PAGE DEDICATED TO RAJBIR DESWAL JI WRITING & REVIEW

[Dudee]

New India. It made, and then unmade me” - If I Could Tell You

Rajbir Deswal , ANTA: Feb 21 2010


“IF I COULD TELL YOU” is a telling tale of failures galore. Failed childhood. Failed manhood. Failed aspirations. Failed promises. Failed matrimony. Failed parenthood. Failed calculations. The hero’s lament “F***ing New India. It made, and then unmade me” appropriates it aptly, for he suffers all this and much more, with the killer blow of the 2008 Share Market crash, when he finally “decides”.
“F***ing New India. It made, and then unmade me” - If I Could Tell You

But before that he writes the last letter of the series, which he had been writing to his six-year-old daughter, who is left in a friend’s care, in the latter’s boarding. He seems to legate all the loneliness and orphaned status to his daughter, what he himself got at the hands of providence. And that’s all that he wants to tell his Oishi—divine one.

The cities too fail the narrator-hero in many ways. London doesn’t recognise him as a writer; Calcutta firstly denies him his bringing up (for he was orphaned at the age of three); secondly, when he stays there with his wife and girl child. Bombay ruined him completely when he has to live in a flat rendered “large in the absence of his dead wife anddaughter packed off to the boarding school” for he develops extra-marital relations and suffer huge financial losses, compelling him ultimately to “decide”should hold the suspense here as a reviewer.

Soumya Bhattacharya as a narrator-writer believes in producing a work of fiction that is “confessional in the guise of a novel rather than a novel in the guise of confessional”. And he succeeds too, in his uniquely adopted style, to a great extent. He has no characters by name in his novel except Oishi, the narrator’sdaughter , for he believes that he had to be facilitative to the readers, in not being grouted in the grind of remembering names. Also, the climax is so engrossing that when the hero has taken the “decision”, no rules of grammar (even those of life and living) seem to apply, for an enhanced effect, and the reader is left to ignore all that and reads on. And on.

Best part of the novel is a faithful and captivating description of Oishi, from her birth till her attaining a ladylike maturity, at a tender age when she has to “get used to” other things in life, that are not meant for a child of that age. The narrator himself having had his parents killed in a plane crash was brought up under the care of his “father’s friend”—that is how he describes all characters not giving them a name. The deprivation and denials of desirable childcare make him always dread the fact, if he too would have a family, or what would happen to Oishi, if he died.

He himself as a child was asked by his teacher once to draw sketches of his family, but he fails to measure up with those of his classmates, for he had never been in a family atmosphere. His disfigured index finger aptly explains his inadequacies, and a loss of sense of direction in life. His continued rejection of writings, at the hands of the editors leaves him a broken man, when he throws all the manuscripts having torn them “methodically, vertically and horizontally” in smallest pieces out of the window and out of disgust, as if having decided never to take to writing a novel again.

A father’s observation of his infant daughter in the novel is unmistakable, in the sense that every minute detail is captured and projected, with utmost sensitivity and indulgence, even when he could feel the inside of her palm, when she held those crayons. Oishi being made to feel the touch of water on a beach in England, her expression with a parted mouth when she is concentrating while drawing, her “capacity to forgive”, her slicing the still air in disgust (after the fashion of her mother), her sleeping gimmicks and postures, her eyelashes resembling inverted commas while being inquisitive about things an infant usually is, and her telling him innocently, “How can you have a Baba Baba, only children do!”

The author alludes extensively to famous and established writers from Tolstoy to Vikram Seth, as if to overcome his not being able to make into one. And also, to seek a way out of his directionless existence. He writes at the end, “Afterwards, I read that bit in Anna Karenina when Anna goes to dive in front of a train. Literature was the only religion I ever had, and there was no God to turn to but writers. Is this how one is supposed to feel after one had decided? Tolstoy would know ... . Perhaps thatwhen I had begun deciding.”

That the modern times in developing India have their fallout on her peoples’ life as well, is the hallmark of the novel. And the hero is compelled to exclaim, “Shall I be able to do this? Unless I try, I shall never know.” Read the novel to know of what deportment has Soumya Bhattacharya made his narrator, that he did have to take a “decision”—the agony and angst of which and the story behind made him verbalise, “If I could tell you!”

