THE G-20 CONCLAVE-- CONVENTION, PAGEANT OR CHARADE ?

   The G-20 (or G-18+ Lotus) Circus has left town, or, in the more melodious words of The Seekers, the carnival is over. But where there was a tinge of regret in the Seekers' song, for us Delhi-wallahs the feeling is one of relief, not regret. India's capital city was shut down for almost a week, dogs and Indians banished from the roads notwithstanding our oft repeated dislike of colonial practices, and the invaluable experience acquired by the government from the long Covid lockdown put to good use. But now that the rain waters have been pumped out of Bharat Uttapam- sorry, Bharat Mandappam- Mr. Biden has discovered that there is more free speech in Vietnam than in India, Mr. Trudeau has delivered his sucker punch on his return to Ottawa, the Qutub Minar once again looks like the architectural marvel it is rather than the multi-coloured barber's pole our cultural czars made it out to be during this week, Amitav Kant has ascended higher (at least in his own estimation) than any sherpa on Everest, and all those thousands of flower pots have doubtless found their way to the residences of various bureaucrats as well deserved mementos of the biggest non-event in many years- now, then, is the time to ask the questions: What did this extravagant P.T.Barnum-like show achieve? Was it worth it? What did the common man in India, or indeed India itself, gain from it ?                              .

   Consider first the costs; the official figure for Delhi alone is Rs. 4100 crore (Indonesia, which ranks higher than us in per capita GDP or income, spent Rs. 364 crore at Bali in 2022), tens of crores more would have been spent in holding the 200 meetings of delegates in 60 cities across India to arrive at a consensus document in which everyone basically agreed that they disagreed but agreed to let Mr. Kant find the appropriate words to state that "We disagree but Kant say so since we have supped off gold plates and silver bowls for a week." And Mr. Kant, who hasn't looked back since he coined the phrase "God's Own Country" for a state ruled by a party which doesn't believe in God, turned out to be a good Wordsmith, if not a Wordsworth. We don't know whether he consulted Shashi Tharoor on this matter. 

   Residents of the NCR (National Capital Region of Delhi) were ordered to stay at home, businesses and offices were shut, flyers spent more time on the roads than they did in the air, traffic piled up for miles on Mr. Gadkari's international standard expressways, the borders were more or less sealed with M-seal (we all know what the M stands for). All at great inconvenience and cost. Delhi traders claimed they lost more than Rs. 300 crores of business, tens of thousands of daily wage and gig earners lost almost a week's wages, children were not able to go to school (though that might have been a blessing considering the toxic and irrelevant stuff that is taught in them nowadays).

   The so-called 49 "beautification" drives resulted in the demolition of hundreds of "unauthorised" shanties, huts and shops over 230 acres of land (figure supplied by the junior Housing Minister in Parliament in July) and the removal of hawkers and street vendors, depriving them of not only their homes but also their sole sources of livelihood. According to a report in Down To Earth 300,000 people were evicted; the Outlook issue of September 8th reported that even the official "rain baseras" (night shelters) for the destitute and homeless were razed to the ground. The administration's baleful eye for detail did not spare even the poor stray dogs on Delhi's roads- they were dragged off in the most brutal and cruel manner, pups separated from their mothers, stuffed into already cramped dog pounds, starved of food and water for days, and then dumped back on the streets- all in flagrant violation of the Birth Control rules of the Animal Welfare Board. One sincerely hopes there is a special place in Hell for these officials and corporators of the MCD, one from where there is no return ticket.

   And all this to what end? What did Mr. Modi and his sherpas achieve? One outcome document which is not worth the paper it is written on, considering all the good it will do to the people of the globe and India. It appears that the entire exercise and medieval extravaganza was directed at producing that meaningless "consensus" at doing nothing to address the world's most pressing problems- the war in Ukraine, the murder of democracy in Myanmar, China's increasing belligerence, increasing global poverty and inequality, the climate crisis, the looming dangers of Artificial Intelligence, the threats posed by monopolistic digital tech giants, the worrying retreat of democracy since the 1980s.

