Diminishing curve of Chakli

With passage of time, many things undergo change, festivals and festivities being no exception to this...

I had woken up almost couple of hours prior to my regular time and wanted to go back to bed, as it was just 4:00 am. There was something, which compelled me to act otherwise. The mouthwatering aroma of besan fried in pure ghee took me straight to the kitchen.
My mother was engrossed in frying while my grandmother seated on the floor was rolling besan into round balls giving it a definite identity of ‘Besan Ladoos’. Seeing me at the door, my grandmother called me towards her and pointing towards tiny round besan balls (little bigger than the regular size of marbles) in the plate amidst the bigger ones said, “they are all for you to taste, even before you have your traditional Diwali bath. Provided you go and brush your teeth and come back quickly in the kitchen.”My sleep had vanished as I realised that it was Diwali today and besides new clothes and firecrackers, I would be getting festive delicacies to relish upon all throughout the day. In no time, I was back in the kitchen after doing a quick brushing daily ritual to savor hot mini besan ladoos specially prepared for me. My mother though did not approve of me eating them before the traditional Diwali bath, but she just could not challenge her mother’s love towards me. After all everyone knew how much my grandmother loved me, be it festival or otherwise.After 8 to 10 tiny besan ladoos down my tummy, it was time for my mother to take charge of me. She made me sit on a stool and applied oil all over my body, little generous downpour when it came to my dry and rugged hair. “Do not get up from here while I get things arranged for traditional Diwali bath. If you move around you shall put oil stains all around and shall increase my workload,” with the annual Diwali instructions my mother went away not to be anywhere in sight. I could still see my grandmother now busy frying the Chakli.It was almost 5:30 am when like a Prince I was escorted towards bathing room, I knew what was coming next but pretended to be ignorant at that moment. Like every year, my grandmother first poured water over my head followed by my mother. They took turns in applying Utna (sandalwood powder mixed in turmeric and milk) until they were assured of me completely covered with it. After bath, it was time to head directly towards main entrance where I crushed a Kareet (bitter berry fruit under my left big toe) and had a taste of bitterness all over my tongue with a single drop of it. Being symbolic of the victory of good over evil, it also depicts that only after tasting bitter, one realises the importance of sweetness. One look towards both sides of my door and that of neighbours, I could see colourful rangoli and diyas lit all across the corridor.Few minutes later, dressed in new shirt and pant, I sat on a small wooden platform referred to as Paat. Both the women who were pampering me all this while put a tikaa over my forehead and sprinkled few rice granules over my head. Few rounds of lit Diya made me feel like a King now, who was about to embark for a battlefield.Diwali was here, every house had a similar scene. Everyone dressed in new attire greeting one another. Coming few days was going to be full of fun and frolic. I was excited thinking all that we friends had planned during Diwali vacation. School, exams were nowhere in sight or mind.In the evening, I went to the common ground we kids were allotted to burst crackers. Just when I bent down to light a cracker, someone tapped on my shoulder. I turned around to see my wife waking me up by saying, “aren’t you going to wake up. It is already 8:00 am in the morning, I know its Diwali and you got holiday too. That does not mean you will sleep this long.”I woke-up and sitting on my bed I looked towards my kitchen…it was as deserted and silent as I had left it previous night. Yes! It is Diwali today, but it was going to be of a different kind. No besan ladoos, no diyas, no Utna, no Kareet. Not even the customary exchange of sweets. How could it be the same? My grandmother has now a kitchen in heaven, my mother too old to carry on the customary rituals. What remains today, are the black spots of those smoky snakes that we once lit as kids, reminding us of that magic moments we once called DIWALI.

Hunt or get hunted…

Time for Citizen Candidates to administer political euthanasia to terminally opportunistic Goan politicians

POLI-GRAPH: Goa Assembly Complex, Porvorim

By Sumeet Naik

Loyalty in Goan politics is a kid’s diaper – perennially wet, perennially needing a change. One of the popular Goan English daily had made this apt observation in its Sunday Edit. And if that holds true, it’s time to consult a child specialist to fix this problem once and for all. For a sick polity nothing can be a better treatment than a right dosage of ballot administered by masses. In a democracy, they are the specialists, who have the power to administer political euthanasia for terminally opportunistic candidate. Time has come to cure the epidemic of political uncertainty, State been gripped with.

With Goa’s largest non-partisan citizens’ movement Goencho Avaaz considering to jump into political arena by fielding candidates for coming Lok Sabha elections, the importance of otherwise ignored peoples voice seem to have suddenly come to the fore. If fought with right intentions and people centric concerns, Goencho Avaaz can influence poll results in a large way. After all, for two Lok Sabha seats, smallest margin of vote swing is more than enough to turn tables. As far as Assembly battle is concerned, we have been witness to candidates losing over a wafer-thin margin.

