agreed and two other friends joined in. One was Udipto Ghosh of the IAS J&K and the other was Jyoti Mathur, DAG in the office of AG J&K.

 As Army bashes generally have booze flowing Thomas said that I would drive on the way up and he would do so on the return journey since he would be abstaining from alcohol. That was fair and we commenced our journey around  four in the afternoon Thomas’s Herald was a sheer beauty to drive and the road, a single lane affair, was superb. We were there in under two hours.

Baramoola, as is well known, was a place that the Pakistani raiders had settled down to loot, plunder, rape and indulge in butchery during the raid on Kashmir in 1947-48. It played no mean role in 1965 as this was the most used route for infiltrators who, unfortunately for Pakistani dictator  Ayub Khan, got caught by Kashmiris contributing largely to the failure of his Operation Gibraltar. But as we travelled down the road to the town it was as peaceful as one could expect in normal times.

The “Bara Khana” was a leisurely affair. We were introduced to the unit heads over drinks. Thomas scrupulously avoided alcohol. The “Khana” was held, if I recall,  under a huge tent and the atmosphere was festive. Senior officers came and met their men and junior officers over either drinks or the seniors tried to force-feed their juniors. I had no experience of such a “khana” but it was fun. The great camaraderie on display among the men and officers was somewhat infectious; one thought it was a great way of keeping up the morale of the fighting forces and their ancillary services. There was nothing of this kind in the civil side of the government.

Around 10 in the evening we bid good bye to our hosts and commenced our drive back to Srinagar. As was the understanding, Thomas took the wheel. We were a foursome and yet there was very little conversation. I think our luck was somewhat out as soon it started drizzling. The smooth road became slippery and the front windshield would fog out needing repeated wiping by a piece of cloth which Mr. Thomas would keep on top of the dashboard.

Once, it seems, he did not find the cloth where he remembered to have kept it and looked for it taking his eyes off the road and what happened next was catastrophic. Instead of taking the bend he drove into it where there was no road and the car took a few somersaults before it came to rest, mercifully, on its four wheels. The engine died but the lights were on. The rear wind shield seemed to have flown off allowing a huge mass of mud to come in and land on us sitting on the rear seats.

The lights revealed to us that we had taken a fall of about twenty feet from the edge of the road. Thankfully none was hurt, we had fallen into a bog with ankle-deep water and this water and the soft earth had, probably, cushioned the fall. The other lucky part was soon revealed and that was we were close to Srinagar.

We extricated ourselves with great difficulty from the two-door car only to find our feet sinking in ankle-deep waters. We managed to wade through the bog and climbed the steep slippery escarpment to get on to the asphalt that we had inadvertently left few moments ago. Mathur could recognize the lighted area and was happy to find his house not too far. We all trudged to his house leaving the car in the bog. It was cold and  my woollen clothes, as indeed those of others, were sogging wet; worse, they had mud and muck on them in generous quantities from the bog.

Mathur tried to be hospitable and wanted us to spend the night at his place. That was impossible as, like most of us, he was a bachelor. Wishing him all the best, Thomas and I started out in the forbidding overcast night for our respective homes. A casual glance at my watch revealed it was around 2 AM. Both of us had a common path up to Residency Road. So we did left-right, left right and walked out of Jawhar Nagar, came to Amirakadal, the first bridge of Srinagar. We passed by its market and arrived at Lal Chowk close to which was the Central Telegraph Office. Thomas used to live nearby and hence he cut across to get to his place. I knew Mrs. Thomas would give him hell.

 I marched on alone down the Residency Road as I had some more length to cover. Not a soul was in sight; my leather heels hitting the tarmac seemingly sounded inordinately loud. A fleeting thought came to me that in this surrounding loneliness I was a sitting duck. Anybody could stick a knife into me. But, no, those days were different and it was safe; I had company of a few stray dogs that trotted along till I reached the gate of my residence. I climbed up to my quarters. As I shook off the soggy clothes and the boots I mumbled to myself “what a horrid wet and mucky day!”