  Oh, to be sure, the right noises were made by one and all at the conferences- world leaders and diplomats have refined hypocrisy to a fine art, and can put pen to paper or knife in the back with equal dexterity- both skills were on full display in Delhi. The ground reality, however, is that the G-20 achieved nothing of any substance. Global emissions continue to rise every year, as does the temperature. The UN Secretary General has declared that the era of global warming is over, we have now entered the era of "global boiling". The planet will cross the 1.50* celsius barrier by 2035, much earlier than anticipated. Oceanographers have warned that the Gulf Stream will disappear by 2030, with unpredictable consequences for Europe. Barely 13% of the SDGs (Sustainable Development Goals) agreed upon in 2015 have been achieved, and on 50% of them there has been no movement at all. Climate justice is not even on the horizon, with more and more people being pushed into climate related poverty. A UN panel has just reported that by 2040, 300 million more women will be pushed below the poverty line. Russia continues to kill hundreds of Ukranians in their residences, schools, hospitals and markets while 20 heads of states and 19 invitees debate which euphemism  will best describe, yet conceal, this genocide. The murderous junta in Myanmar carries on cheerfully, buoyed by support from Russia and China, silence from the USA and the EU, and supply of arms by India. Europe continues to buy oil and gas from Russia through proxies, even while it imposes sanctions on it; India doesn't even bother to create a proxy. China sits on thousands of square kms of our land in Ladakh but we dare not mention it lest President Xi decides to take a look at Arunachal too, en passant.

   Our own hypocrisy, dissembling and false virtue matches that of any country. We have diverted 600000 hectares (6000 square kms) of prime forests for non-forestry use in the last fifteen years, felled 16 million trees between 2001-2018, amended the Wildlife Protection Act, the Forest Conservation Act, the Coastal Regulations, and passed the Biological Diversity(Amendment) Bill- all so that Big Capital could exploit our natural resources more cheaply and quickly- even while we talk of "sustainable development" ad nauseam. Our dense forests are declining every year according to FSI (Forest Survey of India) reports, the Himalayas are being systematically obliterated by hydel projects, four-lane highways and tunnels; our greedy tentacles have even reached the Andaman and Nicobar island archipelago, where the government has approved a project which will result in the deforestation of 140 sq.kms of the most primitive forests in the world, the felling of 800,000 trees and perhaps the extinction eventually of one of the oldest indigenous tribes on the planet. And yet we continue to claim that we will sequester 2 billion tonnes of CO2 and reclaim 5 million hectares of degraded forests by 2030 as our contribution to fighting climate change! 

   The two proudly declared cornerstones of the Indian achievement at the G-20- the GBA (Global Biofuel Alliance) and IMEC (India-Middle East-European Economic Corridor)- are also futuristic chimeras that, in all likelihood, may never materialise. The former takes on OPEC while the latter seeks to counter China's BRI; since both Saudi Arabia and China are members of G-20, the resistance to the two projects will be in-built to the G-20, not auguring well for their success. Secondly, India has launched similar grandiose programmes in the past, which have got nowhere. Mr. Modi had announced an ISA (International Solar Alliance) eight years back to burnish his non-existent environmental credentials. It has got nowhere fast, having spent only USD 10 million so far against the budgeted USD 200 million. Another India brainwave was the CDRI (Coalition for Disaster Reduction Infrastructure): it appears to have died an untimely death, with no progress reported so far. When was the last time you read or heard about either ISA or CDRI ?

   The world is sick of these meaningless conferences and multi-lateral organisations, we already have a surfeit of them- the United Nations, G-7, G-20, BRICS, Global Climate Conference, World Economic Forum, and what not. They serve no purpose and deliver no tangible outcomes other than a consensus to do nothing, which is the easiest thing in the world. They are vacuous talking shops, simply provide an opportunity for politicians and diplomats to posture on a public stage while their trophy wives visit charities and shop like crazy. The price for these jamborees is paid by the common citizens- in money, harassment, disruption, false promises and increased pollution (there were 1500 private jets at Davos this year, our own humble Delhi G-20 saw more private jets than could be parked in Delhi, and 50 of them had to be diverted to Jaipur and Lucknow. And these are the same mountebanks who talk of reducing carbon emissions!)

