Post Script

So how far should parents support children? What if their support makes children very satisfied, secure and loath to strike out on their own? How do parents insist on high aspirations, high performance from children while simultaneously assuring them of a cushion for mistakes, bad decisions and risks?
No wonder, parenting is such a difficult job.

Parents and children

“Children begin by loving their parents, later they judge them, never do they forgive them.” (An old saying)

Strong parents give a cushion, a safety net to their children. With its help, children go on to find themselves confidently in the world.

I remembered the above while pondering over two recent books:

1. ‘Hamrasta nakartana’ (Marathi): Sarita Awad, Rajhuns Prakashan, Pune, August 2019.

2. Inside out: Demi Moore, HarperCollins, September 2019.

My thoughts led me to memories of a friend during my teenage years. These three mark three distinct points on a continuum.

 

         Demi ------Sarita--------------------- My teenage friend

It is a continuum of girls growing up and turning into women. One end of the continuum, representing total lack of parental support is Demi Moore’s and the other end, of my friend. In between, closer to Demi Moore will come Sarita Awad.

My friend believed in conservatism and had a very strong mother. She was a reticent girl who suddenly became very conscious of herself after going to college. Her mother had begun the preparations for the marriage of her two daughters years earlier. My friend’s college friends were worldly wise young women hell-bent on getting married early. Marriage was the only career option they were interested in. Their life revolved around nothing else. To cap it all, a brother of one of the college friends, proposed marriage to my friend and she was in seventh heaven. After a prolonged courtship, she duly got married and became a mother within one year.

Then suddenly things changed. “Is that all there is to married life?” she plaintively asked once. The abyss of self-discovery was before her and marriage was of little help there.

Sarita Awad’s mother was a famous writer. There was parental discord and Sarita opted for inter-caste marriage. Her parents cut her off. From a young age, she had to fend for herself. Her marriage was no cakewalk either. She took up a bank job to run the house and raised two children. Reservations in employment helped her and her family but there was struggle at each stage. Sarita was a bit activist with left leanings. Her journey of self-discovery continued and now her autobiography makes a significant addition to the rich field of women’s’ autobiographies in Marathi. Sarita has created herself on the basis of her decisions, struggles, hard work and grit.

Demi Moore’s parents fought continuously. Both were alcoholics and promiscuous. They were continuously on the move to dodge creditors. Demi and her younger brother were separated early. The only time of safety and stability in her childhood that Demi remembers is a two-month period when she was left with her grandmother. At the age of 15, Demi’s mother left her in an empty house the key to which was with her (mother’s) boyfriend. She pocketed $ 500 for this service.

Her extraordinary looks landed Demi an acting role but she had to struggle hard to come up. The struggle involved working on both her body and her mind. It was an on-going heroic battle to reclaim herself after self-rejection. She was happy with Bruce Willis but surprisingly, he did not want her to continue with her acting career. A break-up followed. There have been many more, both before and since.

Striptease is a riveting movie which made Demi famous. Her own daughter has acted in it as her daughter. The girl’s name is Rumer – after Rumer Godden, the famous writer (and my favourite!). She has two more daughters and she has vowed to be a good mother to them and to make up for what her own mother was not.

While nursing her second daughter, she found that the baby had not put on any weight. Doctors advised Demi to stop exercising for a few months to help her daughter gain weight. This she could not as she had to be ‘leading lady thin’ in two months for her next role. These are the problems that celebrities face and that we lesser mortals are ignorant of.

All along her life, Demi has bravely faced situations where most of us would give up. She has tried alcohol and drugs but has given them up. Hers has been an epic struggle and her story is one of triumph in the face of unimaginable odds.

Conclusion: Struggle is important. It makes or breaks you. It is necessary to leave your comfort zone, to deviate from the path laid down by others and to follow your own heart and mind.

