The Noblest of them All ...

This piece was written as an after-thought, on the recent occasion of the graduation of a friend's daughter (Drishty Sen), from the Armed Forces Medical College (AFMC), Pune, one among the most credentialed medical institutes in the country. My dear friend of long-standing, Captain (IN) Sudeep Sen, had the proud privilege of witnessing his next generation being commissioned into the exalted wing of the armed forces - the Army Medical Corps (AMC). I wish Lieutenant Drishty Sen, the diligent daughter-doctor, dollops of doughtiness to do her duty.

Every profession, that contributes to the improvement, growth or development of the world, is honourable. Teaching builds the next generation by making them learn to think rationally, logically, ethically and morally, so that the world order moves on a progressive path. Civil engineering helps build structures, houses, bridges, airports, power plants, etc., for people to advance in their endeavours. Ditto, for other branches of engineering. Designers, scientists and technologists help conceive a future generation of tools and solutions for sustainable development. Accountants, analysts, bankers and consultants help build personal, enterprise and national wealth. Performing artists, painters, movie-makers, musicians, and their ilk, supply an endless stream of fantasies and illusions, that help us to indulge in our imaginative world, unrestricted by reality, providing a sort of an escape route to a temporary oasis, that helps people momentarily forget the drudgery and humdrum lives that they usually lead.

While all of the above professions, and many, many more that I haven't listed here (fir want of time and space) are indeed dignified, what separates these from the noble professions, is the fact that the latter saves lives, the most valued and precious commodity that humankind has. The picture that immediately springs to ones mind, when we talk of saving lives, is that of a medical practitioner (doctors, nurses, assistants, etc, but most often, a doctor). She/he is at it (saving lives, that is), 24X7, very often at one's own discomfort, many a time in critical cases, stressed out by the inevitability of not being able to live up to the expectations of patients and their relatives, who fervently hope for Lord Almighty to dispense a miracle routed through the doctor, a deux-ex-machina as it were. 

The demands of this profession are unbearably high. It calls for a heavy dose of diligence, perseverance, altruism, industriousness and above all, a relentless passion to hammer away at the ills that plague one's patients. No wonder, the practitioners of this profession are considered demi-gods.

There is yet another ennobling profession - soldiering - that saves lives, in this case, in an abstract manner. A soldier is entrusted with the task of protecting national security. It is always a passion, an intense emotion, possibly an irresistible desire (bordering on the irrational, at times), to save the lives of your countrymen and protect the nation's sovereignty against adversary's machinations. While this profession, as like many others, demand a high degree of dedication or devotion, determination and discipline, what separates soldiering from other professions, is the need, at times, to offer the ultimate sacrifice - one's life. No other profession offers *martyrdom*. 

In most other professions, the accolades that you win are for yourself, and you would more often than not, be able to participate in the festivities associated with your achievement. In soldiering, the laurels that one wins, is for one's motherland,  and many a time, the attendance of the dramatis persona, at the ceremony to celebrate it, is posthumous. 

So, Drishty, be proud of the fact that you're not only a doctor, but an armed forces one at that. It's a double privilege that not many would be fortunate to enjoy. In fact, in your case, it's a triple privilege, being a "lady" "armed forces" "doctor" (I'll save the gender part, the glass ceiling for ladies and such other stuff for a piece later). Ad interim, live up to the beatified status that your profession accords, and serve your motherland and patients with glory (in that order). God bless and fair winds!!!

Loads of Learning at the Age of 37

Recently, caught up with a video on whatsup, by Surf. The meat of the matter is a task to be performed by children and adults alike, a set of obstacles to be surmounted ... while the children who fail, try repeatedly and finally succeed, the adults give up on failing in their first attempt and are unsuccessful in finishing the task. The learning from the video is that children are not afraid to try repeatedly, while the adults shy away after a failure.