   Did I hear Mr. Kant claim that the Delhi Declaration was "the strongest statement ever issued by the G-20" ?

   Give us a break. To go back to The Seekers' song: while lamenting that the carnival is over they rue that "we may never meet again." To which I can only say- Hallelujah ! The world doesn't need any more strutting and ostentation and hyperbole, it is desperate for tangible outcomes rather than heavily disguised electoral pageants. 

NOTHING OFFICIAL ABOUT IT !

 

                                  

             Availaable on Amazon at   <https://www.amazon.in/dp/9394887385>

             Published by AuthorsUpFront/ Paranjoy, New Delhi.

This is my latest book which has just been released on the 11th of September, 2023. Its contents are, in a manner of speaking, my memoirs, but more my memories of a life well spent (I hope!), of a beautiful state which I now call home, and of a dubious career dedicated to the public (dis)interest ! I felt that these tales and reflections needed to be told, if only to give the lie to the common impression that bureaucrats lead dull and uneventful, or cosy and corrupt, lives.

The IAS just has to be the most interesting and varied service in the world. Its canvas is like no other’s- it can take you from the remotest village in Himachal, four days’ trekking from any road, to the United Nations building in New York, the centre of the political universe, as it were. Trust me, I’ve been to both! To a probationer in Mussoorie, looking at the 35 odd years ahead of him in the service of the nation, there is no more exciting prospect than being a District Magistrate, and no happier dream than becoming the Cabinet Secretary some day. At least, that’s how it looked to me on a bright, sunny day in July of 1975, as I alighted from the taxi and entered the gates of the Lal Bahadur Shastri National Academy of Administration for the first time. For every IAS probationer is a potential Cabinet Secretary, and it is only much later that he will realise that we all rise to our own levels of incompetence!

And not for a minute have I been disappointed, even though I missed the Cabinet Secretary’s slot by a mile! Some dreams have come true, many have not, but there has never been even a hint of regret. Only memories- lots of them, most happy, some sad, but all precious and worth sharing, if only to prove that the IAS is more than files, meetings, lathi charges and reemployment.

Many retired officers write books on the IAS, but they are usually about the “official” side of their service, analyses of what’s wrong with the IAS and how to fix it. That is certainly not my objective in this book. For the IAS is not just another job- it’s a whole way of life, determining how you dress, who you meet, which clubs you can join, how you socialise, which schools your children go to, how you express yourself publicly, and so on. It is a collection of unique experiences which no other service can offer.

It is these experiences that are narrated in the pieces in this book, in anecdotal form, broad-brushed with humour, irony and even a dash of sarcasm at times. Originally published in my blog over a period of seven or eight years, I have compiled them in book form at the suggestion of friends and family in a semi-autobiographical mode, so that no one is left in any doubt about why I failed to become Chief Secretary or secure the mandatory re-employment!

To give the reader an idea of the book: the blogs recount some aspects of life in the Academy, my experiences as a probationer , reflections on my first D.C. , the misadventures involved in bringing my new bride to Mandi, the critical and highly competitive relationship between a D.C. and his S.P., interesting tales about some rest houses I’ve stayed in , and more in a similar irreverent vein.

There are a few pieces in the nature of requiems, remembering some close friends and colleagues (Mortalities and Memories,  The Small Town Boy), a few of the remarkable politicians I had the pleasure and good fortune to serve with (The Political Gentlemen and Remembering G.S.Bali). The varied cast of characters one meets in the IAS, and their wide spectrum, would do justice to any of the novels of Charles Dickens, or even a P.G.Wodehouse. You can judge for yourself in this book.

The I.A.S. has its own arcane language, rituals and culture, not unlike a Masonic Lodge or even the Mafia! These have been revealed in a risible way in pieces like The IAS and its Ten Commandments, Rules of the Game, A Brief Guide to Official Dinners, The Language of Governance, and so on. And of course, I have not missed out on the opportunity to sermonise a bit about some of the ills affecting our hallowed tribe- the generic weakness in the spinal column, the yearning for reemployment , the skirmishing involved in postings and transfers. The old habit of lecturing and hectoring is not easy to dispense with, even if no one is listening!

