Life Lessons from Television

When I got back from my late night/ early morning walk by the Thames, I inadvertently switched on the TV. And a running TV has to be watched. While surfing the channels, I stumbled onto BBC Three's "Can Fat Teens Hunt?", one of the numerous reality TV/ armchair-enthusiast's-self-improvement programs.

The fundamental concept of the program is that a bunch of morbidly obese teenagers are packed off to Borneo, where they live in the jungle with an Iban tribe for a month. This is purported to teach them healthy habits.

In this particular episode, the teens have been in the jungle for 10 or so days, and their food runs out. Naturally they need to go hunting/ gathering. For this they have the leadership and guidance of an Iban gentleman.

A few of the teens stay back to guard the camp while the remaining pack of 5-6 follows their Iban guide on a treck uphill into the forest.

Two of the brat pack fall short relatively quickly, one falling down from hypoglycemia, and the other from dehydration. The other three also give up at different stages of the quest, long before reaching the food source, and return to the base camp.

Only one kid Jimmy perseveres with his Iban guide, and returns home with food for the gang.

And then comes the kicker. Instead of receiving a hero's welcome that all those Hollywood movies tell us he should receive, Jimmy returns to a very hostile bunch of fellow teens. He is accused variously of being selfish, arrogant and "not a team player".

This pretty much grabbed me by my throad and shook me. I still struggle to make sense of what happened there. To tell the truth, it even brough back memories of Ayn Rand's Atlas Shrugged. I guess that such events are either a reminder that one should stop trying to make sense of the world around oneself, or use a bigger hammer.

Staying Alive

Every night, almost without fail, I go out for a walk by the river, sometime between midnight and 3am.

Normally I walk down to the Albert Bridge, passing the Chelsea Bridge on the way. Occasionally I walk in the opposite direction, and walking the same distance takes me to Westminster. I prefer my regular route, though, as it is more peaceful.

The weekends are usually slightly different from the weekdays. For one, the decorative lights on the bridges become somewhat unpredictable. But more importantly, and amusingly, on weekends there is a good chance that I would run into a drunken lad who's been "walking in the wrong direction for 2 hours". Of course, I am usually the only person they see at the ungodly hour, and of course they have to ask me for directions and then walk with me till the Vauxhall Bridge (from where I turn left) to feel a little safer.

Yesterday, however, was one peculiar experience, though not a weekend. On my way back from the Albert Bridge, I stopped and sat down on a column of the embankment. I sat there engrossed deep in thought, or completely devoid of all thought, I can't be sure, for who knows how long before these three people approached me.

"Theek ho? (Are you okay?)", asked this Punjabi bloke.

"Haan (Yes)", I woke up from my stupor.

"You are thinking to die in the water?"

"What? This is the most absurd thing I've heard in a long time," I thought, but presently said only, "No, no."

Even as I was finishing my really short sentence, the Englishman asked, "Waitin' four yo gérlfrnd? Had a faaeet with yo gérlfrnd?"

"Oh, you arre such a good looking laad, you know thaaa?" chimed in the Welsh girl, "Here, take my hand, come down."

I followed that instruction since, almost on cue, it suddenly started to rain, and I had no intention of getting soaked in the chilly weather. I politely explained to my well-wishers that I just liked sitting there and relaxing.

While at the time I found the whole episode absurdly hilarious, as I walked home, it set me thinking, and I started to appreciate what the trio did.

I still don't know whether it was my "deep in thought" expression or my blank expression, or simply my sitting on the embankment that drew them to ask me those questions, but the point is that anyone of us could run into a situation where we might think that a stranger might be about to commit suicide or otherwise harm themselves, or otherwise are upset.

There are two types of errors one could make in such a situation: Error I - One does nothing (the typical Londoner's response) and the assessment turns out to be right, or Error II - One intervenes and the assessment turns out as being wrong.

The cost of Error II is invading someone's privacy for no apparent rhyme or reason, and risking being ridiculed. The cost of Error I could be as high as someone dying. While on the surface, the cost of Error II is personally slighter, I can not even begin to imagine how one could live on, dragging the weight of, "If I had just talked to that person for a bit, he might still be alive."

When one considers that London's multi-cultural society is comprised, to a large extent, of immigrants (international AND national), many of whom are away from friends & family and may not have well-developed social networks or safety nets, it becomes easier to understand how powerful a small idle chat, a kind word or a small act of kindness or thoughtfulness could be.

So the next time I suspect someone might be contemplating suicide, I WILL intervene, at the risk of personal ridicule. Of course, I'll try to be slightly more tactful than my three "rescuers".

"Loo"ney Brits

London has arguably the best public transportation system in the world in terms of reach, network and schedules. "The tube" as Londoners lovingly call the London Underground, is just so convenient, especially in conjunction with the feeder buses, that one wonders why one would ever want to own a car in this city.