             --------------------------------

Discord

Year 2006. I was on a comfortable, luxurious Kashmir tour. On our first evening, we were taken on a small 'shikara' ride on Nagin lake where we were put up in a houseboat for two nights. Kashmir was just coming out of a terrorism -induced shutdown of economic activity. Our shikara was surrounded by hungry- looking operators of water sports. Weather was chilly, I do not know swimming and the sports looked dangerous. Others in the group tried their hand but I declined. One elderly operator kept pestering me, "Do it. Try out everything. We will also earn."
 it was the same at Dal lake the next day. Nice breeze, a long ride and I was so happy absorbing the atmosphere. Within no time, other shikaras surrounded us with cries to buy their ware. So irritating! The sellers were frustrated and I overheard one telling another, "They want to do nothing, just lol about!" He was angry .
This dissonance between what is expected and what I want to do is not new.
I am a student of economics and have studied Keynesian multiplier effect as an undergrad. Here was my chance to contribute to it and I messed up.
I am supposed to earn and spend. That is my contribution to the economy. Earn I do, spend I do not because I am not interested.
Another instance of sound economic sense and what actually happens!

Importance of organizational reforms

Cooperative housing societies are very popular in urban areas in India. Legal importance of these societies is growing day-by-day.
I was one of the first office-bearers of our society. I worked, along with 2 other members for 3 years and then handed over charge to another team. A lot of apathy to society matters was shown by most members as time went by.
Then one enthusiastic member took over and streamlined the work. He got the building painted and beautified. His work motivated the current secretary to become active and wipe out his image of a no-doer. However, others were skeptical and the previous secretary was apt to meddle.
This is when I decided to support the secretary. I suggested some very simple things such as a managing committee meeting on the last Sunday of every month and circulating printed copies of the minutes of all these meetings. I insisted that these ideas be implemented. After two years, we are seeing the results.
Attendance at monthly meetings fluctuates but the office-bearers take that in their stride. Word has spread that the new team works in a transparent fashion because we discuss everything before acting. Lively discussions take place in many of the meetings. Because of them, the importance of the general body meeting has eroded. Previously, people would plot and rival factions used to have a field day in the meeting. It is not necessary to do that anymore. The secretary, who has worked hard with dedication but is short-tempered and weak in languages and communication is becoming secure and strong. 

Room by Emma Donoghue, Picador 2010

I saw the movie, made in 2015 first. (There is another movie by the same name in 2005 but the two are very different.) It was absorbing, disturbing.
Then I read the novel recently. I have read it two, three times and have found it engrossing each time.
The plot has a 26 year old woman living with her son of 5 years in a room in the backyard of a house. A man kidnapped her 7 years ago and has kept her there all the time. He rapes her regularly and the result is a stillborn daughter and now this son. When the woman realizes that the kidnapper has become unemployed and might just abandon them one day, she makes an escape plan. She pretends her son is dead, wraps him in a rug and makes the kidnapper take him away. 
The plan succeeds and the boy and later, the woman are rescued by the police and the kidnapper arrested. The woman and the boy are brought to a psychiatric clinic where the woman is surrounded by media people. Their questions make her doubt the efficacy of what she did and she attempts suicide. The boy, extra alert to his mother's moods, senses this in time and she is rescued. The boy meets his grandparents, uncle and his family. His socialization begins. He and his mother start living separately. At his insistence, they visit the room once to say goodbye.
The narrative  is the boy's. His mother has breast-fed him all these years.There are many more details of what such a life entails. The boy has watched TV everyday and has thought what it shows to be real. Outside world is unreal to him.
The novel works at different levels. The film presented a rather sanitized version. At a deeper level, it is erotic. 
The boy Jack, his intelligence, his understanding, his questions, his obedience - the way it is portrayed is simply arresting.
The book has made a deep impression on me.

Perseverance

In all handicraft projects, patience is required. My rule is to devote half an hour to them everyday without thinking about the whole project. That way, I do not feel daunted.
In each project, the first burst of enthusiasm makes way for boredom pretty soon. One must not give up. Then comes a turning point. Something clicks; something works; something new suggests itself and then you carry on without feeling bored. Perseverance till the turning point - that is the secret of each completed project.