*Photo from internet

Destinations :: Edinburgh

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Edinburgh Castle from Royal Mile

This was the first time I ever sat in a bus with a toilet. We were off to Edinburgh from London in a National Express bus that wouldn’t stop anywhere on its route. It had only a minor stop at Milton Keynes where India had lost a Hockey match a few weeks back. But we were nowhere near the town. Likewise the stop at Newcastle-on-Tyne too was also for a short while away from the town.  

Passengers had to make do with the toilet that was onboard to cater to around 25 or 30 of them. Refreshments could be bought in the bus – the usual fare of sandwiches and coffee. With these amenities one did mot really feel the strain of atravel of around nine hours. to the city of Sir Walter Scott and Robert Louis Stevenson.

Skyline of Od Town Edinburgh

As we got off the bus we checked with a transport official the way to our B&B. As we moved towards the bus stop on the Princes Street I could hear the faint strains of pipe being played by somebody. As we got on to the bus I saw a piper in full regalia playing on his pipe standing on the pavement. I don’t know whether the piper was trying to makes ome money but the strains that emanated from his pipe were very soft and pleasant on the ear

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We were headed for Broughton Street past the old Theatre  

Royal. Broughton Street was close to Princes Street and what was more interesting was that on the ground floor of our B&B were two shops run by Indian migrants selling mostly Indian snacks. I saw appetizing samosas kept in the hotcase.

Edinburgh is dominated by Edinburgh Castle on the Castle Hill. It is reputed to be a place inhabited from as far back as

University of Edinburgh

the iron age. It, however, exchanged hands several times and has, therefore, been witness to a lot of blood and gore. Marie Queen of Scots gave birth to James VI in Royal Palace in 1566. From 1600 it held a garrison and later even hosted prisoners of wars. It continues to be a military base and at the same time is also a part of Edinburgh World Heritage Site.

Edinburgh has two iconic roads - Princes Street and the Royal Mile. The Princes Street was named after two sons of George III. Over decades it has changed as the road was planned and

Old Town Edinburgh

re-planned with the buildings having to abide by fresh municipal instructions. It is on this street that the Gothic Walter Scott Memorial is located close to Princes Street Gardens. RL Stevenson, if I remember, used to live somewhere off the Princess Street.

A spanking new mall too was located on this Street. It was named  Waverley – a name that rang a bell. I seemed to have heard it earlier. Long years ago our friend Vikram Shitole came down from Woodstock in Mussourie to pursue a regular Matriculation course instead of the one of American High

School Graduation. Being a young man he used to talk about the girls in the neighbouring Convent the name of which happened to be Waverley. That’s it; after years I again came across this name and that too as the name of a shopping complex. Later, however, I came to know that even the name of the Edinburgh Railway Station too was Waverley.

The other iconic street in Edinburgh is the Royal Mile. The rock on which the Edinburgh Castle stands is between Princes Street and Royal Mile. The Royal Mile is, in fact, a succession of streets intersected by what are known as “closes” from the Castle Gate down to the Hollyrood Palace where the British monarch comes and stays. The distance from the Castle Gate to the Gate of the Palace is approximately a mile. The Royal Mile is a crowded thoroughfare mostly busy with the activities related to tourism.

 It is a distinguished part of the Old Town and, naturally exploited and capitalized for tourism. No wonder Edinburgh is the second most important city for tourism in UK after London. Standing on the Royal Mile one can see a succession

The Royal Milee

of old residential constructions, religious places as well as othe structures that were used for purposes of governance. In the midst of all these one has the Castle, with its walls and the grounds green with trees sloping towards the Royal Mile. It has that touristy atmosphere a whiff of which we got while taking a ride in an open-top bus.

The railway station is stuated in a steep valley between the Princes Street and the Royal Mile. The railway was allowed after a stout fight  between the residents of then newly built residences who did not want the smoke from the steam engines to pollute the air and ruin their health. The railway with its station and other paraphernalia remained in the valley and to mask the effects of smoke in the area the residents built

On the Princes Steet

up gardens that are now known as the Princes Street gardens. To go across to the Royal Mile or the Old Town bridges were built for the benefit of travelers and commuters. The net result is that in Edinburgh you hear the railway engines but never ever see them.