I  have a completely different take on the wisdom imparted by the Surf video ... entirely based on personal experience. I started learning to play the violin - western classical - at the Delhi School of Music, at the ripe age of 37. I have always wanted to play that instrument  ... finally decided 'it's now or never'. For a start, my teacher (Mr Biju Lawrence), a great violinist (ex of Trinity College, London), and an even greater soul (as it would unwind later), was possibly about a decade younger to me. I used to attend classes at 9.00 AM on Saturdays (being holidays). The earlier class (from 8.20 to 9.00 AM) used to be attended by a 14 year old girl (who became a very good friend of mine, and so did her dad, the owner of a high-end exclusive luxury bar in Gurgaon ... but that's another story, for another time). The student who succeeded me (from 9.00 to 9.40 AM) was a 7 year old Romanian girl, naughty, witty, chirpy and as  loquacious as a 7-year old can be. Daughter of the first Chancellor at the Embassy of Romania in Delhi, I fathomed after repeated attempts at sweet-talking, that she would rather run around the luscious lawns of the music school than wield  the wood. But then, I guess, in Europe, playing the violin, or the piano, or the harp, ... is a sign of your sophistication and having 'arrived', especially if you belong to that class of society where it is considered de rigueur, so she had little choice, poor girl.

Enough of that digression. Let me just confess that I had to bear the ignominy of being sandwiched (in my classes) between a toddler and a teenager ... and all three of us, at around the same stage of learning.

The school had a practice of having monthly concerts on the last Saturday of every month. About 6 months into my classes, my instructor asked me if I would like to attend the forthcoming  one as a spectator (I suspect, since I was nowhere near to even playing the beginners 'A' Scale in tune, despite his best efforts). I sat through a memorable and mesmerising experience of an hour or so ... of kids of various ages, shades, colours and in different grades of their music lessons, presenting their prowess on the violin, viola, piano, drums, guitar, clarinet, saxophone, bassinet, keyboard, synthesiser ... the works. I began to be a regular at the monthly concerts from then on. A couple of more months down the line, my beloved teacher silently exploded the most deafening bombshell next to my ear (this despite the fact that I had been in the Navy for more than 15 years by then, and explosions from an anti-ship missile here and  a rocket launcher there, had been par for my course in my Naval career). He said,  'how about playing at the next monthly concert?'. I was stunned and stoned. The fact was that I was just a couple of weeks into my first melody  (Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, in 'A' Major Scale, for those interested) and had never in my scariest dreams imagined that  I would ever have to perform (on the violin). Couple that with the rather contrary fact that my other class- fellows (the toddler and the teenager) jumped at the idea.

I refused point-blank ... no amount of coaxing and cajoling by my teacher, my better half or my kids could make me change my mind to subject myself to the public humiliation and mortification that I imagined I would face, were I foolish enough to wield the violin publicly.

Good liquor, often has this uncanny ability of pushing false bravado into your soul. Two drams down and it makes you commit or commit to carry out the most outrageous acts of courage ... one that you wouldn't want, in your stable state of mind, even your most stubborn enemy to take on. Long story short, in a moment of weakness induced by the spirited waters of Isley (Glenfiddich, for the curious), I committed hara kiri (Seppuku, for the Japs amongst us), by acquiescing to perfom at the forthcoming monthly concert. Next day, when sober, the import and the impact of the earlier night's decision whacked me so hard that I had no time for a hangover. But being a 'fauji', you learn it early enough to take it smack on your face. So I got on with the daily preparations with vigour.

However, nothing had prepared me for the stage fright on the day of the performance. Mind you, I had built quite a reputation by then in the Navy, of being a mean guy with chic presentations to the highest level of hierarchy, without flinching or batting an eyelid. So, I was myself taken aback by this new-found fright. That's when my very-learned-but-young violin teacher unleashed two pieces of wisdom ... he said: -

(a) "As far as I am concerned, you and the two young girls are both in Grade 1 of violin, the equivalent of Class 1 in school, so if at all you want to compare, don't look at the age of your co-students, look at what Grade they are in and try to match up."

