THE DAY AFTER DIWALI, AND WHY AMITABH KANT BE FAULTED

I usually don't find it difficult to disagree with Mr. Amitabh Kant, the sherpa of Raisina Hill (there are no mountains in Delhi other than the Gazipur landfill, so it has to be a hill and not a mountain), but for once I cannot disagree with him on his recent comments on the lifting of the fire cracker ban by the Supreme Court. Of course there's a little bit of scrambled egg on his face because he forgot that his mentor's govt. in Delhi is equally responsible for this relaxation, but then, being a hard boiled egg himself, he can take that in his stride. As Confucius said- an egg a day keeps you in play. Let me explain with a metaphor.

A metaphor is a word, phrase, picture or even event that symbolises or gives meaning to something else. For example, Tianamen Square is a metaphor for state brutality. The lyrics of Bob Dylan and Joan Baez are a metaphor for youthful opposition to capitalism and an uncaring society. Kangana Ranaut is a metaphor for another metaphor- a bull in a china shop. Trump's ongoing demolition of the East wing of the White House has become a metaphor for his wrecking ball style of functioning. In the same manner the fire cracker discourse/ decision in Delhi is an apt metaphor for how dysfunctional we have become as a nation, society and polity. All our institutions, including the judiciary, have become moribund and defunct, driven more by faith and populism than by science and evidence, their  reasoning increasingly sophistical and medieval.

Given that Delhi is a constant among the top 10 polluted capitals of the world and that its citizens' lives are shortened by 8 to 10 years due to the year-long poisonous shroud, fire crackers had been banned here for the last few years. This was reiterated in just April this year by a two judge bench of the Supreme Court, ahead of Diwali. Incomprehensively, however, the ban was relaxed in October by another bench, to permit the bursting of the misnamed "green" crackers. No cogent reasoning was given for overturning the earlier order. There is nothing green about green firecrackers: evidence shows that they cause between 70-80%  of the pollution of a the normal cracker. Furthermore, by allowing them, the court in effect gave a licence to burst any type of cracker, for it is practically impossible for the consumer or the enforcement agencies to identify the "type" of cracker in the Diwali haze. It was an appalling decision, but in the grand tradition of previous judgments where also the science and expert evidence had been ignored- Ram Mandir, the Chardham highway, the Great Nicobar project, Pegasus, the stray dogs matter. Amitabh Kant was perfectly justified in outraging that the court had prioritised the right to pollute over the right to health and life. And, lest he be hauled up for contempt, he then donned the environmentalist hat and went and bought an EV car the next day!

The BJP led govt. in Delhi, as expected, has been more concerned about projecting its Hindutva credentials than protecting its citizens: it petitioned the SC to allow the bursting of green crackers, which opened the doors for lifting the ban. Having succeeded in this retrogressive venture, it then sat back and failed to enforce any of the conditions the court had imposed (for whatever they were worth, which was not much to begin with). Instead, it got going on what it is best at- fudging figures. We were told that the maximum AQI reading was somewhere below 400, whereas the international agency, IQAIR, showed it near 2000! Then reports emerged in the media that air sprinklers and smog guns were set up near the measuring stations so as to cleanse the air there and get lower readings. When even that didn't work, one third of the stations in the main hot spots mysteriously stopped working! Finally, someone revealed that the CPCB measuring meters were programmed to stop recording the air quality when the reading hit 500. Reason? There was little point, since 500 was already lethal enough, any incremental increase after that did not matter! Which validates a saying we have in UP- "Murde par sau man mitti, to ek man aur sahi!". (There's already tons of soil on the corpse, another ton won't make any difference!) Because its dead, you see, like you and I will soon be, too.                              

As any village idiot could have told the Supreme Court, the good citizens of the NCR, who have the civic sense of tapeworms and the suicidal instincts of lemmings, went into a predictable orgy of incendiarism for a week. The result was there for all to see-and breathe- on the day after. From my sixth floor flat in the NCR, the nightscape looked like the Gaza night-sky: bursts and explosions everywhere, the horizon ablaze with red tinted smoke, the terrified barking of the poor strays on the streets. The road outside our complex was carpeted the next morning with ankle-deep litter of the previous night, the rag pickers scrolling through it to eke out a few rupees. Our vaunted upper middle class, of course, had by then retired to the safety of their air conditioned and air-purified flats, leaving the jhuggi wallahs and pavement dwellers to bear the brunt of their "shraddha" and EMI induced disposable income.

