Redefining Horizons

  “Pigs do not know they stink,” Manju, my friend, messaged me after reading my article,  Wrestling with the Pigs . The benign comment almost exonerated pigs from culpability for the stink. The thought, she said, was brought up by her husband when they sat down to discuss my blog. He had read somewhere that “pigs do not know that they stink.” They are a kind couple. It would have been easy for them to be considerate and pardon pigs as a class for “they (pigs) know not what they do.”  I was, however, elated on two counts.  The first, another article of mine, had found space in an intellectual discussion. It felt good. The second, I detected something profound in her statement. It raised two socially relevant questions. How would pigs know they stink? What would happen if pigs knew they stank?  How would pigs know they stink? There could be two ways. Either the pig itself realises that it stinks, or another pig calls it out. Both can happen only if pigs themselves...

  Wrestle with the pigs?  Yes. What happens if you do? “You both get dirty, and the Pig likes it.” George Bernard Shaw.   Would anyone do that? Most of us do.    Why would anyone do that? Well, it is in our nature to do that. Despite my resolve not to, I almost got into the pit yesterday.    My school had a piggery. The place had an offensive stink that reached far beyond its walls. It was there that I saw pigs for the first time. The piglets looked cute, ate a lot, and grew up into huge pink pigs. I knew they would end up on our plates sometime and felt bad for them. Nevertheless, I relished pork.    One fine day, I came across George Orwell ’s all-time classic, The Animal Farm , and read it. Unaware that the book was a political satire about the Russian Revolution and the rise of the Soviet Union , it led me to consider pigs as ruthlessly manipulative, cunning, and wily. I visited the piggery once or twice after that and tried to identify N...

  “Kundil Veena Chundeli” is in Malayalam and means “mouse that fell in a ditch . “History repeats itself” is an idiom that finds frequent mention nowadays. Both sides, especially in animated television discussions that become no-holds-barred debates, use it at will. The events that unfold daily across the world somehow give me the impression that the contemporary is often a repetition of the past, and we, in our own little ways, are all part of this great drama. To make things clearer, let me share a Malayalam story I learned as a child in the second or third grade. The story seems to repeat endlessly, though the characters keep changing. Let me narrate the story, giving it a contemporary flavour. The story Once upon a time, a mouse landed up in a kitchen in search of food. Without much problem, he found two “ neyyappams ” (a Malayali sweet and my childhood favourite) wrapped in a newspaper. Without waiting to eat, he picked up the packet and walked. He wanted to reach h...

  It was a beautiful morning that day, way back in 2008. Then, I received that call from my friend in Mumbai. A Malayalee born and bred in Hyderabad, married to a Malayalee settled in Mumbai, she speaks a unique tongue. Our friendship had gone past the necessity of starting conversations with a good morning or good evening. The telephone calls between us were not very regular, but when we spoke, we picked up from where we left off last. We talked about small things in life. Most of the conversation was reserved for pulling each other's legs and laughing. There was happiness in our conversation, always. It has been like that since we met for the first time in 2005. But that call in 2008 was different.    “Arey, do you know something?” she asked. She sounded dead serious.  In the normal course of conversation, I would have said something funny or pulled her leg. “What happened?’ I asked, sensing something wrong in her voice. “I have breast cancer,” she said. I was stun...

  In the previous part of the article, we dealt with the political situation in Pakistan in 1965.  India Post-Independence Despite the 1962 war, India's internal politics were generally peaceful. Attention was focused on the growth of the country. The country had inherited an economy in a dire state. Much of the population was living on farm-related income. Industrialisation was the need of the hour. Strong foundations had to be put in place. Political leaders of that time realised the necessity of long-term planning to ensure the nation's progress and prosperity. The concept of five-year plans was thus born. The first five-year plan (April 1951 to March 1956) was launched by Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru. Interestingly, the total outlay of the first 5-year project was ₹2,069 crores, which was later revised to ₹2378 crores. Irrigation and energy (27.2%), transport and communication (24%), agriculture and community development (17.4%), and social services, including education and hea...

  Ferocity, in battles on the land and duels in the air, was the hallmark of the second Indo-Pakistan war of 1965. Many books have been written, on both sides of the border, about the war and its battles, both in the air and on the land. Carefully researched facts, figures, and diagrams outlining the progress of operations lend an essence of authority to the work. Each story, replete with grit and valour, with all the attendant ghastly details finely woven in, makes compelling narratives that deify domestic military heroes and demonise the adversary. Straying from the truth while writing about battles is an honourable compulsion, soaked in nationalism. After all, war has never been about absolute truth, and history, the narrative of the victor.  But what happens when both parties declare themselves victors? Deja Vu? This article, like the previous three on India’s unparalleled wars, will not take us through individual battles. We will navigate mostly through the causes to...