We had a pleasant a stay of less than a week though if one went by what Stevenson said about the weather there one wouldn’t find it pleasant. We confronted rain only once but Stevenson complained of “rain, damp and blustery winds”. He wrote about the Edinburgh weather saying “ the delicate die early, and I as a survivor among bleak winds and plumping rain, have been sometimes tempted to envy them their fates. For all who love shelter and blessings of  the sun and perpetual tilting against squalls, there could scarcely be found

Walter Scott Memorial

a more unhomely and harassing place of residence”.

This he said about Edinburgh and reckoning the current

number of tourist footfalls in the town one would scarcely give any credence to such dark prognostications about the weather. One can only say how wrong he was in his perception of the town’s weather. Perhaps, his bronchial condition made him see darkness where, perhaps, there was light.

Memories of an ordinary Indian :: 19 :: Graduation and post graduation

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Clearing the Intermediate examination was, in fact, clearing the stage of higher secondary education. My higher education truly started as I stepped into the III and IV years of the college. I chose Political Science, Geography and English Literature for the graduate course of two years, both having examinations conducted by the Agra University to which the College was affiliated at that point in time. Much earlier, it was affiliated to Calcutta University, Allahabad University, etc. Later, of course the college was tagged on to Vikram University in Ujjain before it was brought under Gwalior’s own University.

Before I speak further on my years in the college, insignificant though they were, I might as well write down a few lines about the College building. For a place like Gwalior, then wallowing in the backwaters of the country, it was something to be proud of. While the building in which we studied was built during 1879-1891 the College was established in 1846 and was known as Lashkar Madarsa - Lashkar being the name of the town. It was renamed as Victoria College in 1887. Although located in Gwalior. later it was ironically renamed, not after a Scindia but after Maharani Laxmi Bai of Jhansi who was denied assistance by the Scindias to fight the British during the 1857 Mutiny or the First War of Independence, whatever one may like to call it. Finding her situation hopeless she decided to end her life at Gwalior where she was camping. The College (MLB College for short) is currently known as Maharani Laxmi Bai College of Excellence.

Built in the then prevailing Indo- Saracenic style, the structure is constructed of sandstone procured from what was then known as Rajputana. Even the workers were brought from there and Gujarat. The trellises on the porch and on the storey above are typical of Rajasthan. Its rooms have 25 to 35 feet high ceilings to keep them cool during the hot summers of Gwalior. I remember the tall doors, of teak and frosted glass, on which were writ large two alphabets: VC for Victoria College

 What was most interesting was the stairway for going up to the first floor. The first flight of it would commence from two sides as one entered the building from the porch after going across a wide verandah that went round the building. The first flight would end at a wall and the second flight moved along it up to the second landing and then two flights from the two sides would climb and converge on a landing that was suspended in the air, From there two flights took off rising in two opposite directions – one for the Union Hall and the other for the classes. It was somewhat like the stairways of palaces of royalty, shorn of all their embellishments, seen in the Hollywood films of the 1950s.

  The building used to look so balanced with its two wings and the clock tower in the middle seemingly piercing the sky. That balance has been destroyed by installation of a statue of Maharani Laxmi Bai very close to its porch - as if naming the College after her was not enough. We Indians are too fond of statues. For decades the College used to dominate the skyline of the town and the hourly chimes of the clock used to be heard right inside the bazaars a mile or so away. My mother used to work by that chime and her blood pressure would rise if she happened to be unable to complete her targeted chores by the time the clock struck one in the afternoon.

Built on many acres of land, it had a sand stone compound wall all around it which was brought down by some mad cap who replaced it with very pedestrian-looking hideous compound walls. It had extensive grounds for cricket, football and hockey, spaces for badminton and tennis courts, a gymnasium and some massive trees.