[Dudee]

Sad saga of failures
Reviewed by Rajbir Deswal

If I could Tell you
by Soumya Bhattacharya.
Tranquebar.
Pages 200. Rs 350.

THIS book is a telling tale of failures galore. Failed childhood. Failed manhood. Failed aspirations. Failed promises. Failed matrimony. Failed parenthood. Failed calculations. The hero’s lament "F***ing New India. It made, and then unmade me" appropriates it aptly, for he suffers all this and much more, with the killer blow of the 2008 Share Market crash, when he finally "decides".

But before that he writes the last letter of the series, which he had been writing to his six-year-old daughter, who is left in a friend’s care, in the latter’s boarding. He seems to legate all the loneliness and orphaned status to his daughter, what he himself got at the hands of providence. And that’s all that he wants to tell his Oishi—divine one.

The cities too fail the narrator-hero in many ways. London doesn’t recognise him as a writer; Calcutta firstly denies him his bringing up (for he was orphaned at the age of three); secondly, when he stays there with his wife and girl child. Bombay ruined him completely when he has to live in a flat rendered "large in the absence of his dead wife and daughter packed off to the boarding school" for he develops extra-marital relations and suffer huge financial losses, compelling him ultimately to "decide"should hold the suspense here as a reviewer.

Soumya Bhattacharya as a narrator-writer believes in producing a work of fiction that is "confessional in the guise of a novel rather than a novel in the guise of confessional". And he succeeds too, in his uniquely adopted style, to a great extent. He has no characters by name in his novel except Oishi, the narrator’s daughter, for he believes that he had to be facilitative to the readers, in not being grouted in the grind of remembering names. Also, the climax is so engrossing that when the hero has taken the "decision", no rules of grammar (even those of life and living) seem to apply, for an enhanced effect, and the reader is left to ignore all that and reads on. And on.

Best part of the novel is a faithful and captivating description of Oishi, from her birth till her attaining a ladylike maturity, at a tender age when she has to "get used to" other things in life, that are not meant for a child of that age. The narrator himself having had his parents killed in a plane crash was brought up under the care of his "father’s friend"—that is how he describes all characters not giving them a name. The deprivation and denials of desirable childcare make him always dread the fact, if he too would have a family, or what would happen to Oishi, if he died.

He himself as a child was asked by his teacher once to draw sketches of his family, but he fails to measure up with those of his classmates, for he had never been in a family atmosphere. His disfigured index finger aptly explains his inadequacies, and a loss of sense of direction in life. His continued rejection of writings, at the hands of the editors leaves him a broken man, when he throws all the manuscripts having torn them "methodically, vertically and horizontally" in smallest pieces out of the window and out of disgust, as if having decided never to take to writing a novel again.

A father’s observation of his infant daughter in the novel is unmistakable, in the sense that every minute detail is captured and projected, with utmost sensitivity and indulgence, even when he could feel the inside of her palm, when she held those crayons. Oishi being made to feel the touch of water on a beach in England, her expression with a parted mouth when she is concentrating while drawing, her "capacity to forgive", her slicing the still air in disgust (after the fashion of her mother), her sleeping gimmicks and postures, her eyelashes resembling inverted commas while being inquisitive about things an infant usually is, and her telling him innocently, "How can you have a Baba Baba, only children do!"

The author alludes extensively to famous and established writers from Tolstoy to Vikram Seth, as if to overcome his not being able to make into one. And also, to seek a way out of his directionless existence. He writes at the end, "Afterwards, I read that bit in Anna Karenina when Anna goes to dive in front of a train. Literature was the only religion I ever had, and there was no God to turn to but writers. Is this how one is supposed to feel after one had decided? Tolstoy would know ... . Perhaps thatwhen I had begun deciding."

That the modern times in developing India have their fallout on her peoples’ life as well, is the hallmark of the novel. And the hero is compelled to exclaim, "Shall I be able to do this? Unless I try, I shall never know." Read the novel to know of what deportment has Soumya Bhattacharya made his narrator, that he did have to take a "decision"—the agony and angst of which and the story behind made him verbalise, "If I could tell you!"

--
RAJBIR DESWAL

[Dudee]

30 policemen honoured
http://www.tribuneindia.com/2010/201002 ... ana.htm#10

Chandigarh, February 5
Haryana Governor Jagannath Pahadia honoured 30 officers and officials of the state police for rendering their outstanding performance at a state-level function held at Raj Bhawan here today.