The AQI reading is still near 300 in my area, one week after Diwali. But that, and the half a million Indians who die of air pollution every year, are a small price to pay for being the fourth largest economy in the world, isn't it?

CHNADRAKHANI PASS- GATEWAY TO MALANA

 

              CHANDRAKHANI  PASS- GATEWAY TO MALANA

 

   One of the most beautiful high altitude passes in Himachal, Chandrakhani pass is the traditional gateway to the state’s most famous and mysterious village, Malana. Along with its twin, the Rasol pass, it also connects the valleys of the Beas and Parbati rivers.

   The trek begins from the tiny hamlet of Rumsu (1800 meters), about six kms. above the historical village of Naggar on the left bank of the Beas, 20 kms below Manali. It is well worth spending a few hours in Naggar and visiting its two landmarks: Naggar castle, a well preserved building from where the Kings of Kullu ruled before they shifted to Kullu town; it then became the residence of the British Resident, and today is a hotel. The second landmark is the Roerich museum, dedicated to the paintings of this legendary Russian artist with a passion for the Himalayan landscape.

   One climbs gradually from Rumsu in a SE direction through dense forests of deodar, fir, and horse chestnut, crossing two big “thatches”- Stelling thatch and Dhankarari thatch. From the latter one gets a panoramic view of the entire Pir Panjal range to the north and can clearly see Friendship, Patalsu, Hanuman Tibba, and Shittidhar peaks and make a guess at the location of the Kalihani pass behind which lies the forbidding Bara Bhangal valley. At Dhankarari the track abruptly swerves eastwards, following the ridge line, and after another two hours one reaches the first day’s camping site, Chaklani ( 3300 m.), a huge thatch surrounded by dwarf rhododendron which were in full bloom when we arrived there, ringing the pasture in a haze of pink and mauve. Chandrakhani pass is visble now, about 2 kms away, its massive but gently inclining flanks completely carpeted with spruce, birch, and betula (bhojpatra) till about 200 meters below the saddle from where the snow took over. It was a lovely sight, made magical by the rays of the setting sun.

                              [Chandrakhani Pass. Photo by author]

   It snowed that night and in the morning crispness we could see that the pass had a two to three feet thick mantle of snow. Covering the two kms to the pass was no problem, but once on the saddle we had to be extremely careful for it slopes sharply to the left and ends in a precipice. Half a kilometre on the saddle and we arrived at the narrow aperture on the ridge line which is the Chandrakhani pass itself (3700 m). Legend has it that Jamlu devta (or Jamadagni rishi), the presiding deity of Malana who had kept all the other minor gods in his closed fist, once came to the pass and flung them all to the winds. They were wafted to all parts of Kullu, which is why every village and valley of Kullu has its own devta. They all collect even now in Kullu town during the Dussehra, but Jamlu devta does not join in the festivities because he considers them all inferior to him; instead, he watches the proceedings from the heights of Bijli Mahadev, another lofty peak nearby.

   From the pass the track drops sharply to the south-east, a precipitous 5000 feet or so to the Malana gorge and the village which takes its name from it. It’s a knee crushing descent, made slightly bearable by the magnificent vistas to the east-the soaring peaks of Indrasen and Deo Tibba and the Malana glacier below which is spread out the Nagroni pasture, a full day’s trek away.

     [Malana village. In the background, left of center, is Chandrakhani Pass.           Photo by author]

   The unfortunately(and undeservedly) infamous Malana village is attained in four hours; it’s large by mountain standards, about 150 well constructed wooden houses, situated 200 meters above the gorge. Its residents are believed to be descended from AWOL soldiers of Alexander’s army who deserted the Greek general when he reached the Indus, fed up of the continuous fighting. Malana is thought to be the oldest democracy in the world and still has its own “Parliament” which makes laws and passes decrees. It resolves all disputes and people are forbidden to go to the police. It is ruled with an iron hand by Jamlu devta: till a couple of decades ago even the Deputy Commissioner or the Police Superintendent could not enter the village without the devta’s approval! But things are now changing and the splendid isolation which enabled Malana to preserve its unique culture for hundreds of years is now being nibbled away. The prime culprits are two hydel projects on the Malana stream, a few hours away. Their roads have made access easier, hundreds of outside labour have brought their own influences, Malana’s own youth are now going out, finding jobs, and coming back with modern ideas and habits. The govt’s relentless drive to “civilise” this oldest of civilisations means that the hey days of this unique culture are all but over.