When I joined the College I somehow felt proud as not only my father was a teacher here, all my elder siblings had gone through its portals – some had passed out and the rest were still working through their respective courses. The College was so much with us, so well entwined with our lives that we were happy to be there as indeed, I remembered, I used to be happy to be there with my father years ago in the evenings during my childhood.

For graduate courses some of the professors used to be top class and some others were better than ordinary. Our Political Science professor who used to take classes on Political Thought was a Ph. D. from the London School of Economics where he happened to have been taught by none other than Harold Laski. The Head of the Department of Geography, Prof MA Qureshy, a very close friend of my father, was also exceptional.

The faculty would be very helpful and go out of their way to assist the students to come to grips with the subject.  I remember one of the Political Science lecturers was so committed that he invited a visiting professor from the US and requested him to take four lectures on the US Constitution when we were in III year. His name was Schleicher and was perhaps in the faculty of Oregon University. He had come to India on the invitation of Indian Council of World Affairs at New Delhi of which our lecturer too was a member.

As I entered the BA classes I lost a few friends and acquired some new ones. Among the new ones were mostly sons of Maratha feudal all of whom barring one have passed on. The only one remaining and whose father was a government servant, Udaisingh Ingle is still around. So are others like Ramesh Tiwari, DVS Kapil. While Kapil now spends six months every year in the US with his two sons I should like to dilate a bit on Tiwari.

Ramesh Tiwari was senior to me in the College but I just do not remember how I got to know him. He was doing his B.Sc. Having scraped through, he switched to Geography for post graduation and obtained a good Second Div. That wouldn’t have taken him anywhere but for his prowess, despite his bulk, in Cricket, Hockey and Football which fetched him a placement in Bishop Cotton School, an old and reputed public school in Simla. He chucked that job for personal reasons and joined Yadvendra Public School in Patiala. For a boy from a family of modest resources he was pretty enterprising. Throwing the Patiala job he moved to Nairobi to teach in one of the public schools there. While teaching there, he somehow insinuated himself into Reading University in UK and started working on his Ph.D. With a doctorate in his bag, he got appointed in the University of Manitoba at Winnipeg. Before leaving for Winnipeg he came to our place at Bhopal in 1965 from where he called me asking me to go over to meet him. I was in Raipur that was 24 hours away by train. That’s when he revealed his plans to get married to an English girl who is still with him.

He has been a friend for around sixty years, but if one were to ask me, I wouldn’t know how he infiltrated into our household and of all the people, became pally with my mother who was generally known as Hitler among my friends. He came to know very well everyone of my family – all my brothers two of whom are no more.

I passed my bachelor’s examination with a high second division and opted for Masters in Political Science in clearing which, too, I did very well. In those days first divisions were very hard to come by. Only two of my siblings obtained them – one in Zoology and the other, my sister, in Geography. My eldest brother topped the University but missed I Class. I too suffered the same fate.

*Photo from internet

Destinations :: London

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From Margate we headed for London. A distance of about 150 kms takes little more than two hours. As we had taken a bus it took us to the central depot known rather archaically as the Victoria Coach Station near Victoria Station also called London Victoria. Known as Belgravia, we arrived at seemingly a very fine place. We had bookings in a

Westminster

B&B joint in one of the outfits located, I was informed, in one of the buildings that were built with the money of East India Company.

I would rather not describe all that I saw in London, which in any case was much less than what I would have liked, as many of my friends must have been to London and have had a better induction into the city. We spent only three or four days and the sightseeing was also not quite structured. We would generally hop into “hop on,

Big Ben from a nearby bridge

hop off” bus and see whatever we could. It was such a pity that we passed by Piccadilly Circus, May Fair, Hyde Park, etc on an “hop on, hop off” bus which perhaps would have been better viewed from ground level while walking through them. I took some pictures – some of them came off well and some are of indifferent quality. Nonetheless, they provide me with the feeling of having been to one of the greatest metropolises in the world and, that too. on my own steam.