Eight IPS officers, two HPS officers and 20 other policemen were given the Police Medal. Additional Superintendent of Police Arun Singh Nehra and Assistant Sub-Inspector Narinder Singh (posthumous) were given the Police Medal for gallantry. The medal of Narinder Singh was received by his widow Anil Devi.

Former MD, Police Housing Corporation, CP Bansal; ADGP Sriniwas Vashisht; Inspector Surinder Kumar and Sub-Inspector Lekh Raj were honoured with the President’s Police Medal for rendering excellent services.

ADGP Parminder Rai, IGP, Training and Research Institute, Bhondsi, Sheel Madhur; DIGs Rajbir Singh Deswal; OP Singh, Ajay Singal and Alok Mittal and Additional Superintendents of Police Arun Singh and Rattan Singh were honoured with the Police Medals for meritorious services.

Jai Narian, Harpal Singh, Jaipal and Mohinder Singh, all Inspectors; Indrawati, Ranbir Singh, Ravinder Singh, Bhim Sain, Kailash Chander, Rajkumar, Lakhwinder Kumar and Nirmal Singh, all Sub-Inspectors; and Kulwant Singh, Pramod Chand, Ramkumar and Vinod Kumar, all Assistant Sub-Inspectors; were also given the President’s Police Medals.

[Dudee]

Of the mind’s business
by Rajbir Deswal

Mind your own business” is not generally followed by a pleasing “please,” in tow, but a kind of disgusting gust, bordering on the side of rudeness and riddance-seeking, like swatting a bug with a “Go away or get off !” The true connotations tantamount to almost the expletives of the expression, which eluded me many times I was told to, ‘mind my own business’!

I had never known how seriously did the South Indian matinee idol Rajni Kant flaunt his verbalised challenging aggression, when he let loose that “maaeend it,” on his detractors, thereby flooring them more with the “valour of his tongue,” than the sword of his sinewy gesture, of slashing of the still air made musical by a thichang-phichang variety of the obtaining symphony in sync(-apologies Mr Shakespeare!).

Enlightenment came my way when I had to tell a musician to mind his business (of playing his guitar), on the pavement at Piccadilly Circus, in London. Obviously I had refused to, when he wanted me to, cough up money (that too in Sterling — my mind’s calculation again being at play!) after having shot his video in my handycam. He almost held me by the collar when my host told to him to “mind his bloody business” — one time again.

At home, our own variety of beggar-musicians don’t indulge in that kind of behaviour. Rather, they either ignore you or at the most hurl an innocuous curse invoking the Gods, for they know we understand Almighty, expecting us to “mind our business of charity.”

On a serious note, the business of mind is always productive to a great extent. But unfortunately that is not the intention of the one exhorting a hurl like that, rather, it is to just implore the offender in carrying on whatever business is at his hand, be it counting waves on a seashore or finding forms in clouds in the sky. Generally we refer to the mind’s business as the obtaining occupation.

But yes, if you tell someone to mind his business he may quip, “I have no business to mind!.” And also maybe he has a Freudian slip to blurt out, to make matters worse, like when once President Bush reportedly said in a speech he was giving to a group of teachers, “I’d like to spank all teachers.” Probably he wanted to say “thank” all the teachers; then they could have retorted, “Mr Prez, mind your own business of tackling the Iraq war!”

Mind blowing, mind boggling, mind washing, mind tracking; all these are understandable, but what is ‘mindless?’ — particularly when it qualifies, violence. How can violence be mindless, since a sharp machination and well-orchestrated endeavour go into its execution. It definitely becomes the mind’s business then. Which again means that mind’s business may always not be productive!

Sometimes it happens that you dial a wrong number, but surely the one at that time in your mind, which turns out to be a wrong one, because you were absent minded, and still captured in your own mind’s cobweb — of not letting you go “astray”. Isn’t it your mind’s business that you are minding at that time?

Remember the “absent minded professor” Brainard, missing his wedding to Betsy Carlisle, as a result of discovery of the Flubber? Was he really out of his mind? Or did he take his mind’s business a tad too seriously, in deciding not to marry at all. As I said, the mind’s business could be productive. And counterproductive too.

By the way, my course-mate while pursuing our Masters in English Literature, who whenever empathised with an assuaging ‘“Don’t mind” always quipped with a ‘I don’t have a mind to mind”, is a Reader in the English Department of a university. Shouldn’t I mind my own business!