(b) You're scared to perform because you're scared to make mistakes ... the kids are not scared, because it's expected of them to make mistakes and learn ... as you grow older, you feel you're no longer eligible to make mistakes, because it might prove costly. While that may be true in your professional life (you may be reprimanded, taken to task, or worst case, you may lose your job, depending on the severity of the fault), and even in your personal life (for instance, society won't pardon you for making a mistake with your kids' education or their lives for instance), in this case, you're in Grade 1, Class 1 in school, and unless you make mistakes, you won't learn.  You're scared becayse you feel the spectators will judge your performance based on your age and not on the Grade of vioiln schooling you're in. That's true as well ... because they are entitled to look at you as an adult, and an adult is not expected to make mistakes. But you press on, and give it your best shot, make mistakes, learn from them, and improve your performance."

I was shocked, enlightened, and humbled at that piece of wisdom. Suffice to say that, I went on to actually carry the day flawlessly with my performance ... all thanks to that sage piece of advise. Thank you, Biju.

How Stockholm Syndrome Drives Musical Inclinations

(This is apiece I wrote for the Mumbai Variyar Samajam Magazine some time back)


Till I finished my undergrad education, I was an Indian Classical Music aficionado. This state of affairs stemmed from non-exposure to the divine genre called Western Classical Music (WCM). Perhaps, the exposure during my formative years, in the laid back little town of Bhilai, and the not-so-sleepy-but-definitely-non-urban milieu of Raipur, had a part to play in that ignorance. My induction in to the Indian Navy changed that forever. The Naval band, brass, percussion and all, playing their mellifluous tunes at NAVAC (the Naval Academy, for short) mesmerized me. Incidentally, the Naval band was one of the few saving graces at NAVAC, during an otherwise rigourous training phase, that tested ones physical (not to mention, psychological) endurance to its limits.
 
For the uninitiated, a short treatise, on the canvas of action at NAVAC viz. the revered parade ground, is in order. The landscape was terrorizing, to say the least! Here, many a sorry soul, had bitten the dust literally, forced as they were, to run around the perimeter (ad-measuring approx. 300 metres) - often 5 to 20 times - carrying a (~6.10 kg) rifle, up in the air. This, for misdemeanours that would, in the civilised world, have at most, earned a questionable look! Then there were the much dreaded Drill Masters, wizened (through an overdose of imbibing, and "not-so-diplomatic" visits to foreign ports, if one were to hazard a guess!), with their stentorian boom and a homicidal demeanour. Hushed whispers in the corridors of NAVAC had it that, under the penetrating gaze of these hoary gentlemen (?!), doughty devils had been known to soggy their derriere! As for the state of lesser mortals, the less said the better! 

Despite these imperfections, the bi-weekly parade, with the Naval band in full regalia, was an event that I used to enjoy, much to the chagrin of my beloved course-mates. I think, I had this thing for music. With the band in full flow, the drudgery of the dreary parade was transformed into a voyage of nirvana. To the extent that, I used to look forward in anticipation to the fortnightly affair, with the zeal and expectation, much as would a beggar, famished and starving for days, await a full meal. Don't think masochism has any limits!

Enough of digressions. Let me get back to the story of my tryst with WCM. It had all the elements of a classic love affair. It began with a crush, meandered through courtship and love, and culminated in a life-long relationship of loyalty and worship (that’s much more than one can say of several love stories!). Once, during the parade practice, the band played a haunting but unknown melody. Promptly, I stole some time from the busy (and tightly monitored) schedule, to meet up with the Band Master, with a view to investigate the matter. Mind you, there were life-threatening situations galore in this exercise! For instance, the place where the band used to practice, was out of bound for us (as were most other places in the Academy). This meant that one had to sneak stealthily during this enterprise, lest one be accosted by one of the dreaded Divisional Officers (Divos) – those “cruelly-inclined” (in the minds of the cadets) officers, who initiate the rag-tag army of fresh engineers into the nuances of military life and convert them into Officers and Gentlemen. The fear of being caught was mortally terrifying, for such infringements could beget brutal and gruesome penal action, bordering on the grave. But, fortune favours the brave! So, without any untoward incident, I kept my date with the Band Master, and the rest, as they say, is history. 