   What will prevail, however, for a longer time is the famous Malana Cream, the best cannabis in the world. Cultivated by Malanians as their prime cash crop, it is smuggled out in huge quantities and has many exotically named variants: AK47, Russian Mist, Space Ball etc. The police wage a losing battle to eradicate this crop even though destroy hundreds of acres every year. The villagers simply shift deeper and higher into the forested terrain they grew up in, which the out-of-condition cops can barely negotiate. My sympathies are with the hardy folks of Malana- this is their only economic activity, practised for generations untold, and the govt. has failed to provide them any alternative livelihood. The state govt. is now making efforts to legalize the growing of cannabis for non-narcotic purposes.

   Because of the cannabis connection, the Malanians do not welcome outsiders and we were advised not to stay in the village but to camp outside. We spent the night in a “dogri”, a rough hut in the forest with the not unpleasant aroma of hash all around! The next day brings another 1000 meter strenuous climb to Rasol pass (3200 meters), beyond which is the Parbati valley. The descent from here is as precipitous as the previous day’s, through a dirty little village called Rasol. It is another eight kms. to Kasol, a tourist hub on the banks of the Parbati with its dozens of guest houses, pizza parlours, billiard halls and ATMs. I, however, much preferred the spartan isolation of Malana and the unparalleled beauty of Chandrakhani. 

HIMACHAL'S CADRE MANAGEMENT BY REEMPLOYMENTS, EXTENSIONS AND ADDITIONAL CHARGES IS A DISASTER.

 My home cadre, Himachal Pradesh, has been witnessing an extraordinary (and ongoing) kerfuffle in its corridors of power over the last month or so. I am no stranger to bureaucratic "lapsus calami" during my long and undistinguished career in government, and have probably been responsible for quite a few of them myself, but what is happening now is of Trumpian proportions. Since I still draw a pension from the state, minus the last five DA instalments because the state coffers are as dry as the Indus basin in Pakistan post operation Sindoor, I had initially decided not to comment on this issue, believing in the time-tested canine dictum: If you can't eat it, or hump it, or change it, then just piss on it and walk away. But a statement made by the Chief Minister last Wednesday cannot be allowed to go uncontested, because it is pregnant with the potential for more administrative calamities in the future.

Addressing the members of the State Electricity Board union who have been getting restive for some time now at not receiving their pensions and arrears on time, the CM claimed that the problem was due to there being too many (highly paid) officers in the Board, draining its finances. Now, this is true, not only for the Board but for the whole government generally. Himachal probably has the highest employee/pensioner to population ratio in the country; in a previous blog I had suggested that the govt. could easily be downsized by 20%. But the irony and disingenuity in the CM's statement lies elsewhere.

Why did the govt. add another "highly paid" officer to the Board just a week earlier, appointing a retired Chief Secretary as the Chairman when there was an abundance of serving officers available, both within and outside the Board? Does the additional Rs. 50 to 60 lakhs per annum which the Board now has to bear for this officer square with the CM's claim? Unfortunately, such appointments and "extensions" have become a norm in this bankrupt state, which is why the CM's statement is not likely to find many takers.

For the fact is that the state's senior HR management over the last couple of years has been a disaster. Rules and conventions have been thrown out of the window in order to favour some and to (presumably) serve political interests. Even as I write this piece, a most unusual situation prevails- the top-most three administrative posts in the state, all belonging to the All India Services, are held by officers in an officiating, and not regular, capacity. The Chief Secretary, the Director-General of Police and the Principal Chief Conservator of Forests are all holding ADDITIONAL charge of their posts, and will probably do so till they retire in a few months. This is absolutely unprecedented and I can't recollect whether this has ever happened in any state at any time! This is ad-hocism at its worst. The point I am making is simple- if the govt. found these officers suitable in terms of seniority and merit to  be appointed to these posts (even by superseding their seniors)  then why not do it in a substantive capacity, so that they can function with confidence? And if the reason for giving them officiating or additional charge isbecause they lack in these qualities, then why appoint them in the first place? Is it the objective to keep them insecure and on tenterhooks so that they toe the political line and do the "official" bidding?