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RAJBIR DESWAL

[Dudee]

http://writercop.blogspot.com/search/la ... %20Soldier
Saturday, August 16, 2008
CALL OF THE UNKNOWN SOLDIER




Call of the Unknown Soldier
By Rajbir Deswal
Driving past Maj. Sandeep Shankla Park in Panchkula, I hazily saw certain Army and private vehicles lined up, in a thick downpour. It was some solemn ceremony going on. Army men were slow-marching with wreaths, to the bust of the officer, who gave his life in the line of duty, on August 8, in 1991.
Moved and impassioned, I told my driver to take the first available U-turn. Memories of the Kargil War flashed on my mind, when I had witnessed six soldiers “brought-home-dead,” in Fatehabad District alone.
Brave people of this region are known, not only to take in their stride, the loss of their men going down fighting, on borders for the motherland, but also to feel the collective pride of the sacrifice made by their valiant sons. I can recall the skies ranting with slogans of “Amar Rahe” and “Jab tak Suraj-Chand rahega, Foji tera naam rahega”.
The mother of one of the soldiers, who when she saw the District Magistrate and the Superintendent of Police, offering with their salutes to be the pallbearers themselves, had commented, “O’ son, you have repaid me the debt of my milk!” None cried, albeit all around looked grim at the loss of the one who brought them glory. On his son’s last journey, the father had said, “I have the whole lineup of my sons if the country needs them!”
Thousands, cutting across caste, race, colour, religion, sect and ideology had gathered at the last rites. They seemed to follow only a patriot’s religion then. Military honours done, a long lineup of mourners offered floral tributes to the departed son of theirs. Volleys of shots echoed as if from the hearts of people around and the Last Post was sounded. The pyre was lit by a three year old, the martyr’s son, when some folks seemed to have lost control over their emotions.
The driver brought me back from my memory lane on reaching the Memorial site. Some civilians carried umbrellas as it was still raining. I alighted from my car to be received with dignity by a couple of smartly dressed officers. Straightaway, I was accosted to the bust. Carrying the floral wreath, which I was supposed to place at the bust of Maj Sandeep Shankla, two more men in ceremonial dress joined in ahead of me. And I too began to march.
Something in me ignited my whole self. I was, as if, spiritually energised and blessed. With every step on climbing up to the bust, I felt a lifting out of myself. An alleviation of sorts! No sad thoughts in mind but those of gratitude, indebtedness and obeisance! I offered the wreath. Prayed for the man for a while. Saluted the soldier. And with matching agility, infused in me then by the ambience, I turned right to step down.
Back in the car, I recalled to myself words inscribed under the bust of Martyr young Lieutenant Arun Khetrapal, who laid his life to the call of duty, having just then passed out of the Indian Military Academy, in the 1971 War with Pakistan, “When you go home, tell them of us, that we gave our today, for their tomorrow”.
My driver asked me if I had personally known the soldier. “...No!” I said with a longish pause and pondered if I’d said the right thing. Soldiers are known to generations of men and not a few of them. The call of the ‘Unknown Soldier’ can command you to “About Turn,” should you chose to forget him. Remember this! Remember him!

[Dudee]

http://rajbirdeswal.instablogs.com/entr ... nbeatable/

his Great Scorer in my kinda IPL: His spirit was unbeatable
Rajbir Deswal , ANTA: Mar 14 2010
India :