Pleasant surprise

May 2013
I was near Chicago with time on hand. Was getting used to Wall Street Journal. Rana Plaza tragedy was just unfolding. More than 1100 garment workers had perished in the collapse of the building -Rana Plaza. WSJ was making very good coverage of the accident and it was analysing the working of global value chains and large retail shops which leads to such accidents. John Bussey was the journalist in charge. So I sent him an email showing my appreciation. He replied promptly thanking me.
September 2019
I was watching 'A mighty heart' - a movie based on the killing of Daniel Pearl by terrorists in Pakistan. Pearl was WSJ  South Asia bureau chief in Pakistan. Some parts of the movie were shot in Pune. The film was made in 2007. It is good. John Bussey plays an important role in it. Another actor played the role but I felt very connected!
It is a small world.

Comments

The best type of blogs relate to food, travel and self-help - according to a recent article I saw.
No wonder then that my blog does not show much traffic.

Dilemma

Going to a superstores once a month is something I look forward.
The stores is a famous one - the first departmental stores in town. It has an enviable location, is spacious and has courteous staff. Its sections on three floors are full of goods. Many people, even men, make it a point to visit it regularly.
The stores has kept abreast of all the latest changes in retail industry. It allots shelf space to particular brands of tea, coffee, honey and other eats. It has promotion schemes every month. The merchandise changes constantly. For every item, many brands are displayed and by reading the labels carefully, one has to really decide.
Many people have the impression that its merchandise is costly. I do not think so. I have recently had occasion to compare its price with that of an established, old type 'kirana' shop. The 'kirana' shop price was well ahead!
In spite of all this, I find that after I come home, our dry garbage can is, within no time, full of plastic wraps and paper cartons of things I have bought. Their volume surprises me every time. Inevitable I suppose for the 'Look and choose' policy of the stores.
I have begun to see a direct conflict between my enjoyment and environment degradation. What to do?

Teachers' day

We stayed in a small town for a year. I had to do a lot of adjustment as the school syllabus was very different. On the positive side was a drawing class that took place once a week. My old school did not have any.
A new drawing teacher joined the school late. He wore very thick eyeglasses. He was middle-aged and was very reticent. he made us do free-hand drawing and then gave a design which had to be filled with water colours on the weekend and brought to the next class.
The work intrigued me.  Mixing colours, applying them on paper was very exciting but the work left me exhausted. I was clumsy.
Few students had completed this beautiful assignment. The teacher gazed at my painting for a long time and said, "You have applied colour very thickly as if it were oil paint. Also you have used yellow and black close to each other. That is not done."
The painting that he held out before the class was that of a boy who had used very pale colours. It did not impress me one bit. I also did not understand Sir's logic.
I have started dabbling a little in painting now and it has taken me a year to understand the flow and beauty of water colours. I realize now that water colours must be transparent, lightly applied and allowed to run. Every time I look at some water colour painting, I remember my teacher.
On Teachers' day, I remember him but not many other teachers.
He left the school before the year was over. He did not talk much. From his demeanor I inferred straightened conditions at home. How much did art-teachers get in those days? Getting a permanent job and supporting a family must have been difficult.
Looking back, I feel he understood the mystery of art and did his best to initiate us raw yokels into it. I do not remember his name. I have no means to trace him but he has left an indelible mark on me. 

Quality of life

Time was when summer was marked by a number of mango pickles and jams made at home. Along with the regular pickle, there were different types of 'chhunda's and 'takku's. The chhunda made after grated raw mangoes were kept in the hot Sun for a few days was mouth watering. The chili powder gave it an inviting orange-red colour. The pickle had to last for a whole year and it had a special glass container. 'Sakharamba' and 'gulamba' were favourite sweet jellies.
Fewer and fewer people left at home and so the quantity of these has become very small. This year I could get good (or so I thought) raw mangoes in May and all the above varieties were made. We kept them out for a few days and then put them in the refrigerator fearing that they would be spoilt otherwise.
Takku which tasted divine when made had to be thrown away the other day. It had got fermented in the refrigerator. Chhunda also spoils quickly no matter how much seasoning you do in the Sun. Oil is used liberally in the pickle and yet it gets covered in fungus if left outside the refrigerator for a few days. Sugar in the 'sakharamba' got crystallised in no time at all.

What is happening?

Tomatoes do not taste sweet. Vegetables look fresh but are not tasty. I cannot eat many fruit.

The politics of garbage

Time was when rag pickers were the lowest of the lowly urban poor. It was hard to find an adult male among them. Women and children made up their ranks.

