Decentralization: The Story of a Villagers Abuse of Power

“What is the village but a sink of localism, a den of ignorance, narrow-mindedness and communalism”

In light of Gandhi’s views that local participation being essential for democracy and the importance of a Panchayati Raj system of village councils, with village as a basic unit of governance and politics has been the objective behind the 73^rd amendment that has left the system of Indian polity transformed forever. Local participation, the importance of “local opinions” and “local expertise” to solve local problems at the local level, the logic may seem undeniable. Here is the question, the local people understand the local problem better, true,  but are they in a position to decide upon a solution for such a problem, do they have the knowledge, the proficiency and the knowhow to actually work up a solution and see it through?

Let us now imagine a typical villager, a potential candidate to enhance the essence of democracy by actively taking part in the grass root level government. Our typical villager is now entrusted with the responsibility of choosing a panch and a sarpanch. Being a typical Indian villager, our character is plagued by prejudices based on caste and faith, which makes the typical Indian villager susceptible to appeals along the communal lines. The differences in human society which is hard lined into them since birth, building up an attitude intolerant to these differences and proliferate the superiority of one’s caste or faith over the other, empowering this typical Indian villager, who embraces provincialism and communalism that addles the attempt to make a choice in exercising the political right to vote is nothing but an abuse of the personal power our villager is being entrusted with. And also, by choosing someone who was alluring such votes along the communal differences, who will abuse power during their tenure of office nurturing and further deepening the communal strains to hold the vote bank intact, thus our typical Indian villager has fostered communalism; our system has created a means to empower communalism. Now even a greater evil comes when chance places our typical Indian villager as a potential contender for panch or a sarpanch. Our typical villager, who has not been educated enough to think clearly to overcome the narrow-mindedness of a villager, who has still not discontinued the hereditary village temperament of tagging fellow villagers on the basis of their birth, how can we expect our villager to be any different or how can we trust our villager to handle the cornerstone of governance of a country? 

The image of a typical Indian villager was created by me after I read an article titled “Panchayat polls worsen tension” dated 30^th May, The Hindu, where the deciding factor of the village sarpanch was a 30 year old disputed mosque in the Atali village. The elections that is yet to be conducted, its fair and simple what is determining the verdict, one set of voters who want the mosque to remain there and the other set who would want the mosque ruined, whichever opinion would muster the maximum sympathies will define a winner, whose only motive would be to decide/fight for or against the existence of a mosque.  So, we have empowered our villager, to do what? To determine the fate of a Mosque! Though the idea of decentralization was introduced with pure intentions it has been belittled by the narrow mindedness of the targeted audiences and hence a novel idea goes to waste. Though it is acknowledged that education is a part of empowerment, it is important that education itself is stressed before empowerment and also a quality education is imparted that would make them adhere to logic, sense and merit that would vest our typical Indian villager with the power to overcome and confront the communal evils of the society at the very place where it begins, at the very roots. Empowerment without this quality education would be similar to pushing instruments of destruction right into the hands of a devil. Empowering our typical Indian villager the way we are doing now we promote marginalization and to a greater extent communalism. Hence without proper understanding if our villagers are constitutionally empowered due to the efforts towards decentralization we end up enhancing and giving a berth to localism, ignorance, narrow-mindedness and communalism.

Prelude to War

“Whom the Gods love die Young”

Nothing is merrier than being young with the world on your shoulder; it displays a possibility so seductive, you start to feel that there must be something more important that you could be doing than just studying for an exam. Everyone has a reason to do something; the reason may range from a simple satisfaction in doing the work, to maybe a responsibility one could not simply avert, or from recent revelations probably an attempt to defend ones ideology. With so much to my credentials, it would not be a surprise if many attempt to ponder upon my own motivations. What made me work for the Students’ council for year or with the Gymkhana for more than two years? Why was I with Voices? What made me actively help in managing the Scholarship hike campaign when the nationwide protests were declared? What makes me lead when I could be happy following?

I have always walked that line very carefully, keeping secrets rather than telling lies, and here there is no secret to divulge. I have no ideology to defend; I am a person with a “mindset” rather than a “set mind”, this makes me adhere to sense and logic and accommodate conflicting notions without any pride and prejudice.   The unity in our campus that breaks the diversity in age, language and culture, or the position you hold here, when it comes to common problem, like mess subsidy or scholarship hike, when we all marched together, when we had a common issue to fight for, has always fascinated me. Anything done for the welfare of a larger community than oneself reduces the burden of one’s own consciousness and gives one the inner peace and outer strength to be of more service to the institute and then to the nation as a whole. While the unity in diversity fascinates me, I have grown to respect the diversity as well. To preserve the space for individual choices must not come at the cost that compromises on the unity; this might sometimes require us to keep some forces at check. The collective mind of such forces has no ultimate desire but a constant temptation for dividing the society, an obsession against the prevalence of unity.