Love of Game
By Rajbir DeswalThis Great Scorer in my kinda IPL: His spirit was unbeatable
With the ongoing IPL hungama,I have more reasons to adore my uncle– Satbir Mama–, a die-hard cricket fan, in the aindees land of Rohtak in Haryana, close to Virender Sehwag’s Najafgarh.
Almost bordering on obsession, his love for the game has been a topic of discussion in our family for several decades. He is a walking encyclopedia on cricketers ranging from Don Bradman to Parthiv Patel—scandals and performances included. Since the days of Anju Mahendroon through Neena Gupta, till Sangeeta Bijlani and Nagma, he knows everything. The “finer nuances” of match fixing and the salts’ range of booster drugs are all on his fingertips. They come to him as naturally as an outside edge to the slip.
Whenever we needed adjudication on a bet or any aspect of cricket, Satbir Mama pronounces the judgement. It is usually indisputable. No appeal is made against it since his word is accepted as final. Because we all knew that he hadn’t quite wasted those 48 cricketing seasons, excluding those three years of gaining conscious memory.
Satbir Mama used to occasionally run away from home to play or watch cricket even at the age of ten. When an adolescent, we saw him curled in his quilt, tuned to commentary on his radio, of a country match in England, at 2 am. I wonder where he got information about those matches. He never surprised us with hur-rays or oh-nos. But he did have the sagacious contentedness of a mighty seer just out of a meditation session. He looked so relaxed after the conclusion of a match as if the US President himself saw no further ambition than being elected for the most powerful office on earth. He shared his happiness with a simple smile. He took no sides. He didn’t predict victory or defeat. He only loved the sport.
Much before the advent of TV, listening to commentary on his radio, Satbir Mama could declare the fate of a ball the moment it was released from the bowler’s hand. He had a mental picture of the field and could say with conviction whether a shot headed in a particular direction would reach the boundary or whether it would be caught, for he knew if a fielder had been posted there or not. We were then amazed at his clairvoyance and would jocularly comment on his enviable knowledge of cricket. He could, we said often in a lighter vein, tell which cricketer’s expectant wife would bear a boy or a girl.
To make me witness his own performance, Satbir Mama once invited me to a friendly cricketer, we had our reservations about him, but for his encouragement I went to the Vaish College grounds. I had a good look at the entire field but couldn’t spot him. He was neither batting nor fielding, not even umpiring. “What the hell as he invited me for?” I asked myself agitated. Suddenly I heard someone call my name from under the scoreboard. Satbir Mama was there, writing the score. “Hats off to the unbeatable spirit of cricket,” I mumbled to myself.
Photohttp://z.about.com/d/esl/1/0/M/2/cricket.gif

[Dudee]

http://epaper.hindustantimes.com//artMa ... =1&pub=722

hey don't only wield batons, they wield the pen too, and with much aplomb. Meet these top Haryana c...ops whose tough hands write soft verses.The police corridors in Haryana is buzzing with many a cops whose love for literature is growing stronger by the day . IPS Rajbir Deswal, currently posted as DIG, CID at the Police Headquarters in Panchkula, sprinkles satire generously in his work. With more than six books to his credit, besides over 1000 articles including book reviews, this writer cop has carved his own niche in the literary circles. He has many awards to his credit, including the one given by Indian Society of Writers.“Through my works, I generally like to comment on the larger picture of life. My passion for writing is more than three decade old and my works have mostly been a blend of humour, cultural orientation and human relations,“ says Deswal, who is in his 50s. He is at present busy translating the works of Haryanvi poet Lakhmichand, in English.He, however, has written many serious articles on disaster management, DNA tests, illegal disposal of dead bodies and many other topics of academic interest.Meet another IPS officer, KP Singh, currently posted as IG (Training) at Panchkula.Contrary to Rajbir, his literary works have a more academic orientation. And in his works, he deals with issues like human rights, women empowerment, children's rights, state custody laws, police training etc.With about a dozen books to his credit, mostly in Hindi and along with 500 articles in national dailies, Singh has his hands full. In quite a few of his works, he has critiqued the police system as well.I don't want to be termed a critic , but yes I do like to point out the loopholes in our existing system“ says Singh.He further adds, “The Police is supposed to serve the people, but it is no so. The public has to be more demanding and the police stations needs to be turned into a more public friendly zone.“Out of his many books, he has got wide recognition for his works like Samanter Vad, on state custody laws in India, Manav Adhikar aur Police Tantra, a monograph on witness protection. He has been awarded by National Human Rights Commission, Ministry of Home Affairs and many other social organisations.In the end, he says, “Writing for me is cathartic. It is an outlet for the strong feelings that I undergo, whenever I see people become victims of any wrongdoing.“ They don't only wield batons, they wield the pen too, and with much aplomb. Meet these top Haryana cops whose tough hands write soft verses.The police corridors in Haryana is buzzing with many a cops whose love for literature is growing stronger by the day . IPS Rajbir Deswal, currently posted as DIG, CID at the Police Headquarters in Panchkula, sprinkles satire generously in his work. With more than six books to his credit, besides over 1000 articles including book reviews, this writer cop has carved his own niche in the literary circles. He has many awards to his credit, including the one given by Indian Society of Writers.“Through my works, I generally like to comment on the larger picture of life. My passion for writing is more than three decade old and my works have mostly been a blend of humour, cultural orientation and human relations,“ says Deswal, who is in his 50s. He is at present busy translating the works of Haryanvi poet Lakhmichand, in English.He, however, has written many serious articles on disaster management, DNA tests, illegal disposal of dead bodies and many other topics of academic interest.Meet another IPS officer, KP Singh, currently posted as IG (Training) at Panchkula.Contrary to Rajbir, his literary works have a more academic orientation. And in his works, he deals with issues like human rights, women empowerment, children's rights, state custody laws, police training etc.With about a dozen books to his credit, mostly in Hindi and along with 500 articles in national dailies, Singh has his hands full. In quite a few of his works, he has critiqued the police system as well.I don't want to be termed a critic , but yes I do like to point out the loopholes in our existing system“ says Singh.He further adds, “The Police is supposed to serve the people, but it is no so. The public has to be more demanding and the police stations needs to be turned into a more public friendly zone.“Out of his many books, he has got wide recognition for his works like Samanter Vad, on state custody laws in India, Manav Adhikar aur Police Tantra, a monograph on witness protection. He has been awarded by National Human Rights Commission, Ministry of Home Affairs and many other social organisations.In the end, he says, “Writing for me is cathartic. It is an outlet for the strong feelings that I undergo, whenever I see people become victims of any wrongdoing.“