  There is nothing official about this book ! It is a compilation of memories but devoid of regrets, and that is how it should be when you’ve just crossed the average life expectancy age! It has been a wonderful journey so far, and it’s not over yet…….

 

CHAR DHAM OF THE GREAT HIMALAYAN NATIONAL PARK (III)-- THE JIVA NAL

 22nd September, 2023

           CHAR DHAM OF THE GREAT HIMALAYAN NATIONAL PARK [ III ]

                                                      THE JIVA NAL

 

    The  Jiva Nal is the least known of the four streams of the GHNP. It drains the extreme north-west corner of the Park, emanating from the mountains and glaciers that guard its northern frontiers, and after covering about 65 kms, meets the Sainj at Siund. The trek to its source and back takes seven days. Given the pristine purity of its catchment and the wealth of wildlife there, the Park management does not encourage treks there, and very few trekkers get to see the hidden wonders of the valley of the Jiva Nal.

   The journey, for those who are fortunate enough to obtain permission for it, begins in the Sainj valley from Neulli (the road-head), on to Shakti (first camp-site, 2100 m), a pleasant trek of 22 kms. all along and up the river.  Here one leaves the Sainj on its right bank and climbs for seven straight hours in a northerly direction to Satogani thatch ( 3700 m). It’s a hard slog because there is no discernible track, the lush undergrowth reaches one’s armpits, and the tree cover gradually changes from broad leaves to conifers and then to the kharsu oak and hill bamboo, known as “nirgal.” The world changes, however, once the ridge line is attained and the panorama of Satogani thatch lies spread out before one’s unbelieving eyes like a carpet of a million hues. It’s a four kilometer long meadow that would humble the tulip gardens of Srinagar: a carpet of geraniums, poppies, primulas, geums, the cobra plant and the imperial brahm kamal, the favourite flower of the goddess Parvati. Co-existing with them was the whole gamut of rare medicinal herbs: dhoop, karu, patish, hathpanja. In all my years of trekking I have never seen such fecundity of plant life; it’s a testimony to the rejuvenating powers of nature once the heavy hand of Man is removed.

                       [The savage grandeur of the Jiva Nal valley. Photo by author]

   The third day’s trek, also about seven hours but not so strenuous, brought us first to the Satogani pass (4300 m), which is the watershed between the Sainj and Jiva Nal valleys, and then steeply down to the Sartu camp-site at 3700 meters. Sartu is a flat meadow on a shelf above the left bank of the Jiva: to the north is the 18000 feet high Khandedar massif, beyond which is the Parbati valley. The eastern end is closed in by even higher, 20000 feet ranges, and behind them lies Spiti. It is in the snow plains and glaciers of these mountains that the Jiva Nal takes birth, winding its way down those smooth white slopes like a necklace on the alabaster bosom of a Nordic beauty. There are massive brown bears here, and ghoral, Himalayan tahr and snow leopard, but we did not see any.

                   [The infant Jiva Nal emerging from the mountains. Photo by author] 

   So captivating was the landscape that we spent two days here, though we did not press further upstream for lack of time. On the fifth morning we rose early to cross over to the right bank of the Jiva Nal before the snow melt made the stream impassable. The track now veers left, to the west, following the Jiva downstream, past the iridescent blue wonder that is the Sartu glacial pond. There are spectacular snow-bridges and waterfalls on the way. Emily, a French girl who was part of our party, fell while photographing a waterfall: we immediately named that cascade “ Emily Falls” and it is now so recorded in the GHNP maps! So now you know how natural features are named! After ten kms. one arrives at Duada (literally, “where two roads meet”). A major gorge meets the Jiva from the north at this point- the Duada khad- and there is an impossibly steep trekking trail up this khad which goes to Phanchi Gallu  (4664 meters). The GHNP ends at that point, beyond which is the Parbati valley. (I was keen to do this trek someday but could not find the time; but my good friend Sanjeeva Pandey has done it, and his knees are now paying the price for that!). In 2010 the HP govt. established a new national park called Kheer Ganga NP and the entire area beyond Phanchi Gallu is included in it, forming a seamless natural reserve right up to the Pin Parbat pass. This is one of the rare things the govt. got right!