Poisoning a popular mind, only a fool blames the victim. I am not someone’s puppet; I am not someone’s messiah, I will lead when I am sure of myself and seek guidance whenever necessary, I have always done what satisfies me and would continue to do so, no one dictates me as much as I dictate my own happiness and personal satisfaction.  I prefer to stand alone to preserve the unity rather than to stand together and break it.

It is not that I am too young to pick a side, but it is just that I am too wise not to pick one.

Miles to Go Before I Sleep

“The woods are lovely, Dark and Deep,

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep.”

The time between bed and sleep is the worst of the day. The past comes back with a vengeance- the mistakes, the misery, the could-haves and should-haves. Try as you might, you simply cannot close your eyes and go to sleep. A time when the private hell opens up right before your eyes, a private hell is something you lived with alone; even when sometimes someone else’s casual questions nudged old, raw wounds within yourself.

Dully and with only the vaguest of reasoning, you seek out a place where you could be unknown and which, as well, is unfamiliar to you. Familiar things, their touch, their sound, their sight, had become an ache of heart all together which had filled the waking day and penetrated sleep. Strangely, in a way shamed you. There were never nightmares; only the steady procession of events on some unforgettable days. Days, that relive inside you as memories in the day and dreams in the night. And hence keeps you up and occupied till dawn, as you feel dawn gives you a sense of security as if the perils of the night are over. And in the stolen moments of the night you try to sleep and probably get a little shut eye only to be woken up perspiring and wishing for someone besides you warm to hug.

There were certain moments in life where you cannot help but feel like a character in a motion picture acting out a scenario that was written by somebody else. Probably because sometimes you responded in certain ways, leave alone others, you never expected yourself to be reacting, or sometimes when things happened too fast that you wished you could stop the clock for a while and try to take in everything. Miles to go down the memory lane, as time tries slowly to fade away the intensity of such incidents, the road not taken might seem a distress, and for you were the lonely traveler there. Miles along the road not taken, lonely, with no one to tie a bandage around your foot when a glass piece went in, lonely, when you limped along the rest of the miles seeking support on the old grown trees who lived alone long enough to care for no one anymore, limping along to seek out a dream which you always wanted but now fear would come true.    

But then, there is a mile I go before I sleep, down the road I walk not alone, just to see her smile and wave goodnight, just to see her turn back and give me that extra glance, just to see her smile one last time for the day before I see her smile yet again in my dreams. For once, the mile to go before I sleep is when reality seems better than dreams, when aspirations are strengthened and ambitions seem worth achieving. The mile I walk to see her off, I feel the raindrops in a dessert of drought, I see fireflies in a world of darkness, I see a ray of hope in an otherwise hopeless planet. En route the miles to go before I sleep, it is when I realize the pleasurable attractions of the world waiting for us at the end of the road not taken, as I walk along confidently holding her hand to meet out the ending, the happy ending. If things are not happy at the end then it is not the end, then there are yet Miles to Go Before I Sleep with a lot of promises to keep.

A Home Where You Are Always Welcome

“Do you know how an oyster makes his shell?”

“No. Do you?”

“Me neither. But I know why a snail carries its house on its back." 

"Why?" "

So that he always has a roof over his head"

A smile on your lips is nowadays difficult to play by, leave alone making an extra effort to make someone else smile. In a world plagued with concerns over Ebola or the growing unrest in the middle-east, one would not hesitate to second such an opinion. After a couple of years as an undergraduate student and a year as an “adult” by now, it comes to me as a great surprise that I should feel content and ecstatic on a day that is completely aloof from my age and activities. A day I celebrated for the first time of my life as the Children’s day.

While I was stuffing my bag along with Zinya and Tarun, I never realized that I was filing it not with crayons and colors but with expectations, expectations of the kids we have so grown fond of. The day indeed matured as colorful and as beautiful as the greeting cards and clay models the young artists had designed, the best out of waste was not the creative things they did with junk around them, but what they did with my day, they made it “best out of waste” indeed!!