The other thing is about British Tourism’ efficiency and dedication. We hed personal experience of their

At carnaby Street

comprehensive attempts to cater to the needs of tourists. When my wife, after waiting in a queue for a good part of an hour, got to interact with the lady across the counter it turned out to be complete and comprehensive job. My wife booked two-ways ticket to and from Edinburgh, a B&B joint in Edinburgh and London, a bus ticket to

At Trafalgar Square

Ramsgate for our return journey and our tickets for the catamaran for getting back to Oostend. For the B&B at Edinburgh she had to call various joints to check availability and eventually fixed one for us near the old Theatre. What was amazing that she never complained for putting load on her which she seemed to bear quite happily. Along with her patience I also admired the

patience of those who were waiting in the queue.

Sitting on the steps of Queen Victoria Memorial I kept staring at the Buckingham Palace. It was as unimpressive as Westminster was impressive. It was like a block of stone without any distinctive character. Maybe, it was gorgeous inside but from outside it was as plain as ever, even pedestrian. From childhood we had heard of Buckingham Palace but when I was up in front of it was disappointing. Our Gwalior Palace of the Scindias is much better looking. Designed by an unknown architect, Michael Filose, it is grand from outside and inside.

From my scrapbook :: 10 :: What makes a tree

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Almost every day we see trees all around us. We admire them and like their blooms and their fragrance. We are generally awed by the changes that occur to them with changing seasons. We are also fond of the benefits that they offer to all of us. We, however, mercilessly cut them down when they come in the way of our progress or prosperity. Nonetheless, trees are integral to our lives and yet we seldom pause to think what exactly a tree is. Not many would be able to provide an answer.

This was exactly the situation that was faced by several Australian councils while working together on several road building projects. Road building generally involves in cutting down the trees that interfere with the proposed alignment and come in the way. But when the councillors came up against the nitty-gritty of the project they came upon the difficult question of what a tree, in fact, was, that is to say what would be called a tree and not a shrub or a bush. None could provide a satisfactory answer.

One city council thought it was “a self-supporting plant with a woody or fibrous stem”, another thought it had a “height equal to or exceeding 4 metres”. Another council believed more in form rather than a tree’s size and thought a tree had to have a “distinctly elevated crown”. Yet another council went into specifics and believed a tree had to be a “woody perennial plant equal to or more than 4 metres in height, with a trunk diameter equal to or exceeding 150 mm measured at 1.4 metres above the ground”.

Eventually the government of New South Wales, finding the councils of the local governments bumbling around, decided to intervene and resolve the issue once for all. It gave its own definition of a tree which was “a long-lived perennial plant greater than, or usually greater than, three metres in height with only one or relatively few main stems or trunks”.

Everybody was happy with the government’s definition and that seems like settled the matter and the process of road building could continue. Clearly, trees marginally satisfying the criteria could escape the axe.

Perhaps we in India need to be more discrete with eliminating trees. Here as soon a project is sanctioned the first things that get the axe are trees regardless of their age, size, usefulness or other positive attributes. Thousands of trees and shrubs are mercilessly clear-felled in urban India in the name of development. One does not know when awareness about the environment will dawn on the authorities.

*Photo from internet

Kashmir 50 years ago :: 9 :: Amarnath "Yatra"

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The Yatra in progress

Pilgrimage to the Amarnath cave in the lap of the Himalayas has always been a big event. The annual yatra (pilgrimage) takes place sometime during the summer and, fifty years ago, it used to last for 7 to 10 days. Now, of course, it is a massive operation for arrangements for the pilgrims and the pilgrimage lasts for around a month with lakhs of pilgrims moving from the country’s heartland as well as from fringes in batches to Jammu & Kashmir.

Sometime in June I was told that the chief minister would be holding a meeting about arrangements for the Yatra at Pahalgam circuit house and that I had to be present with necessary information about my department’s arrangements. GM Sadiq was the chief minister during those days and he was to travel to Pahalgam for the meeting. Pahalgam, as many would know, was kind of a launching pad for the Yatra. It continues to be so even now but there is an alternative available by way of Baltal which too acts like Pahalgam for the pilgrims as a base from which to commence the Yatra.