                          [ Sartu glacial pond. Photo by Sanjeeva Pandey, IFS(R)]

     Duada is a clearing next to the river, hemmed in by thick forests. There is no habitation here, just a broken down, unused forest hut and a large grassy mound- this knoll has a grim but fascinating myth attached to it. According to  legend  there was a thriving village here a couple of centuries ago. The local Devta allowed the people to live here on the condition that they would not kill the animals or birds in the forests. After a few years the villagers broke this covenant and started slaughtering the wildlife. The furious deity emerged from the jungle one night, big as a deodar tree, pulled down all the houses and killed each and every human there. The mound is all that remains of the village, and no one has dared to settle there again. The locals will not stop here even for a cup of tea, so deep is the myth embedded in their cultural past.

   The legend may or may not be true but there can be no doubt that the devtas reign supreme in these remote regions. Organised religion has minimal influence here, thankfully, for the devtas are a force for conservation . Each village has a devsthan or sacred grove from where even a twig cannot be removed. The Duada devta has forbidden meat or eggs from entering his  domain, and we had to send back our store of these! (Fortunately, there was no bar on the demon rum, which would have been a deal breaker!) I have observed this conservationist streak in the near animalistic beliefs throughout the remoter areas of the state and can only humbly thank these nameless deities for their role in protecting the natural environment.

   One crosses to the left bank of the Jiva below Duada and now leaves the stream to ascend to Subli (3400 m.), the day’s campsite. This is the primeval habitat of the western tragopan and at dawn the next day we could hear their calls all around us but, sadly, did not make any sighting. The sixth day’s journey is not very exciting: an hour’s trekking brings one to the Kandi Gallu pass (3700 m.), at which point we descended again into the Sainj valley. By evening we reached habitation again- the little village of Bhagikashahri, where we spent the night in a school compound. The next day it is a four hour, 12 km. hike back and down to Neulli and the Sainj river: we had completed a full circle in seven days. The Jiva Nal itself meets the Sainj 10 kms. further downstream at Siund, but it is dead long before that. Its waters have now been trapped somewhere below Duada and diverted into underground tunnels to power the turbines of the Phase I of the Parbati Project(800 MW). This power house is in Siund, whose greenery has now become one solid mass of concrete, rewriting the geology of the area, with disastrous consequences, as we witnessed in July and August this year.

                               [ Concretised hillside at Sainj. Photo by author]

  The gods of commerce have arrived in this remote and pristine region to stay. But I much preferred the devta of Duada.

WHEN ONE IS LESS THAN ZERO

     I really don't have much to do in my Himachal village these days, other than watch things sliding down the slopes- roads, houses, trees, mountain sides, cars and the occasional unwary tourist from Kotkapura. It's all getting a bit monotonous, but the upside is that it gives me plenty of time to reflect on our current political shenanigans, particularly the new mantra of "One nation, One election" which is the latest orgasmic trigger for our news channels. And, in the best traditions of the WhatsApp gods, I'd like to share some of my thoughts with you, even as your finger hovers over the Delete button.              .