Garbage collection has now become organized. NGOs of rag pickers have been set up for collection of garbage from housing societies. Men are visible in garbage collection and processing now that it has become a visible and even important activity involving interaction with the well off. Men are crowding out women and children.

 Local municipalities are trying to get away from this work. Dumping collected garbage at some far away spot is not possible any more as violent protests are made by the locals. So citizens are asked to segregate wet and dry garbage themselves and housing societies are expected to treat their own wet garbage.

Bigger housing societies must start carrying out this work immediately. Otherwise municipal authorities levy a big fine.

Our society is small and so the above rule does not apply to us right now. Still, as a part of planning and adopting possible best practices, we have set up a vermi-composting plant for wet garbage in our society. It is not cheap and so other members were not interested. The office bearers of the society persevered and the plant became operational from 1^st August 2019. The day-time watchman has been trained to process the wet garbage in it every day and his salary has been hiked for this additional work.

The NGO that picked up society garbage was not amused. “You have suddenly stopped our collection. We will tell the supervisor and he will call on you”, its collectors threatened.

Members of the society do not segregate waste properly. The watchman has to do the segregation himself. So rubber gloves were issued to him. However, the person who collects the garbage by going from door to door is another fellow. He comes every morning and his wife sweeps the premises. The watchman was asked to give a pair of gloves each to them.

Two days ago, I saw the garbage collector working with only one glove.

“Where is the other glove?” I asked him.

“The watchman has kept it with him in his cabin and cannot find it.”

“Nonsense! Tell him to give it to you immediately.”

On the second day also the sweeper came with only one glove. I told the Chairman about this and requested him to fire the watchman. I called him up and asked him to give me the sweeper’s gloves. He showed them to me and promised to hand them over the next morning.

“I will do that.” I told him but he protested.

Today the sweeper came with gloves on both his hands and he was looking happy. His wife is yet to get her pair though. Then we want to issue face masks to them and are prepared for another round of feet dragging over it. The watchman has been told that new gloves will be given to him as soon as the present ones wear out but his stinginess and guile know no bounds.

Back in 1985 I participated in a public information experiment by a well-known public health NGO – FRCH. Pamphlets were prepared to give information to villagers about various welfare schemes of the government from which they could benefit. The free pamphlets were distributed directly, through postmen, village Sarpanch (chief of village local body) etc. to the villagers. It was found that these middlemen just sat over the pamphlets and did not issue them. They made it out to be some big, confidential matter and demanded a large sum of money before handing them over.

Designing programs for the down-trodden is one thing. Ensuring that they actually reach the intended beneficiaries is an altogether different proposition. Implementation therefore remains a big problem.

                          __________________________________

Household accounts

Yesterday was 1^st of August. The day for turning the pages of calendars and the morning devoted to writing up household accounts. All cash expenses incurred in the last month have been religiously entered in a notebook. Bank transactions, card payments are noted by me separately in my diary.

The first step is to find out the cash on hand as per the notebook and the balance actually on hand – kept in an old black purse, a pouch and a red plastic box for coins. Cash on hand is short by Rs. 748.

I report the matter to my mother, Amma.

“Ah, I paid Rs. 750 to the gardener on 30.7. That explains the difference.”

“Why did you not enter the amount in the notebook?”

“The gardener was paid on 6.7. After that he has come only twice. He is to be paid only in the next fortnight.”

“Then why did you pay him?”

“I don’t know. He asked for it and I paid him and then realized my mistake.”

“But the point is that cash outgo has taken place. So you should have recorded it.”

“I suppose so.”

I alter my calculations and sure enough, there is a difference of only Rs.8. I am not Gandhiji and so I am not going to investigate this difference. However, I am overjoyed. This is the first time the book figure and the actual are so close. Usually there are wide differences and they are mainly due to Amma who has stashed money at different places in her cupboard and merrily takes it out and mixes it with house cash in the name of getting ‘chhutta’. She will never admit it though.

My accounting system is elaborate. The above – the notebook and my diary – are primary records of day-to-day transactions. The secondary record is classified just like a ledger. It has separate groups for groceries, milk, ready-to-eat items, medicines, newspapers, stationery and books, clothes, repairs etc. Whenever there is need to check some past expense, Amma keeps going through the notebook and is unable to locate the expense in spite of spending a long time. My classified system gives quick answers.