Sadly, this is not an isolated example but appears to have become part of a pattern in recent times. Extensions in service, reemployment and appointment of "Advisors" is the new leitmotif of Himachal's cadre management. There does not appear to be any public interest involved in them-I can only guess what other motives are in play. All four of the last four Chief Secretaries have been reemployed. Extensions have become the order of the day, if the concerned officer has sufficient clout at the Center. There are at least half a dozen Advisors-God only knows what advice they are rendering, given the sorry condition of the state's finances, infrastructure and environment.

The IAS cadre strength of Himachal is about 140; for a small state with only 12 districts that is more than enough to staff every Board, Corporation and Regulatory authority or Commission: there is absolutely no reason to appoint retired officers or outsiders to them. This is also reason enough not to give indiscriminate extensions in service to anyone or to deny regular postings to deserving candidates. Such a policy demotivates those in the line of succession and encourages the more "political" or "connected" among them to play their tricks and to undermine their superiors. It is difficult for an "officiating" boss to command the respect and obedience of his team. And a state which has a debt burden which is almost double its annual budget can ill afford to spend crores pandering to personal or political interests of a few. 

A cadre or organisation can give of its best only when seniority is respected, merit is recognized, tenures are stable and career trajectories are not dogged with uncertainty. Sadly, all these factors are missing in Himachal's cadre management. It is perhaps time for the Chief Minister to course- correct, and to abide by the rules and conventions which have stood the test of time over seven decades. Any implement or tool is only as good as the hand that wields it.

[ Post Script: Actually, if you ask me, the state needs only one Advisor- Kangana Ranaut. The lissome lady can (and does) speak on any subject under the sun, disburses her advice even when no one wants it, is prone to thinking (is that the word?) out of the box, and best of all, does not care to charge a penny for it. One hopes that said penny drops for the Hon' CM.]

HIMALAYAN STATES MUST BE INCENTIVISED TO PROTECT THEIR ENVIRONMENT

 Himalayan states like Himachal and Uttarakhand are slowly going to pieces, literally, under the onslaught of cloudbursts, flash floods, land subsidence and collapsing infrastructure. In just the last four years (2022-2025) Himachal has lost 1200 lives and suffered a loss of Rs. 18000 crores in these disasters (and this does not include the indirect loss to trade and economic activities). Whether these are natural disasters, as the government would like us to believe, or man-made disasters, is debatable; but that is not the focus of this piece and can be left for another day. I am on a larger and more fundamental point: can the country afford the destruction of the Himalayas and do these Himalayan states need help? 

North India and its Gangetic plain would not survive without the forests, the glaciers and  rivers that originate from Himachal and Uttarakhand, and would soon become a desert: these rivers sustain a population of almost 300 million people and are a lifeline for many cities. The Himalaya Hindukush  ranges help to moderate the climate, enable the monsoon precipitation and snow that recharge the rivers every year. They contain some of Hinduism's most revered religious shrines and pilgrimages. They are the green lungs which enable north India to breathe and provide relief to 40 million tourists every year. We cannot afford to lose this landscape.

But losing them we are, because of financial compulsions. Himalayan states like Himachal suffer from a double whammy: on the one hand they are revenue deficit because they have limited sources of income. They have no industrial or manufacturing base, services sector or surplus agriculture (other than the apple crop). On the other hand, the cost of providing basic development to the people is double that of the plains because of topographical and climatic reasons. The only low hanging source of income they have are their natural resources- the forests and rivers- and these are therefore being exploited ruthlessly for hydel projects and tourism, causing immense damage to the ecology, and resulting in the death and destruction we have been witnessing in the last few years. (Himachal has diverted 11000 hectares of dense forests for various non-forestry projects in the last 20 years alone). This is being further exacerbated by climate change which is drastically altering the hydrology of the rivers, accelerating glacial melt and the threat of GLOF (Glacial Lake Overflow).