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RAJBIR DESWAL

[Dudee]

Man of the future
by Rajbir Deswal

I claim to be no Darwin, but I can foresee the (re?)evolution of the future man, in being half real and half plastic. Believe you me please, for it’s not me who says it, but the chip inside me.

With expectancy of life crossing the count of eighty years for an average human being, one can imagine the assortments and appendages a human body is likely to have, in times to come, when you may “buy a liver and get a kidney free!”

Take heart, for your so-called mortal frame will one day have a built-in stenting, when a heart attack may just be as harmless as a twitch near the left eye. Or your brain stroke may leave you more charged up, with renewed backup of battery power.

I can visualise pop-ins and slots in a man, where one could attach life support systems, as you do the earplugs to an iPod. You could also carry your oxygen cylinder like a pen in your pocket. Also your hornlike, evolved antenna could make you stay connected at all times, with dedicated Intensive Care Units.

On the psychological plane, you could have a set of robots as friends for socialising .You could programme them to suit your taste, and if they entertain you no longer, you could re-programme them. I gainsay, you could date them too and leave out the “out-dated” ones.

With everyone getting fixed, pretty looks on their faces, employing plastic surgery, there would be Most Ugly Look competitions to experience what would be called “for a pleasant change”.

All this will effect a change in human emotions too. Expressions like love, affection, care, concern, empathy could then be good stuff for making sci-fi movies. The Oscar-winning flick could be the story of a man torn to pieces for offering to look after his old and infirm parents.

The positive side of the future man’s characteristics and capabilities, is seen by me as being able to see, store, play and repeat your best of the dreams on an LCD screen. Also you could retrieve your long-forgotten memories of people, places and events. And delete permanently the traumas.

Now take a look at the anatomy of the future-man who will have a big head, for he will only use his brain. The inactivity of the limbs will make them grow smaller, due to disuse atrophy, since all jobs would be done by remote, or on-person, controls.

Even the denture is likely to suffer in size, for fast foods and synergy drinks would not entail much of jaw moment. Stomach size too will reduce, since supplements would take care or your digestion and metabolism.

In such a scenario all the Yoga experts would be sent to Coventry. But, would future man be a complete man then? I don’t really know.

http://www.tribuneindia.com/2010/20100403/edit.htm#5

[Dudee]

Award for DIG Deswal

Chandigarh, April 6
A senior Haryana police officer, Rajbir Deswal, posted as DIG (CID), has been chosen by the Haryana Sahitya Akademi for the prestigious Pt. Lakhmi Chand Samman for 2009-10.

The Rs 1 lakh cash award is given in recognition of an individual’s contribution to the state’s art, culture, history and folk literature.

A post-graduate in English literature, Deswal has authored many books and over 500 articles.