There is much to be desired, though, in terms of technology, infrastructure, accessability, etc., which is understandable considering that much of the underground railway system is a century or so old.

What shocks one, though, is the conspicuous absence of "rubbish bins" from the station platforms, and in fact entire train stations. Can you really blame the teens that leave empty beer cans on the stairs, tourists that stealthily throw away their empty bags of potato chips on the platforms or the commuters that leave behind scores of tabloids and evening papers in the train compartments?

Also, there are apparently no public restrooms ("loos") at the tube-stations, except at Picadilly Circus. If I were a town-planner, I would consider this unacceptable for a city that boasts of more tourists/visitors every year than Paris, Las Vegas and New York put together.

While it doesn't look like the Mayor of London can be bothered about such trifles as loos and rubbish bins, there certainly seem to be major works underway with regards to the modernization of the infrastructure.



Found among the numerous informative posters about the repairs/ maintenance/ upgrade of the London Underground, at least one station's poster reads, "We will also be installing tactile flooring on platforms and coloured handrails to help visually impaired people when using this station". Now, I am no expert on accessability, so will someone please explain how colored handrails will help people with visual impairments?


The last nugget for the day: In central London, there's a place called, I kid you not, "St. John's Wood"! That's right. Not St. John's woods (which would have meant forest), but wood. I know they perhaps mean a walking stick or something, but it is pretty funny nonetheless.

And for all the cricket enthusiasts among you, this is the area where the mecca of cricket, the Lords stadium, is located.

Ah, the joys of being in London!

Whose republic day is it anyway?

I am biased. Based in Delhi, I can't help but wish that I could avoid the traffic snarls and other associated fringe benefits of the republic day. I just have to wonder whether the "public celebration" of Republic Day is worth the effort, money and inconvenience. After all, the heart of the nation's capital comes to a standstill for several days flanking the republic day.

Don't get me wrong. I am not against celebrating republic day. Far from it. I appreciate the fact that 26 January has the place of honor in India's history.

After Nehru unfurled the tricolor on the banks of Ravi at the stroke of midnight on 31 December 1929 and the declaration of complete independence was passed, Gandhi called for the celebration of an "Independence Day" on January 26 presumably to judge the mood of the nation. The first Independence Day in 1930 was, therefore, but a precursor to the Dandi march. As the independence movement gained momentum, however, 26 January came to symbolize the aspirations of the populace.

So, it posed a peculiar problem when the British panicked, packed their bags and ran away on 15 August 1947, ahead of the scheduled date, which was 26 January 1948. It was decided that though formally India gained independence on the 15th of August, we would continue to celebrate the "original" Independence Day - 26 January. In order to give tradition a semblance of rationale, 26 January was accorded the status of Republic Day.

So, in essence 26 January is our real independence day by proxy, and I'd have to be a thankless, shameless, nihilist not to respect this day. What I despise, though, is the manner of celebration.

Our republic day celebration boils down to a display of the assorted advanced weaponry accumulated by the country and a march past by the various sections of the armed forces. Both are meant to demonstrate the military might of the country. Tableaus purported to highlight our cultural diversity seem to have been added to the rigmarole as an afterthought.

To me, this smacks of an inferiority complex that India Shining can ill afford. Do we really need to shout from the rooftops post-Pokhran II ? When, if ever, will we realize that we have ceased to be a potential world-power, and have started to tread the path of realizing that potential?

The speech-parade routine is a legacy of the cold war years when the socialist states like Russia needed to reassure their masses that they were safe and had the wherewithal to take on anyone in the world, especially the bourgeois capitalist nations. Our friendly socialist nations have fallen, but we refuse to shed the baggage.

International diplomatic relations have changed dramatically during the past 5 decades, and we are closer than ever to America. Even so, we are still nursing the hangover of communism (socialism, to be politically correct).

We continue to celebrate our republic day the same way as a communist nation would. All arrangements are handled by the government. Government offices and organizations are required to "celebrate" it. And the whole ritual is handled in an unenthusiastic, cold, high handed manner that is characteristic of official business in the country of babudom.

Although republic day is ostensibly a "public function", I wonder what proportion of that public is involved in the celebrations. Come to think of it, are there ANY civil celebrations out there? Does the common man even bother to flick the remote to watch the republic day parade? I don't have to be R.K.Laxman to sadly conclude that India's republic day is a "state function", not a "public celebration".

Contrast this to how the Americans celebrate their independence day. Private Citizens participate in the floats, bands and music that parade through towns and cities. They enjoy the community pyrotechnics and organize reunions and get-togethers. And they thank the heroes who won them the independence and those who guard it. Can we move towards such a celebration, where citizens rejoice, celebrate, and congratulate each other? That would be my republic day. And yours?