I have used it in my class of Personal Income and Wealth Management course and I have appealed to students to use it in their homes. Wonder how many would bother. Some students staying in hostels had assured me that they noted all their expenses. Nobody is going to enter them in a diary but a record on the phone or laptop is easy. Factual information about expenditure is necessary for expenditure control which in turn is necessary for wealth creation.

______________________________________________

My long stint at Ness Wadia College of Commerce

College and its surroundings

I have spent four decades in the college – four years as a student and thirty seven as a teacher. It was a very long, almost continuous association during which I witnessed quite a few transformations of the college.

It began as a small, late starter in a corner of the campus which belonged to Nowrosjee Wadia College really. Cusrow Wadia institute had a different culture and a different type of students. Ness Wadia building was no patch on the imposing, stone edifice of Nowrosjee Wadia College. Staff members of Nowrosjee Wadia College looked down upon both teachers and students of Ness Wadia College initially. Among other commerce colleges in Pune also, it stood apart because of the Wadia tag. Cosmopolitan atmosphere, emphasis on sports and outdoors, a high level of spoken English and a happy-go-lucky attitude were noticeable features of Wadia ethos. It was a part of the culture of eastern Pune, particularly Pune cantonment area. There used to be a huge cultural divide between west and east Pune then. Pune, the seat of Peshwas and the focal point of Marathi culture was actually west Pune.

Today, Ness Wadia College has overtaken Nowrosjee Wadia College in terms of number of students and activities carried out. The profile of teachers and students has changed so much today that it is like any other college in Pune. The ‘hep’ crowd has perhaps moved on to private universities. The level of English has declined and other languages such as Persian, Urdu, Sindhi, and Gujarati etc. have disappeared from the commerce course. Given the internal and external changes to which the university system has been subject since 1970, this result was probably inevitable.

One incident, way back in 1985 is etched in my memory. While waiting in a queue at Silver Jubilee petrol pump to fill petrol in my scooter, I heard two gentlemen ahead talking of college admissions. One confidently told the other: “Send your son to Ness Wadia College. It has excellent faculty. Your son will do well.” This was praise indeed and it made me very happy.

Commerce was not treated as an academic faculty in the 1960s and 1970s. So much so that the university of Pune opened its commerce department only in the 21^st century. However, today it is the preferred undergraduate course. Nonetheless, attendance of students is a big problem in all commerce college because the syllabi and examinations are pretty simple. Ness Wadia College has one distinction: attendance by students has generally been good. This is more so after a new building and an open air theatre were added to the college campus.

What Commerce syllabus lacks in depth is perhaps made up for by its constant revision. Practicals were introduced in early 1980s and subject syllabi have been regularly updated. The latest change introduced by the university is credit-based post-graduate courses. These keep M.Com. teachers and students on their toes. By and large, these changes have been beneficial.

My contribution

My first year as a teacher in the college was disastrous. I simply did not have the confidence that is necessary to make simple points in a loud voice and a no-nonsense approach before students. I watched with despair as my students turned to the next classroom where a more experienced teacher taught the same subject. The misery I endured then led to a resolution to try my best to become a good teacher. As a commerce teacher, I could easily move among diverse subjects such as cost accounting, business administration, business management, strategic management, communication and secretarial practice etc. This and syllabi revisions helped me keep boredom away and then there was research.

Over the years, my observations and reading helped me crystallize some principles. The first principle is that academic and administrative work are different. Teachers must concentrate on the former. There is an acute shortage of good teachers while administrators are many. It is difficult to be a good teacher rather than a good administrator. (Ironically, I taught Business Administration for a number of years.) A good teacher has to work hard continuously on his/her own.

The second principle is that academics must have an upper hand over administration. All the great educational institutions, be they Oxford and Cambridge, Ivy League colleges and IITs and IIMs ensure that academic considerations have the final say. In other words, teachers must be the final arbiters in syllabus formation, conduct of examinations and results. There are many non-academic pressures on teachers but they must be countered. This I tried to do to some extent. The idea was to spread the message that merit matters, that students have to work, have to be sincere, honest and that they do not get anything free. The pressure to pass all students at the end of the year has now become enormous. This makes a mockery of education.