        (View of the Greater Himalayas from the author's cottage in Puranikoti, Shimla)

The irony, and tragedy, is that this need not be a zero sum game, if only the central government was to recognise the real wealth and contribution of these states to the national economy and well-being. According to a 2025 report of the Institute of Forest management, Bhopal, the total forest wealth of Himachal was valued at Rs. 9.95 lakh crores. The report calculated the annual Total Economic Value (TEV) of Himachal's forests at Rs. 3.20 lakh crores; this includes Rs.1.65 lakh crores for carbon sequestration, Rs. 68941 crores for eco-system services, Rs. 32901 crores as the value of bio-diversity, Rs. 15132 crores for water provisioning, Rs. 3000 crores for regulatory services such as flood control and sediment retention . These contributions benefit the whole nation, not just Himachal. Unfortunately, these  are neither acknowledged nor taken into account while disbursing central assistance to the states.

But this must change. Himachal (and other Himalayan states) must be compensated by the central govt. for their non-monetary, but vital, contribution to the country's well being, quality of life and sectors like agriculture, climate control, hydel power, carbon capture and tourism. The mechanism to do so already exists- the Finance Commissions, which determine the formula for devolving central funds to the states. A beginning was made by the 12th Finance Commission which allocated a total of Rs. 1000 crores for this purpose, which was termed a Green Bonus; the share of Himachal was a paltry Rs. 20 crores.

This idea must be amplified and taken forward by the 16th FC. The Himachal Chief Minister has taken up this matter of the creation of a  Green Fund or Green Bonus with the Chairman of the 16th (current) Finance Commission, requesting for an outlay of Rs. 50000 crores for incentivising the mountain states. This is an idea which must be considered seriously; the additional devolutions would go a long way towards ameliorating their financial condition and removing their present compulsion to ruthlessly exploit their forest and ecological capital to meet budget deficits. Release of this money should be indexed to improvement in environmental parameters, sustainability of development and tourism projects, protection of rivers and curbing of illegal mining and construction. In fact, the Supreme Court which is holding suo moto hearings on the environmental devastation in Himachal and has said that at this rate the state would "vanish from the map of India", should also consider this issue and nudge the central govt. to create such a fund. Protecting the Himalayas has to be seen as a shared responsibility, not as the concern of the mountain states alone. If the Himalayas lose their forests, rivers and glaciers it won't be long before north India goes the way of the Indus Valley civilisation.

THE ANATOMY OF A PARTLY WASTED LIFE

Most of us seek wisdom by reading tomes by wise men and Shashi Tharoor, but once in a while, going through a book for some entertainment and fun, we come across something that makes us think and exclaim: Hold on! This is bang on! Why didn't I think of this earlier?

The other day I was reading a book by one of my favourite writers, Jeremy Clarkson (of the BBC Top Gear fame), when I came across this gem: If you die with a hefty bank balance and a clear conscience, it means you have led a wasted life ! I poured myself a stiff single malt, lit a cigarette and went into a meditative torpor- By Jove! there was a lot to think about here!

Clarkson's aphorism, of course, applies to middle-class folks like you and me, not to the fat cats. The Adanis and Ambanis have no choice but to die with hefty bank balances for they are too big to hit the minimum balance, and have too much moolah to spend or give away. Anyone whose monthly residential electricity bill runs to Rs. 76 lakhs is not the type of guy Clarkson was thinking about: the only way they can shuffle off this mortal coil without a hefty bank balance is if the five biggest banks in India collapse,  St. Kitts and the Cayman island disappear under the  waters or they enter into a partnership with Trump.

Clarkson's thesis that a good life means that we live beyond our means applies to the Gen X,Y and Z of the EMI and credit card culture, but not to the fossils of my generation. We were taught to live below, not above, our means, to build our little nest eggs hidden away from Ms Sitharaman, to be left behind when we cross the rainbow, for our Hindu faith tells us that we will be reborn in the same family, so why not begin the second innings with a little advance deposit in the State Bank of India? Creating that nest-egg, however, from an erratic pension from a bankrupt state govt. and sliding repo rates, 6% inflation, sin taxes on liquor and cigarettes, Mr. Gadkari's toll tax, is no easy matter. It can only be done by adopting the virgin's SOP- say "NO" to everything.