In 2007, Mumbai’s posh suburb area of Juhu became the first ward to send a citizen-backed candidate Adolf D'Souza as its representative in BMC. No political party, no big banners or posters and not even frivolous campaign funds. In fact, Adolf was known as ‘1 Rupee’ candidate, as during his door-to-door campaign he went asking for a Rupee to fund his candidature. It’s time Goa takes a clue from neighboring State’s exercise and lays emphasis on putting up Citizen Candidate in coming elections.

Let us for once think beyond party lines and look around our backyard for an individual who has been striving hard to serve the constituency tirelessly without any expectations in return. I’m sure it is no big ask, if done keeping all the bias and past conflicts aside. We can get 40 out of 40 to provide the electoral process a fresh breather and the electorate a new hope. Right now, let’s not think even think of how many will be elected. But let us focus on how many we can back to send a strong message across, that enough is enough, we the citiziens are pulling off the plug. Chance of revival and days of keeping your political aspirations on ventilator at tax-payers expense is over. We are done with you all and we are opting for a political transfusion.

In the past we might have campaigned for one party or the other. We might have had individual choices based on who knows whom and who is related to the other. Let us break free from these self-imposed chains and for once think of collective good. A Citizen Candidate is your own voice against all those whom who have voted to power in the past and have let you down. Any party nominating its candidate for polls will have to think twice as it is not going to be a battle between the candidates. With Citizen Candidate in fray, it is going to be a battle between power-hungry politician and masses. Undoubtedly, peoples’ power has and shall always be supreme.

Once we have zeroed down collectively upon a Citizen Candidate irrespective of ones caste, creed, colour, religion or economic status for our constituency. He or she becomes our primary responsibility right from campaign to polling results and thereafter. You can’t just push someone into deep political waters and watch the person swim against new tides or existing political sharks. Collectively help and guard your candidate against all such possibilities. And make him or her accountable for actions and decisions that one shall take after being elected.

It may seem a daunting task, but it is not impossible either. We have been complaining about the lack of political will to do something positive, today time has come to display our public will towards universal welfare. The time has come to ‘HUNT’ for a Citizen Candidate before getting ‘HUNTED’ once again!

(Writer was former News Editor with The Free Press Journal (Mumbai) and currently a columnist)

Portrait of a hero, profile in simplicity

MY HERO: Manohar Parrikar

By Sumeet Naik

Voting for the first time when you enter the threshold of 18 comes with a strange blend of excitement and confusion. The excitement often clouds conventional wisdom about whom to ink for. Mercifully, that predicament never confronted me as a first-time voter in 1994. My faculties were firmly in place as I held the ballot paper for the first time in my hand. The conspicuity of the name MANOHAR GOPALKRISHNA PRABHU PARRIKAR was so perfectly compatible with my exactitude that it was almost as if here was a man who didn’t need the prop of his party symbol. A couple of decades down the line I stood vindicated that the man I had voted for became the true leader of masses while being a face in that sea of humanity. I stamped my vote against a box on that name. If anything, it was the blob of ink on my index finger was beginning of a loyalty towards someone who went on to become a part of national consciousness.

I must state this preamble for one strong reason. I was born into a family of journalists who were possessive about the objectivity of their profession unlike the fraternity today that makes no bones about their political affiliations. As someone who took part in booth committee meetings and occasionally attending RSS shakhas, I was strictly warned not to disclose my personal affiliations.

Truth, however, finds its way out. One day, a local Marathi newspaper carried a photograph on its front page, showing Manohar Parrikar campaigning for Assembly elections in his constituency of Panjim, with two young lads carrying huge BJP flags alongside the man himself. It was considered nothing short of professional sacrilege as my father who then worked in a sister concern English newspaper as a senior photographer spotted that one of the two boys marching merrily with the party flag in step with Parrikar was yours truly. I was undeterred as my line of defence was unimpeachable. I stood my ground that it was for a person I was all out in the open and not for any particular political party or outfit. It was hero worship with a liberal sprinkling of respect for a man continued to be my hero for reasons more than many.

In 1998 I relocated to Mumbai in pursuance of my professional pursuits and joined The Free Press Journal as a trainee sub-editor. The years that passed were roller coaster as I negotiated professional ferment working with an assorted newspaper groups. The one thing that never changed during all this tumult was my love and admiration for this original common man whose simplicity was his sophistication. It only grew unabashed as I followed the political odyssey of an utterly unassuming leader who never wore his IIT merit on his sleeve but harnessed it for the country. As a political leader he was integrity personified and as a man he could well have been your family member. How the two seamlessly merged!
  