     I find the whole idea a bit retrogressive, for it takes us back fifty years and undoes all the intellectual and material progress we have achieved since then. Back then (I'm talking of the fifties, sixties and seventies) it was One nation, One everything: One nation, one political party (Congress); One nation, one Prime Minister (Nehru); One nation, one car ( Ambassador); One nation, one refined oil (Dalda); One nation, one soap (Lifebuoy); One nation, one TV channel (Doordarshan); One nation, one footwear (Bata); One nation, one Olympic medal (hockey). Today, on the other hand, we have a million different options, achievements, products and interests for each of the items mentioned above, and the country is infinitely better off for that.                                                                                                                                            You get the point, I hope: a nation prospers when it has plenty of choices to choose from- of ideas, products, individuals, processes. This is what Gandhiji referred to when he spoke about a house with many windows, letting in many breezes, creating the diversity, amalgam and synergy which defines a progressive nation. But today's talk of Oneness in just about everything- One language , One religion , One leader , One syllabus, One ideology, One Civil Code, One culture, One history, One political party,- is a stultifying regimentation of all our energies, intellect, aspirations, diversity, and is reducing us to unthinking morons. That may suit a particular political ideology but it destroys the very soul of a country. The One Nation, One Election ( ONOE, better known as OH,NO!) theory drives us further in that direction.

   The appointment of a former President, no less, to head a committee only reinforces the truth about high unemployment rates in the country. We had gotten used to re-employment of former judges, bureaucrats and politicians to keep the wolf from the door, but a President takes the cake! His Report (if it is written by him, that is, and not by NK Singh or Harish Salve) will now be scrutinised and commented upon by an Under Secretary, approved by a Secretary and accepted by a Minister- all worthies who he probably appointed in the first place! I cannot conceive of a more preposterous situation, but I can understand where all these zany ideas are coming from- what else can one expect when the government is practically being run by another bunch of re-employed persons? As Marie Antoinette would have said, if she had not lost her head at an inopportune moment : If you can't give them employment, give them re-employment.

   And all this talk of saving money (Rs.60000 crores was reportedly spent on the elections in 2019) is pure balderdash; it is also anti-poor. For elections are the only effective means of transferring wealth to the poor in India, since the govt. has failed miserably in doing so by any other means. According to the ADR (Association for Democratic Reforms) 430 out of 521 sitting MPs in the current Lok Sabha are crorepatis, their political parties are flush with thousands of crores more. Elections ensure that some of these moneys are recycled back to the people from whom they were extracted, by means fair and foul. This redistribution is a good thing, and therefore, the more elections the better for the common man! On this ground alone, this One nation, One election nonsense needs to be trashed forthwith.

   I must, however, admire the BJP's sheer persistence in  persevering with an idea whose time has not come. Methinks someone in the party who is still capable of reading books must have read the story of King Bruce and the spider, of how the arachnid's persistence in building its web against all odds inspired the Scottish king to wage a battle against the English king for a seventh time (after losing six times), and finally winning. Once this fable was conveyed to the eminent grises of the party, it was only a matter of time before Mr. Kovind was hauled out of  moth balls and onto the Committee. For this ONOE issue has already been examined at least four times in the past by two Law Commissions, the NITI Ayog and a Standing Committee of Parliament, and shelved. What is the need to persist with it yet again? Just to show that if a spider can do it, so can I?

   There appears, however, to be a pattern in this seeming madness. Lacking the numbers to amend the Constitution in its own image, the  strategy appears to be to do so by a thousand executive cuts- Article 370, draconian laws to curb free speech and dissent, disregard of court rulings, bulldozer justice, "othering" certain communities, ONOE, renaming the country. Bleed the Constitution slowly till the life ebbs out of it and there's nothing left to amend. Diabolically clever, isn't it ? We invented the Zero, now we are re-inventing the concept of One. A far cry, indeed, from what we were once- One Nation, Many Indias.

MY MOON IS MADE OF GREEN CHEESE, NOT TITANIUM

 It has not been a particularly good fortnight for people of my vintage, brought up to regard the moon- that "silver deity of secret night", as the poetess Lady Mary Montagu put it- as an object of mystery and romance cloaked in an impenetrable celestial halo. It has been the staple of Hindi films of my era- remember Mukesh's "Chand sa mukhra....." or that haunting duet of Raj Kumar and Meena Kumari : "Chalo didldar chalo, chand ke paar chalo..."? Ours was also the moon that belonged to everyone, the Hindu wives at Karva Chauth and the Muslim brothers and sisters at Id. No more, unfortunately, for now it has been stripped of all its mystery and wonder and has been appropriated by the scientists, engineers, salivating capitalists, and of course, Mr. Modi.