Which is what I do. The membership of the Noida Golf Club will have to wait for a rebirth, as will that trip to Switzerland to catch up with my old friend Jogishwar Singh, or that Arctic cruise which costs an arm and a leg whether you see a polar bear or not. The single malts are reserved for special occasions, the books are purchased once a year at the World Book Fair from the second hand stalls, Old Spice will have to do in place of Paco Rabanne, the kababs are from Singh's Tandoor in Noida and not Le Merediene. But here's the funny thing, Mr Clarkson: all this self-denial does not make an iota of difference to the quality of my life. I can meet Jogishwar in Delhi (if he's stupid enough to come to India), Blender's Pride tastes just as good to my untrained palate as Laphroaig, the second hand books read as well as the new ones, the cologne doesn't matter since, insofar as attracting ladies is concerned I'm well past my sell-by date,  the best kababs are to be found in street food joints not five star hotels, and I can see as well through a Lenskart  specs as through a Ray Ban Oakley. So I think I'll continue to live below my means, thank you, and invest in a little insurance for the next life and for the inevitable ICU (Incentive Care Unit in hospital parlance because the docs are incentivised to keep you there as long as possible).

On the other hand, dying with a tainted conscience (Clarkson's second imperative for having lived a good life) is much easier to do. It doesn't require much effort in a world of dog- eat- dog ambitions, competitive aspirations, television induced temptations, a culture of doing unto others before they do unto you. Ask Moses, whose ten commandments became a hundred fragments even before he reached the bottom of the mountain. How, I asked my pooch after the third peg, does one retain a clear, spotless conscience when everything which is desirable is either illegal, immoral, or married to someone else? Not that I haven't tried, in the best traditions of Vanprasta.

I've tried yoga, meditation, cold water baths and even suffered through a few "Mann ki baats", but my conscience refuses to cleanse itself. It acquires a new blemish every time I cast a second, furtive look at the neighbour's wife hanging out the clothes on the balcony, my inner voice will not cease to wish that Netanyahu's suffers as much as the 65000 Palestinians he has killed, it insists that I do not have to disclose to Ms. Sitharaman the royalty I received for my last book, it always argues that giving up my seat on the metro for any woman is sheer stupidity, it tells me to ignore Neerja's glare and go ahead and have that last (fourth) drink for the gutter.  And, having lost most of my spine during the course of 35 years spent in the bureaucracy, I'm in no position to stand up to that damned, tainted conscience which now resembles the typical American trouser bottom when they ran out of toilet paper during the initial days of Covid.

So it hasn't been a totally wasted life, Mr Clarkson: I have a nest egg tucked away where even my descendants can't find it, and a tainted conscience the devil would be proud of. What more can one ask for?  

WATERING HOLES AND SILENT HEART ATTACKS

 

 WATERING  HOLES AND  SILENT  HEART  ATTACKS

   Watering holes are essential retreats for all species, in the real jungle or the urban one. They provide much needed R+R and the chance to rub noses (and the occasional unsuspecting posterior) in a relaxed setting. But whereas in the jungle there is only one rule- the bigger guy drinks first- we have managed to prescribe a weird set of dictums to regulate membership and behaviour in our gated oases which we call Clubs. In Delhi's Gymkhana club, for example, one has to apply for membership while still an unsuspecting foetus, such is the length of the waiting list. (I applied 30 years ago and have yet to hear from them). New members are inducted only in place of old ones who kick the ice- bucket, as it were, so a kind of Death Watch prevails on the club premises at all times, with the "waitees" keeping a close watch on the "oldies" and plying them with loads of cholesterol to help the natural process of ageing.