I paid a price in terms of isolation to implement these simple principles. Looking back, I am happy that I did so.

Teachers and classroom teaching matter even today. By observing the teacher, students imbibe many values. I have seen that B.Com. and M.Com. students have little confidence. They think BBA and MBA students are much smarter than them. Students must be able to interpret the world around them on the basis of the knowledge and the tools that they have been given in the college. This is not happening and it is a major failure of commerce faculty.

As I look back today at my college career, I have fond memories of the college library, S.Y.’D’ classes, practicals of Business Communication, project reports of M.Com. and of course, my own room on the top storey of the old building. Free access to all books and magazines in the library and permission to order books were a privilege which is sorely missed in retirement. These memories allow me to look back on my teaching career with some satisfaction.   

               __________________________________________

The Gods must be crazy!

That is the title of a popular 1980's film. An African tribal finds an empty, plastic water bottle and not understanding what it is, knows that he must get rid of this stellar object. He travels on foot to a distant valley and throws the bottle away in its awesome waterfall. He sees and experiences many weird things on his way. They include a brief spell in a prison. He does not understand what a prison is and spends all his time in the cell in watching the sky from its tiny window. He refuses to eat. Seeing this an American young scientist persuades the warlords to free him or else to have the blood of an innocent man on their hands.
I had not heard of this movie at all. Imagine my pleasure when I chanced upon it on an idle afternoon when I was clicking TV channels at random. I decided to give the movie 5 minutes and stayed glued to the TV set till it was over. Oh! What an enjoyable time it was!
I remembered the movie again because in the labour camp behind our building, there is a new worker who keeps gazing at the nearby tree-tops, the sky and the birds whenever he is out of his tiny shed. He reminds me of the tribal from The Gods must be crazy.
The surroundings of our society are getting commercialized very fast. The bungalow on the right had made way for a four- storey building. A regular office has started on the third storey and work is going on in other parts. The construction workers and security guards stay in make shift sheds on an open plot behind our building.
These are tiny tin sheds. After 2/ 3 instances of rain-induced wall collapses recently, the sheds have been somewhat fortified. There is minimum furniture. One shed boasts of a bed. Ropes have been put up to hang washed clothes.
It rains heavily nowadays and otherwise it is hot. In this tropical climate, there are plenty of birds, butterflies but also insects and creepies and crawlies about.
The workers make light of these difficulties and go about their business punctually without any fuss. There is minimum conversation among them though. There are 7 or 8 of them around. Until recently, there were just 4. Half of them have mobile phones. There is electricity. They appear to be content.
I watch them. When they carry on so well with so little, do I have a right to feel bored?

A riveting read

True Grit by Charles Portis, Overlook Press, N.Y. 1968

A western novel with a difference. The blurb calls it a classic.

The protagonist is a 14 year old girl and the action is set in the 1870s. The girl's well-to-do father is murdered by a vagabond and the girl decides to track him down and avenge the murder. She leaves behind her weeping mother and two younger siblings and moves to the nearest town. She manages to enlist, with considerable difficulty, an experienced marshal who wants to undertake the commission but without her on the journey. The commission is $ 100, a vast sum and the girl is used to dealing in that kind of money! She offers only a quarter of the money first and balance later. Another Texan officer joins the party and she succeeds. But boy! what a journey!

 The girl - Mattie - has loads of common sense while also being prone to simple mistakes. The marshal is Rooster Cogburn, a memorable character.

Right from page one, sentence one, the story begins and continues. The style does not vary. It is the details - of landscape, weather, people and action - which are gripping. And smartly, in 143 pages, the story comes to a happy end. Well, Mattie loses one hand and never marries. Towards the end, it becomes clear that as an 80-year old lady, she is describing this story based on her memory.

The reader hardly expects this feminist perspective in this setting. That is a part of the attraction of this novel.

Do read it. It is almost unputdownable. I skipped some parts, did not understand some and have vowed to read it slowly, again.