I along with a junior collegue set off for Pahalgam in my Standard Herald. Pahalgam used to take about two hours and the road passed through some picturesque country. It was then untrammelled by present-day high incidence of vehicular traffic which made the drive a matter of pleasure.

We hit the circuit house on the dot. We could hear the hum of a large assembly of people waiting for chief minister. We added ourselves to the crowd. Soon the chief minister drifted in along with his personal staff. The meeting began with the announcement of a much larger number of pilgrims who were expected for the Yatra. We were told that around 75000 to a 100000 pilgrims could be expected and the chief minister emphasized that the arrangements should in no way fall short of requirements. It used to be a massive effort for the state government which has progressively become more so as the years went by. In those days the state government had limited financial and human resources yet it used to put its best foot forward to deal with the extraordinarily heavy influx of people, strainng its all kinds of resources, especially the one relating to maintenance of law and order.

The Postal Headquarters in Delhi had given a go ahead to the proposal for a travelling post office to accompany the Yatra. The idea was to make available to those interested the facility of sending mail back home with postmarks of Chandanwari, Panchtarani, Sheshnag and Amarnath Cave, the stages of the Yatra. Curiously, three ponies were hired to carry th post office and its men to the Cave. I had a mind to take the Yatra but since our boss was in it I had to stay back. Later, when people returned after touching the Holy Cave and witnessing the ice lingam I thought it was just well that I couldn’t do it. Everybody came back with burnt peeling off skin. At high altitudes, like that of Amarnath Cave which is located at higher than 13000 ft., the sun is very strong and tends to burn up the exposed skin. Then, of course, there were problems of food and sanitation – the arrangements being of very rudimentary character.

What came out very strongly during the exercise, however, was the whole-hearted commitment of the state government to a Hindu age-old pilgrimage. It might be relevant to mention that in those days such “secular” activities were  routine although the state government, barring a few Indian Administrative Service officers, was manned generally by local Muslims at most of the levels. From those who used to hire out their horses or ponies to others who looked after the entire pilgrimage were mostly Muslims. This was perhaps the finest example of “Kashmiriyat” (indigenous cultural values of Kashmir), if ever there was one. In case of any snag in the arrangements the government used to take them as an affront to it and deal with it seriously.

The Amarnath Yatra has now magnified many folds and there is a conscious effort to get more and more pilgrims. An Amarnath Shrine Board has since been created which takes care of the pilgrims and takes up infrastructural work for their ease and comfort. Keeping the same reason in view it has opened an alternate route to the Cave via Baltal, a valley that used to be very beautiful. Surely it would not be so any longer when services have to be provided to thousands of pilgrims, their horses and ponies, their vehicles, and helicopters. The number of pilgrims have shot up to around 5 lakh or thereabout in recent years.

Perhaps time has now come to cap the numbers of pilgrims. After all, those rugged mountainous places from where pilgrims trek to the cave host a fragile ecology. It has a low carrying capacity and certainly will not be able take ever-increasing numbers of pilgrims. In recent years the army has come in a big way to protect the pilgrims from attacks of terrorists. This adds to the numbers using the natural resources that just cannot sustain so many people. A more reasonable and balanced view of the matter is necessary to allow the pilgrimage to only as many as the region can conveniently support without causing damaging to the area by way of environmental degradation.

*Photo from internet

Our Life, Our Times :: 32 :: If only we had Rafale

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Somebody has filed a petition in a court in Mumbai asking the government the reason for making our pilots fly old and obsolete flying machines. Wing Commander Abhinandan was flying such a machine and was chasing a much modern aircraft in a dogfight high over the POK when he came under ground fire and was hit. He had to eject himself but, unfortunately for him, his parachute came down in enemy territory. He was lucky that he was not lynched like his Pakistani counterpart who, it seems, was so badly roughed up by the local people that he reportedly succumbed to the injuries he suffered, unfortunately for him, on the ground in his own country.