  I have just learnt that there exists a club in Europe called the Giga Society; it has only 6 members, primarily because to qualify one has to score more than 195 on the IQ test. That rules out everyone in India except Mr. Mani Shankar Aiyer, but I'm told that they are not accepting any applications from India after Vyapam- they don't trust our marking system. The whackiest membership requirement, however, comes from- where else?- my home state, UP. There is an exclusive club there called the Mritak Sangh, and to become a member one must be dead! No kidding. The saving grace, however, is that you don't have to be dead-dead or brain dead as in a bureaucrat, but only declared dead, through false affidavits, forged letters and documents, usually by relatives who are fed up of waiting for you to call it a day so they can grab your real estate ( and sometimes your wife). These walking dead have now formed a guild so that they can get together and drown their sorrows. In the USA there is an Ejection Club ( I checked twice, it IS Ejection and not Ejaculation, so don't get your hopes up quite yet). It had 5607 members at last count, and to become one you must have survived being fired out of a military plane by ejection seat. Being fired by the govt. from your job does not qualify, so that rules out Urjit Patel and Raghuram Rajan who in any case have parachuted safely to the Davos club. Wing Commander Abhindan of course can now join, with honours because he also ensured that the Pakistani pilot couldn't qualify.

  The ADC club in Shimla persists with a unique caste system, in violation of our Constitution. It's run by the Army but they have to take in some civilians also because the property belongs to the govt. The civilian chappies can't vote, but the unkindest cut is that they have to pay more for their booze! The army guys get their liquor at CSD rates while the bureaucrats have to pay the normal, post excise, bootlegger rates. They are the new OBCs ( Other Boozing Classes) of Shimla. This doesn't do too much for civil-military bonhomie but it ensures that at least one third of the membership is sober at all times and that only civilian bottoms get pinched on New Year's eves.

  Which brings me naturally to another club where liquor poses another kind of problem- the CSOI   (Civil Services Officers' Institute), Delhi. It's a splendid place with a fine bar and two restaurants, created exclusively for bureaucrats so that they can let their hair down without any arms dealers exploiting the bald patches. It's the place where pensioners are dispatched by their wives every morning to get them out of THEIR hair. Unfortunately, it appears to be run by some teetotaler gnome  in the Cabinet Secretariat who has never heard of CCTVs. Nothing else can explain the recent decision that the bar will open only at 7.00 PM on week days. My discreet inquiries have revealed that the govt's innovative 360 degree assessment system had perhaps revealed that some babus were playing hookey on working days, having gimlets at the bar when they should have been recording dissenting notes on various files or suppressing the data on employment generation. But why shut down the bar, for godsakes? Why not just ask Arvind Kejriwal to install one of his CCTVs at the door? That would have worked just as well, for a CCTV a day makes a babu earn his pay, as the ditty goes. I am reliably informed that the retired babus are now planning to move to Assam or Bihar en masse where the hooch is freely available in police stations and excise offices. Their wives will not follow them, of course, which is another reason why they are shifting base. As that other ditty goes: four pegs a day keeps the wife away.

   The India International Centre in Delhi has fine dining rooms where the members come to relax after delivering lectures on how to change the world in 90 days. But its restaurants have the ambience of a morgue, ( the main chicken dish, I learn, is called Morgue Masala) and not just because the median age of its members is three score and ten. I was there last month with a group of cadre mates and their spouses ( for some reason they are never called 'wives' in govt. parlance, have you noticed?), all retired chappies except one couple. Now,  IAS officers while in service are a bit like that Russian dog in that old joke- they are well fed but not allowed to bark. So when the muzzles come off after 35 years they tend to be a chatty lot. In the middle of all this yapping and general mirth a waiter emerged from nowhere like Banquo's ghost with a placard which, shorn of bureaucratese, essentially asked us to SHUT UP. Since it was an unsigned statement, like the note submitted to the Supreme Court on the Rafale deal, we took no notice of it. After five minutes the undertaker himself materialised ( it was actually the Manager) to advise us in a sepulchral tone that the IIC had a high cholestrol, low decibel policy and could we please, therefore, speak in Chinese whispers? I learn that all heart attacks in this club are silent heart attacks because of the rules. Damned irritating if you are a waitee on the waiting list, because you never get to know when a member has left for his heavenly abode. So now I begin my day by reading the obituary columns- I may get lucky some day, you know.