Parrikar at Mumbai event. (L-R) Me,
Menino Peres and Dayanand Kamath

Stories of his no-nonsense traits had already become part of folklore. I particularly recall this one. In one of his earlier stints as Goa’s Chief Minister he was in Mumbai for an aerial photography book launch at a restaurant in Dadar. Two of my colleagues -- Ghanashyam Bhadekar and Dayanand Kamath requested me to take them for the event and introduce them to him. Just before the event was to unfold, to everyone’s surprise, Parrikar noticed me sitting amidst bunch of reporters and waving out towards me. “Kaso Asa Re”, (Konkani for how are you) he asked me loud enough for everyone to hear. That personal warmth made it clear that we shared a different bonding. Mind you, it was not just a friendly banter but an honest affection that went far beyond the realms of professional calling. My professional integrity and neutrality saw me writing some articles and news stories criticizing him or his government. He never harbored any grudge   and let me do my bidding, leaving it to my discretion.

The book launch event was a revelation of sorts to all those present. After the event Parrikar asked me to bring my colleagues along to join him for dinner. Accompanied by an official from Goa Information Department, Menino Peres, whom I knew very well, we partook of a hearty dinner. Just when we were about to get up from the table, Parrikar noticed an individual dropping a used tissue on the floor. Before any of us could realize what was happening, Parrikar took few quick steps forward, picked up the tissue and threw into a nearest bin.

Parrikar was unruffled but I was embarrassed no ends to see the chief minister of my state doing what he did in public glare. My anguish got the better of me and I told him it wasn’t particularly in tune with his stature. His riposte was typical of him. “I am a civilized citizen first and Chief Minster later. I hope we all follow our civic responsibilities irrespective of who and which position one holds”, said Parrikar looking at all four of us pointedly. That cryptic response turned our embarrassment into pride and respect.

Even as I continued to embark on my journalistic journey in Mumbai, way back in Goa, my hero was now not mine alone. My younger brother Sushant who had followed in my father’s footsteps as a press photographer too had developed a very strong bond with Parrikar. True to his genial nature, whenever he would spot Sushant walking down the Altinho hillock (which also happens to the destination for CM’s official residence) he would stop his convoy and ask Sushant to get in his car to be dropped wherever he was headed. This was not just because of personal connection but the gesture of a leader to whom conscience came first. I cannot recollect any top government official showing such a concern even once, let alone the chief minister of any State.

My brother Sushant with Parrikar at our residence. 

Part because of his professional commitments and part also for Parrikar’s handsome, evocative face, Sushant clicked innumerable pictures of his in different moods and poses. Some of the shots were so candid that Parrikar requested Sushant to lend him a copy or two. Sushant was only too happy to oblige. When Sushant passed away at just 25 in a road accident, Parrikar treated it as his personal loss. He made it a point to attend all functions organized in Sushant’s memory. It was a measure of his concern that once just a day before he had taken over the oath as the Chief Minister, the very next day his first official function was the one organized in the memory of Sushant. 

My mother Sushama Naik offering sweets to Parrikar,
while my father Sunil Naik sports a smile.

With the passage of time, I was witness to the changes that came along his political surroundings, but as a person he remained quintessentially the same – simple, warm, self effacing, down to earth and accessible. Be it visiting a small restaurant for a cup of tea or simply hopping upon the back of one’s bike to visit his constituency, he was truly the face of the multitudes. He would feel suffocated with the security cover and would be his normal self in the midst of people.

Parrikar as Defence Minister interacting with Panaji DD officials.

After he became the defence minister, I once met him when he visited the Panjim Doordarshan Kendra. Seeing me among those present to welcome him at the gate, he said, “I came to know you are planning to be back in Goa. Good, if you are back. Let’s see when I get a chance to be back again.” After few group photographs, he went on to record live phone-in-show and I left for Mumbai very next day. By a strange coincidence, on March, 2017 Parrikar returned as Goa’s Chief Minister while a little later in May, I too returned to my roots. I am inclined to think that it was well ordained.

In February 2018, when Parrikar was detected with pancreatic cancer I genuinely wanted my hero to rest. As one who had publicly stated that once your health starts giving away, one should not stick to the corridors of power. As days turned into months, public criticism grew louder and stronger. At times, I wrestled with the feeling that I must tell him to hang his boots and retire for physical and mental rest.

As I saw him walk into the assembly to present interim budget and later at the inauguration of Atal Setu, I could see my hero diminishing in body but not in spirit. When he asked the people gathered at the Atal Setu, “How is the Josh?” he came across as a leader who despite all odds was trying to lift the spirits of those around him. As a Karmayogi, he was destined to serve the masses till his last breath. He did it with the aplomb and characteristic that bore the stamp of his ebullient personality. Now that he has left us, I don’t see any rationale in sitting on a judgment whether it was a political compulsion or his last efforts to maintain stability in the state.

It was difficult to reconcile to the thought that he was still and resting, wrapped in a tricolor. That just couldn’t be MANOHAR GOPALKRISHNA PRABHU PARRIKAR. As I watch him go beyond the mortal world, the only question that comes to my mind: Who took away my hero….Pancreatic ailment or political uncertainty?

IT'S NOT OVER YET: One day we shall meet again.