It was high school all over again as I nearly was an object of fist fight yet again as Dilip (a 7^th class kid) declared that I was his best friend, but to Ranjith (another 7^th class kid) the statement did not sound pleasing and spoke he his own disposition, my best efforts to make him understand that I was the best friend of both Ranjith and Dilip was in vain, because he strongly believed that one person must be entitled to only one best friend! Finally, the matter was amicably resolved when Ranjith reluctantly settled for Tarun’s pitch to be his best friend. 

The motivation towards volunteering for the NoteBook Drive was my own attitude that a practical interest in educating the children of our country should be one of the elementary obligations that must devolve on every thinking man in India and so, it began. This social activity for me is not a display of sentimental charity, which is ridiculous and useless, but an attempt to perpetuate the elimination of fundamental deficiency in our economy and society, a deficiency that is bringing about the degradation of our country.

But, now what makes me volunteer is not my philosophy but a new relationship that I have developed. A relationship with no demands, a relationship that has made me realize that that I may not be widely loved but I am loved deeply. A relationship that calls me home, where I know I am always expected.

The King’s Court

“Though the rabbit came through the ordeal of the experiment, this must not be taken as an evidence of its harmlessness”

Justice nowadays can be as callous as the men who plot to topple the balance in hands of the goddess of eternal justice. In light of the recent verdict against the chief minister of Tamil Nadu, without encroaching on the rights or wrongs of the judgment, the highlighted fact that this case has been in the dockets for more than one and half decade swaying and meandering between “appeals” and “stays” makes one introspect the judicial effectiveness of the country. Being the largest democracy in the world, have we over-embraced the conception of democracy that the laws that stand to safe guard the citizens who abide by it now equally defends those who break it? Or is it made to look that way by the lawyers hired by these felonious men to dazzle and mislead the jury with legal jargon that is meticulously stitched to expose the case in the grey areas of the law?

 The notion of a court is to serve justice and punish the guilty. Over time, the two entwined concepts have drifted further apart and now have established their own domain in the system. The contentious impression that justice can be served only if there is equality has ensured equal representation on behalf of both the prosecution as well as the defense. A common man is usually unconcerned with the abstruse process involved between the filing of a case and the final verdict, and hence feels cheated when the system itself conspires the escape of an accused, on whom the rabble set little value upon for survival after an ordeal in court. Little would they want to know about the offender who has been hiding behind the façade of a counsel of lawyers, who flaunt their law school degrees, that boasts of their expertise to manipulate the law and also the judgment in favor of their client for a sleazy cut without much regard for truth and justice.    

In retrospect, the famous tales of Akbar and Birbal speak of speedy and unbiased judgments of a Kings court, where the plaintiff and the defendant are brought face to face under the direct examination of the king himself, where they are aided not by a lawyer with successful courtroom victories under his belt, but by one’s own truth, conviction and experience. The system just as simple and effective as it is, it also leaves very little chances of any external persuasions. A court room that in lucid terms defines the rights and wrongs and that pronounces a verdict fearless of any peripheral force. Our quest for structuring and making things as “democratic” as possible has now lead us to construct a system, whose turtle-paced judgments may be calculated for diligence, but seldom seems to achieve the justice as observed in a King’s Court over centuries ago.  

When is it, that people will realize that freedom is more than just the right to cast a vote in an occasional election but the fundamental right of every single human to live their own life? And when will they realize that one cannot live their own life as long as political and economic influences dominate every dimension of life? And the judicial system that’s very own existence perpetrates to justice feigns to be as blind as the goddess of eternal justice, who is but a silent observer in every courtroom of the country, blind and deaf.

Mars needs MOM(s)

Photo Credits:- Abhinav Jain

“Let’s stand here” Tarun said after making out the silhouette of the crudely drawn lines beneath us.

“I guess that’s pretty much the ISRO logo” I replied to him, and took my place next to him; soon Pankaj joined us with a banner held above his head congratulating the ISRO scientists on their success.

I was dripping wet as I stared up at the main building where the photographers were poised to capture the students who had formed ISRO logo in the quadrangle as J N Tata stared down at us, drenched but equally proud, clutching the main building close to his chest.

It was a festive mood as over hundreds of IIScian’s had turned up to celebrate the successful entry of the Mars Orbiter Mission into the Martian orbit that too on the maiden attempt, a feat unachievable by the attempts made by many others. Already tagged as a cost effective mission that has mocked the movie “Gravity” for spending more money than the amount invested by India in this mission, our little invention will soon be in proximity with “Curiosity”. 24^th September from this day hence shall mark a day that witnessed a historic moment that has by all means satisfied those Indians like me who wanted to witness atleast one trice of our country’s rich history.