The petition in the court is apparently born out of frustration among the general public about government’s inability to provide a sense of security to the people. Defense procurement have always been controversial, steeped in corruption by the politicians and connected officials and sundry others, including middlemen. Political machinations also keep the governments busy in finding the truth to give convincing reply to those who oppose such deals. Procurement of fighter aircraft for the Indian Air Force (IAF) has been a victim of political acrimony so much so that the situation regarding need for new fighter aircraft has been desperate for quite some years.

In the circumstances, the IAF has to use the vintage aircraft from its stable in times of need. Mig 21 is one such aircraft which Wing Commander Abhinandan was flying before he was brought down to earth. These aircraft are considered as second generation aircraft that appeared on the scene in 1950s and are being pitted against fourth generation fighters like F-16 that Pakistan operates. These aircraft are therefore generally referred to as “flying coffins” as they would seem to have no chance against a more sophisticated current generation aircraft. So far 177 pilots have been lost flying these obsolete aircraft. It is because of this reason that Wing Commander Abhinandan has created history by downing a F-16, the first ever F-16 that was downed by an aircraft as puny as  Mig-21(Bison).

Prime Minister Modi has recently asserted that with Rafale the results of the air attack on the Jaish e Mohammed jihadi training facility would have been different. Perhaps, it would have been so. Rafale is the most modern aircraft and India has been trying to acquire 126 of them for quite some time. It is a long story. Perhaps no case of procurement of defense equipment has taken so much time as this one. The proposal was mooted more than 20 years ago during the time when Late Atal Behari Vajpayee was the prime minister. Then came UPA I when nothing much happened except some negotiations.     

UPA I short-listed various bidders and only in 2012 during the reign of UPA II Rafale was declared as the L 1 bidder. That is when the government got a stroke "policy paralysis". The negotiations were stalled on technology transfer for manufacture of 108 aircraft at Hindustan Aeronautics Ltd (HAL). The Rafale manufacturer Dassault, however, was not prepared to offer quality assurance in respect of those that were to be manufactured by HAL. Besides, HAL estimated it would require 3 crore man hours to manufacture the planes which Dassault said was three times more than its own estimate of man power requirements. This also, they said, would inflate the price of each plane. HAL was probably not wrong in estimating the huge requirement of man hours as it kept in view the Indian public sector work norms and work ethics.

 The contention of the Congress president that the prime minister had taken away Rs. 30000 crore from HAL and put the amount in the pocket of Anil Ambani is, therefore, patently false. It is also false on another count: Dassult’s off-set partners are 70 in number including Anil Ambani and hence he will not be the only recipient of the goodies if and when they come. Giving away by Modi of Rs. 30000 crore to Anil Ambani is another fable woven by the Congress president.

There is no denying the fact that defense procurement have always been controversial and a lot of people make mindboggling sums. It is never easy for the government to navigate through the maze of accusations and counter accusations and in the process it spends enormous sums to investigate the complaints through its investigating agencies like Central Bureau of Investigations and the Enforcement Directorate. The delays that take place frustrate the investigations and  retard the country’s preparedness to meet external threats. The delays also are reasons for hike in total financial commitment of the government for the acquisitions. But then that is the democratic process and there are no two ways about it.

Thankfully, the prime minister has felt that the things would have been different had the country had the Rafale aircraft with it. Hopefully, politicians across the board would realize the damage that their political posturing cause to the country – and its the common people who have to work with the outdated and obsolete equipment including such vital things as howitzers, flying machines and various kinds of warships.

 While one can only wish good luck to the party that has gone to the courts, it is felt that nothing much can be achieved except some platitudinous advice to the government and politicians. Courts cannot expedite the process of procurement of defense equipment unless the political class changes its mindset and the Opposition, instead of throwing spanners in the works, cooperates with the government to acquire new defense equipment without any let or hindrance.

What the system needs is honesty right across the spectrum of governance. But, that is, perhaps, impossible as in today’s world honesty among the politicians is a rare commodity

*Photo of Mig 21 is from internet