Vignettes from the Fatherland
Of Progress
I return to fatherland after a shortish duration, eager to view the revolution in progress, one putting India “on the map”, as it were, with the developed powers, as an economic powerhouse; at least, that is what I was led to believe by my friends in the land of Opportunities (whose immense optimism, regarding India, was enough to convert me, a confirmed unbeliever, to an ardent believer in the destiny of my Fatherland).
A short step from the flight, I find that a step has indeed been short, so much so that when I place my feet where there ought to be land, and find instead carpet-covered air, the resulting near-tear in my ankle ligament I attribute to the sheer unexpectedness of finding carpeted airways where, in lesser (developed) countries I only find the anticipated terra firma. I alternate between nodding my head in appreciation and grimacing in pain (and executing a beautiful, albeit unnamed, mode of dance on one foot).
Hobbling in pain and smiling with the pleasure of surprise, I then drag my bag towards the luggage counter, on reaching which I found that my hopes were of further pleasures were not entirely misplaced. There has been arranged, at the luggage area, a beautiful test of the sense of balance; a small layer of sand placed strategically between the conveyor belt and the concrete floor. To further heighten pleasure, the conveyor belt has been arranged cunningly so as to afford every passenger the least possible space for the performance. I marvelled at the ingenuity of the officials in providing themselves and others this wonderful, and inexpensive, opportunity of entertainment.
Unfortunately, I was not afforded the opportunity to view a really good specimen performing in the arena, my luggage being among the first ones to arrive. Furthermore, to dampen the spirits of the onlookers, and much to my chagrin, despite my temporary disability, I was still good enough to retrieve my luggage and hobble away, unassisted.
Hobbling on unsteady legs and hopping in pain, dragging my recalcitrant suitcase on an uneven floor not fit for the motion of suitcases with wheels (unless suitcase wheels are being made in the mould of a tank track, a distinct commercial possibility in this Fatherland of mine), I moved in search of further evidences of ingenuity. After being disappointed with the immigration desk where, despite my fervent hopes, those manning them insisted on passing me through without as much as a glimpse of their ingenuity, something that I assume must be to do with the lack of imagination of a people who sit at a desk, grumpily favouring lawful passengers with their kind permission to enter the Fatherland.
Spirits down, but not yet out, as the saying goes, I ventured out into the small, crowded, noisy and smelly lounge, reminiscent of a railway waiting room in a particularly forgotten part of India, and was even allowed to wander out without any particular incident.
Piqued, I was about to have a relapse into my old cynicism when, of a sudden, it struck me that the reason for the absence of any particularly ingenious instruments of pleasure between the luggage area and the exit (the door to the lobby-like outlet opens, surprisingly enough, directly onto the exit road) was a wonderful sense of understatement, almost Chekhovian.
The idea was very powerful and hence, extremely simple; noticing that the better place to give full rein to their imagination was the very place where vehicles, passengers and lack of parking space (and a convenient lack of policemen to enforce those tiresome parking restrictions) meet for a very short time, the officials had arranged for a mini-chakravyuha, with vehicles, of every size, description and colour entering and exiting at the same side of the road, and the passengers moving now behind this, now in front of that, vehicle, in hope of either being able to obtain the vehicle that has arrived for them or to stop some public vehicle and to induce the driver to kindly transport them to their destination, at whatever he chooses to rob them for.
The ingenious part of the strategy was that, unlike Dronacharya’s rather static concept of this strategy, these people had broadened theirs to include dynamic aspects aspects; if people knew their target, they moved around in search of it, with the target simultaneously moving in search of them, while if they did not, they moved around in search of something like a target, without knowing what the target was.
Before moving away in a vehicle, searched for in the usual manner, I marveled at the art and skill required to create this modern version of one of the most famous strategies of the Mahabharatha, as well as once more thought of how incorrect I was in assuming that ingenuity and original thought was fast disappearing in Indians.
I resolved from then on in never to believe any one spreading canards that India was Not Progressing, spread by the Enemies of the State or even the Foreign Hand, something that has always plagued us at all our failures but never has been, curiously enough, heard from at our triumphs.
When I contemplate that we are now building a much larger airport, at a greater distance from the city, my spine tingles with excitement at the scope afforded such ingenious administrators for a display of their talents, without having to rein it in due to lack of space or time, as currently they are. The vista of ingenuity and originality can then be broadened to equally vital areas of traffic control and transportation planning, and I can only state that I look forward to 2008 in pleasurable anticipation and make a resolution that I shall not step onto the Fatherland prior to its completion, so as to be fully able to enjoy the unique atmosphere of such a vastly superior experience.