Battlefield

Battlefield

The grand-aunt from India is visiting and has all the time in the world. Dad is working from home today and can spare half an hour. So how about a game of – sorry, not cerebral chess but the much humbler snakes and ladders? Kids are happy and the game starts immediately.

The kids are seven and five years old. The younger one is indicted as a full-fledged player for the first time overruling the smirking elder one’s objections. The young one could never resist the temptation of skipping snakes or fudging the houses to grab a ladder. Her elder brother would never have allowed her to play but he was told she was not a serious contender and it would be best to ignore her. So was tolerated. Now things have changed. She has become rather adept at the game.

The kids and their father have all the luck. The grand-aunt is a plodder but very patient. She seems to enjoy the journey more. The elder one takes pot shots at her and she does not mind. He himself is burning with competitive spirit.

In their enthusiasm to reach ‘heaven’ – the top house of 100, the kids are over- eager to grab the dice. After missing their turn a few times, the elders make a rule: whoever plays the dice out of turn, must move back five houses.

N goes up quickly but also slides down fast. S steadily goes ahead without once resorting to cheating. N fumes. However, S plays out of turn.

“Move back five places.” N orders her. This is the chance he is waiting for.  S does not want to go back. Seeing her face, the grand-aunt takes pity on her.

“This is the first time. So I am letting you off with a warning. You must allow each player to play and take his own time.”

S nods her head meekly. N is furious.

“A rule is a rule. She has to come back.”

“Come on N. She is a small girl. We will let her off with a warning.”

“NO!”

The grand-aunt is being partial! S is allowed to continue.

“That is unfair. I am quitting.”

Instead of capitulating, the grand-aunt merely says,

“Okay. We will call you once this game is over.”

N has to step aside. He does so most reluctantly. He had not bargained for his own removal. He does not go away but stands nearby wearing an injured expression and watching every move of S like a hawk. Her progress continues. The grand-aunt does not mind.

N edges closer. He can barely suppress his fury.

He leans towards S. “Cheater!”

“I am not!” says S in a small voice.

“N, she did not cheat. She did not ask for a concession. I allowed her to play.”

N does not care for any lame explanations.

“Stinker” he hisses.

“I am not.” S says softly. The poor thing is used to placating N even when – which is most of the time – he is in the wrong.

The dice is cast twice. N comes closer to the game.

“Pooper!” he shouts with venom in his voice.

“I am not.” S maintains.

The grand-aunt suppresses her mirth with difficulty and the game continues.

This is too much! N attacks S and whacks her. She is ready. Both wrestle. In any such game of physical power, S can beat N hollow.

The grand-aunt is rolling over with laughter. Kids’ father has no patience with these tactics. He warns them once and then goes away. The kids are a bit scared of him.

The grand-aunt controls herself and gives a call for the next game. Quickly N and S end their fight. They are eager to find out who will win the next game.

                       *********************************

Formation of the working class

Workers have had to change themselves as per the requirements of capital over the centuries. First, they abandoned agriculture as a way of life and got used to 12/16 hours of working days in textile mills, foundries and iron smelting workshops. Then came the nine to five workdays. This is changing again as longer hours and flexible contract work have made deep inroads.
Workers gave in eventually but not without a struggle. The luddite strikes are well-known. Less known are the following two.
1) In Mumbai, in the second half of 19th century, factory managers used to have a tough time retaining workers in the textile mills. During rainy season (for planting crops) and winter (for harvesting),during Ganapati and Shimga workers just left without notice and headed back to Konkan. Budli system and residential accommodation (in Dagdi chawl) were in response to this foot-loose nature of workers.
2) In 1930s, Henry Ford invested a lot of money in creating a dream city in the Amazon rainforest. The city was named Fordlandia and it was designed to resemble an American suburb, complete with a church and movie theatre. Local Brazilian Tapajos Indians were to work and stay in the city cultivating a mammoth rubber plantation to supply latex to the world market. Working conditions were to be the same as in the tightly controlled assembly line factory that turned out the Model T cars in America.
The project never took off because the workers did not understand church bells and factory sirens. They were used to working only in the relatively dry months from June to November. They submitted for a while and then destroyed the time machines which recorded their entry and exit time every day. The project was then abandoned.