The venerable Master Chief (Musician) Petty Officer Class II (a Junior Commissioned Officer rank in the Navy), SM Vincent, opened up an enchanting vista for me, that had hitherto been unexplored. There was no looking back thereafter. I was besotted to the creations of Bach and Beethoven. And, as if that were not enough, you had the pieces from Haydn, Brahms, Mozart, Strauss, Bizet, and a host of other equally consummate composers to contend with. Later, once the infatuation ebbed (to be replaced with a more mature phase of love) I had occasions to debate the superiority/ inferiority of WCM vis-a-vis classical Indian music, with some veterans and maestros in the respective fields, without any clear answers forthcoming. But, that's another story. In any case, why nit-pick, as long as both forms of music contribute to unalloyed listening pleasure!

Charvee the Debutante Danseuse

An account of the 'Arangretam' of Charvee, daughter of Capt (IN) and Mrs Sandeep Wadhwa, on 16 May 15 at India Habitat Centre

Mesmerising, captivating, brilliant, .... for once words fail me - for how does one describe that amazing  and riveting performance put in by the two young debutantes. 

The ambiance and the setting were ethereal; the background musical accompaniment, the vocals, the lighting, all added to that surreal experience that we were privileged to enjoy. I am sure that would have been the audience sentiment too. As regards the dance, let me make a confession - I was actually moved to tears of joy when the two elegant ladies stepped on to their scene of action. Each action of Charvee and Ananya (the co-performer) was elegance personified. The grace with which the hand and eye movements were coordinated and executed ... it was scintillating. Together, they exuded a charm that sent us into ecstasy. 

I am sure the girls would have been through several trials and tribulations to reach this stage. But yesterday, both of you (Capt and Mrs Wadhwa) would have been proud of Charvee. She made us feel proud too. 

It is beyond doubt that she has a great future in the performing arts. May I suggest, in my semi- ignorant stature, that an exposure to the fine art of Kathakali would do Charvee a world of good. Of course, her guru would be the best judge. 

Our only regret was that we couldn't stay through to enjoy till the very end. But I want to extract a promise out of you - we are going to watch that exciting performance on a real-life sized screen at your place, soon after Ishaan (their son, who's in Class XII) is settled - preferably nursing a glass of single malt. Meanwhile, all the very best to the young, talented lady and best wishes to Ishaan too, to meet his aspirations.

Down memory lane with Neetu Singh

The other day, Sagar (Mohbe, my class fellow since school and through collage) posted the wedding photograph (probably!) of Rishi Kapoor and Neetu Singh on our WhattsApp group (find that pic below), and transported me down memory lane with a nostalgic, innuendo-laden insinuation. Guru (Gurdutt, yet another pal from school) pondered, and possibly agonised about the tenuous connection between that Diva and yours truly. This should put you out of your misery, Guru, and in the bargain, address the concerns of other Sangamitrans (that's the school wapp group) as well.
 
That Neetu Singh is an awesome actress is a cliche. I've  been an unabashed fan of hers even since I hit my teens (and as a corollary, my hormones hit me!). She's at her tantalising best when she's prancing and dancing, not for the reasons my imaginative (and perverted!) friends are conjuring up in their minds,  but for the fact that she has given us some of the most memorable, hummable dance numbers ever to hit the silver screen: Ek mein aur ek tu, Lekar hum diwaana dil, Humne tumko dekha, (do I need to go on?). In addition, she has some fantastic credentials (two, in fact - there the perverted go again!) that she can be extremely proud of, which sets her apart from the rest of her fraternity in the tinsel world. I, of course refer to Rishi and Ranbir. (Sorry to disappoint the imaginative species again!). That's two solid reasons for my infatuation. There are more, but this being a 'family type" blog, they can't find mention here. Also, those revelations go best with single malt and 'sangat'.
 
So that's that! I guess Rishi had a point when he crooned 'Tere chehre se nazar nahi hath thi, nazaare hum kyaa dekhe'