The unexpected and unfathomable surprise of the day occurred when a few of our alumni who were scientists now at ISRO turned up and excitedly shared their triumph with us. The hundred is not a mistaken figure as it was evident from the rapidly vanishing sweets that I was distributing along with the others. One last sweet was left in my box and I gave it to Javed, who commented “half-half” and gave me half of it back which I happily ate.

The thrilling prospect of exploring the red planet, our closest neighbor and the quest for extra-terrestrial life, possibilities of which have been over exploited by authors and directors, is soon a reality! The proud Indians finally dispersed back to their labs, where there knew one day soon, an achievement awaits them, that will serve as a turning point as today had been for our country. And with high spirits they would work now.

Everyone was gone, the faculty hall was locked, it was time for us to leave too. I and Tarun started walking away from the main building.

“I guess the posters we put up in the mess really helped” I commented beaming.

“Yeah! So many people turned up, inspite of the rain” 

We were walking back to our hostel, proud and with a silent promise and overflowing excitement to meet Dr. Radhakrishnan, chairman of ISRO during Samanway 2014.

Road to Reality

The road was overpopulated with vehicles; it was a hard ordeal to maneuver my bicycle between autos and cars amidst angry honking, as I hurried to catch up with Sabreesh.

“You can write about today in your blog” he mentioned.

“I intend to” I replied and had already made up my mind that I would, as we hurried back into the campus to attend our humanities class.

It was my second visit along with the members of the Notebook Drive (NBD) to a school nearby to teach kids.  I was very proud of what my fellow students did as a part of NBD and I felt this practical interest in educating the children of our country should be one of the elementary obligations that devolve on every thinking man in India.

Once, inside the classroom, I could not help thinking about the new little friends I made today, the buzzing activity, their excited voices, the pleading innocent eyes that wanted us to stay for some more time, the hesitant goodbyes and the silent promise to meet them again the next week.

In retrospect, I was reminded of my own childhood and it made me wonder, have they got dreams like us? Do they tell their mothers that one day they want to make rockets or a time machine? How would their mother respond? Does she smile and nod her head in agreement? Or does she kiss her little child and reassure him saying “I am sure you will”? Or was she so busy with her chores or doing some odd jobs to raise a little more money for her family that her children lay neglected. What about the Father?  Would he be a kind and an understanding man? Was he a man who could look beyond the misery of the present day towards a better future for the prodigy? Does he understand the value of education? Or is he a hated man who maltreats the family in a fit of drunken rage?

How was the ambience at home? Was there a possibility of learning any lessons at home or was it just restricted to what little the young citizen learns to read and write at school? How was the influence of the teacher, how were they perceived at the child’s home? Were they highly spoken of or were they being denigrated so much so that the child is more inclined to insult the teacher and disregard respect for the human surroundings?

And in this process what happens to their dream? Was fate so cruel, that it tiptoes in, at first unheeded and wearing a prosaic scabbard from which, later, emerges a fiery sword that cuts the last thin thread that holds their small dreams above the ground. Was there any hope to escape the clutches of the goddess of fate that firmly held them in her hands and threatened to crush them any minute now? Whatever happens to our next Dr. Abdul Kalam and his wings of fire? That is when one starts to look out for something to reprimand and that is when you tag them as the victims of a system, and the natural scape goat happen to be a politician.

Politicians had promised to fight, fight illiteracy, fight poverty, but of course, they cannot fight, because you fight for something you love, for loving something you must respect and in order to respect, you must have knowledge of it. And this knowledge cannot be attained from the heaps of folders jam-packed with mathematical figures and diagrams dumped on the desk of a man too busy fighting for his own survival. Nor could it be gained by ”visits”, for which so much hype is created about. Such conventions lead only to superficial talk and sentimental delusions. The former never ventures into the root of the problem while the latter simply evades it. Both meaningless and unnecessary and therefore would serve no better purpose than for a heart touching campaign speech to move voters with a meticulously stitched glitter of words.

Were we politicians, we would have probably left the kids to their own fate or would have made them the instruments to highlight the inefficiency of the Government to propagate our own cause for the elections. Fortunately we aren’t. We are the ones who have realized not to rely on the men with power to act, for they are too busy trying hard to stay in power and in this course have marred their own sensitivity towards the others.

Our actions may go unnoticed; our actions may not bring about a grand change; our actions may have little significance on a longer scale but atleast we ACT!