I distinctly remember when this planetary disrobing began, forty-four years ago on a night in 1969. I was then in the St. Xavier's College hostel on Park Street, Calcutta. A few of us had gathered in the house of a friend, Karan Deva, on Camac Street, to listen to the live commentary of the first manned mission to the moon, and to Neil Armstrong's historic words " A small step for man......", which would have got him into a lot of trouble in today's Woke world for being sexist and disregarding the other sixteen genders. The journey that began with that small step has more or less culminated, for me at least, with the landing of Chandrayan and the Vikram Rover on the south pole of the moon on the 24th of August. Some vestiges of the mystery still remained, however, as I watched the space craft hovering over its landing spot, but even that disappeared the moment Mr. Modi made his inappropriate appearance on the TV screen. That was a lunar eclipse, if ever there was one.

The poets, songsters, lovers and dreamers will now have to go back home and seek some new source of inspiration, for the moon now belongs to the politicians, rabid nationalists and the venture capitalists counting their dollars. Its days are numbered. In a few years it will be carved out among whoever constitute the G-20 or G-420 then, its innards shall be mined and extracted to cater to the relentless greed of a species which by then would have fouled its own nest irretrievably and made it unlivable. Those who destroyed our own planet will be the ones who will leave and build their condos on already identified spots like Alphonsus, Lunar maria, Mare Tranquillitas, and, not to to forget, our very own Jawahar Sthal and Shiv Shakti. And that Biblical prophecy- "The meek shall inherit the Earth"- will finally come true, for the rich will abandon it and the meek shall have no other choice but to continue to languish here.

The revelations of Chandrayan so far are a mixed bag. Bangaloreans have much cause to rejoice, for the Rover evidently has had to negotiate its way through a myriad craters, something which the residents of this town do twice every day: they will feel at home on the lunar surface. Our tipplers from Kerala and Punjab are also a relieved lot: Chandrayan has reported that the moon has plenty of ice and water, so our Bacchanalians need to carry only the Blender's Pride and Uncle Chipps on their inter stellar journey. Our faithful wives should also be a happy lot: it appears that the moon's surface has no water of its own, all the water there consists of the millions of liters offered to the moon by devout wives for millennia at the Hindu festival of Karva Chauth. It's good to know that their waters have not been wasted, but will now be recycled by their husbands in conjunction with the daughter of the grape. The bad news. of course, is that admiring Romeos and Lotharios will now have to find some other simile to describe the objects of their affections: the Rover has established that the moon's surface is not, as hitherto thought, as smooth as Meena Kumari's cheeks, but is more like Om Puri's virile, pock marked kisser. As someone said, however, you win some, you lose some.

And talking of winning, here's an idea for Niti Aayog (which appears to have run out of them for quite some time now): the government should hand over ISRO to our leading industrialist and the 23rd richest man on earth (give or take a few ranks, depending on whether you put your trust in SEBI or Paranjoy Guha Thakurta). After all, this gentleman already controls all other modes of transport with his airports, sea-ports, terminals and highways; we shall only be squaring the circle by giving him space travel also. And who better than him to exploit all that titanium, magnesium, silicon and aluminium so abundant on the moon, what with his experience of denuding our forests of these minerals for the last ten years? The moon venture will be an off-shore venture, of course, and no one, it appears, is as adept at locating off-shore funding as him. I suspect that he may even have an insider on the moon to help him out- the Man on the Moon, who, as every child knows, has been there for thousands of years: we've all seen him on certain nights, and it's high time we used his insider knowledge to bolster our Vishwaguru status.

                                       

                                        [ Super moon at Puranikoti. Photo by Sidharth Shukla ]                            

I watched the Super Moon in my village, Puranikoti, with my family on Wednesday last, with more than a tinge of sadness. It was there above the tall, dark deodars, a massive white bone china plate, a medallion on the ebony breast of the night sky, its benign glow bathing my world with the infinite beauty of nature. I was sad, because some things should be beyond science and the avarice of man. My moon continues to be one made of childhood memories and green cheese.