WEIGHTS AND MEASURES

 I don't fly much these days, mainly because I never know whether my plane is being flown by a pilot, co-pilot or auto-pilot. That's a problem for me because these days the pilot is usually busy having photo ops with his proud mom and dad in the cabin, the co-pilot is busy bashing down the washroom door with a lady passenger inside, and the auto-pilot is probably a bunch of algorithms coded by a young nerd in Gurgaon who's mad about getting only a 2% annual increment and has a grudge against everyone. Now, which sane person would get on to a plane in the hands of these three entities? So I prefer to be highway robbed by Mr. Gadkari and his toll plazas.

But on the occasional flight I am forced to take I always encounter an unusual form of discrimination which no one appears to have noticed. Now, I weigh 60 kgs on a good day, which can go down to 59 kgs on days when I do not get my favourite repast, the Delhi Gymkhana mutton cutlets. However, such days are rare since my sister-in-law, Anjali, makes sure that this supply chain works seamlessly. To get back to the point, however, my weight makes me a lightweight in a country where  40% of the population will be obese by 2030. And this is no country for lightweights.

You are not considered successful in life if you don't have a cantilevered pot-belly. On buses or metros you are invariably compressed into a corner and denied your fair share of space. One invariably gets shoved to the back of any queue Ms Sitharaman decides to put one in. Ladies think you lack in testosterone and therefore not worth their time. Insurers consider you a bad risk and double the premium. But it's the airlines with whom I have my major grouse because their baggage rules discriminate against lightweights like me.

Most airlines allow about 20 kg of checked-in baggage on economy class; anything more and you pay through your e-nose for the extra baggage, an average of Rs. 600 per kg. So if  I'm carrying 5 kg extra, I have to shell out Rs. 3000. Fair enough, you might say? But hold on. What is my total WTA (Weight To Airline)? 85 kg. (My weight 60 kg+free baggage 20 kg+ extra baggage 5 kg.) Compare this with the the Great Khali like hulk behind me in the queue: he weighs 120 kg and his luggage weighs 20 kg. His WTA is 140 kg, compared to my 85 kg, 55 kgs more- but here's the catch- he walks aboard without having to pay a paisa, while I paid 3000 bucks even though my WTA was 55kgs less than his ! There has to be something wrong here, right? Isn't this institutionalising and rewarding obsesity at the cost of those who labour to remain trim and supple?

Weight plays an important role in the flying cost of a plane, and airlines are constantly devising ways to cut down on the weight. According to one leading European Aviation magazine an aircraft which performs five flights a day, each round-flight of 1140 kms, would save 6240 kgs of fuel every year costing US$ 4200 for every kilogramme of weight reduction! Why do you thinks the cabin crew (airhostesses in the days when we called a gal a gal) are usually girls? Why do you think one now gets fewer magazines on flights? Why do you think the cutlery is plastic and not metal? It's the weight, stupid: a girl weighs 20 kgs less than a man on average, so just this gender preference can shave about 200-250 kgs off the weight of an aircraft. The same logic drives the cutlery and the magazines.                                                                                                              Therefore the question: why should airlines not apply the same principle and logic to passengers' body weight? Why should they not move to a "Pay as you Weigh" policy? Airlines should calculate the TOTAL weight associated with a passenger- what I have termed WTA- and not segregate the body weight and the luggage weight, charging only for the latter and not the former. Fix a consolidated permissible weight, say a reasonable 90 kgs for both flyer and his luggage, and charge for anything in excess of that. Why give the fat cats a free pass at the cost of the slender, Mr. Bean types like me?

This would revolutionize air travel and be a win-win for all concerned. The airlines would make oodles of money and would not have to convert their washrooms into paid Sulabh Sauchalayas, or introduce standing-only flights; the horizontally challenged would now have an incentive to move towards the vertical plane; those who cavil at this or refuse to change can travel by Royal Caribbean or Norwegian, which may be a good thing after all: we may see a return to the good old days of the ocean liners, which would be a boon for the environment. 

My suggestion is not as far-fetched as it sounds, you know. Airlines are beginning to see the light and count the millions they are losing by carrying excess lard free of cost. US airlines have now started requesting XXL passengers, who are likely to overflow into the next seat, if not the next plane, to buy a second ticket or deboard. The day is not far off when the XL types too shall be charged by weight, and we scrawny types shall finally get our day in the sun, if not the metro.