He is a member of the Indian Society of Authors and the Haryana Sahitya Akademi. — TNS

[Dudee]

http://writercop.blogspot.com/2010/04/v ... ivine.html
Voices divine

Away from the glamour of the commercial formula type music contests with loud music and beaming lights, a traditional akhand jyoti and an idol of goddess Saraswati emanating spiritual sanctity and contemplation, marked the Gurukul Vidyapeeth and S-4 Trust sponsored music contest. As many as 40 contestants in the age group of 9-18 years and selected already for the quarter final of the Voice of Chandigarh vied for a berth in the semis of the mega contest among the school and college students of Tricity.

The potential voices of the region were given two themes, devotional and semi-classical songs from films, according to Rinku Kalia, who adjudged the contestants along with Simmi R Singh, head of the music department at MCM DAV College and music director Varinder Bachan.

The best spell of music came from the chief guest Rajbir Deswal, DIG CID Haryana, who enraptured the crowd with a melodic recital of " Suhani shaam dhal chuki na jaane tum kab aao ge … CA Manmohan Garg, CEO Gurukul Vidyapeeth, declared that the winners in the semis will be given two-weeks free coaching before the mega final. He also honored the chief guest and judges of the contest.

— SD Sharma



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[Dudee]

Delhi-cious!
by Rajbir Deswal

News has reached us claiming that Delhi is the most popular city among foreign tourists. Contrast this claim with the Economist Intelligence Unit’s survey done some years back which dubbed Delhi as the ‘third worst city’ for foreigners and one is bound to get confused.

The impression given historically may be that “Delhi is the capital of the losing streak. It is the metropolis of the crossed wire, the missed appointment, the puncture, the wrong number...” but when it comes to the aspects of health and safety; culture and environment; and infrastructure, Delhi is the third worst city in the world to live in, for foreigners, after Port Moresby in Papua Guinea and Karachi in Pakistan.

I have no reason to differ with the survey conducted by the Economist Intelligence Unit as also FICCI (Federation of Indian Chambers of Commerce and Industry) but going by the accounts of the travellers and chroniclers, it is a mixed bag of impressions but largely in favour of the Indian capital, and yes a bit, against Karachi.

John Foster Fraser, in his Round the World on a Wheel, (1899) describes Delhi as “the most uncertain minded of cities in the world. It is like a fidgety girl who will first sit here and there, then somewhere else, and 50 square miles of ground and 20,000 ruins tell where it has rested. The modern Delhi is like the capricious girl grown up—charming and imperial. But also, like so many grown up and charming ladies, Delhi is a city with a past.”

Through a letter written to her family on February 18, 1916, Gertrude Bell, having enjoyed the hospitality of the Viceroy conveyed her impressions of Delhi as: “Though I knew the plans and drawings I didn’t realise how gigantic it was till I walked over it. They have blasted away hills and filled up valleys, but the great town itself is as yet little more than foundations. The roads are laid out that lead from it to the four corners of India, and down each vista you see the ruins of some older imperial Delhi. A landscape made up of empires is something to conjure with.”

Our own VS Naipaul, in An Area of Darkness (1964) strikes a satirical note when he says about Delhi that “The streets were wide and grand, the roundabouts endless: a city built for giants, built for its vistas, for its symmetry: a city which remained its plan, unquickened and unhumanised, built for people who would be protected from its openness, from the whiteness of its light, to whom the trees were like the trees on an architect’s drawing, decorations, not intended to give shade: a city built like a monument.”

In 1874, Edward Lear in a letter to Lord Carling Ford exhibited interesting wordplay — “Delhi, where I stayed 10 days making Delhineations of the Delhicate architecture as is all impressed on my mind as in Delhi by as the Delhiterious quality of the water of that city.”

As for Karachi, George Woodcock, in his Asia’s, Gods and Cities exclaimed, “It rises from a barren desert.” Care for the other impression about the city? Well, it goes like this—Karachi, the Americans say, “is half the size of Chicago cemetery and twice as dead.”

[Dudee]

Supreme Court ban on Narco tests
The judgement will restore people’s faith in the system, says Rajbir Deswal

Illustration: Kuldeep DhimanThe Supreme Court has banned the lie-detector, Narco analysis and brain mapping tests. The judgement is viewed as a blow to the investigative agencies which have been restrained from “intruding into an individual’s personal liberty”.

The court has upheld and endorsed the age-old and time-tested dictums, guaranteeing the right of the accused to making a “choice between remaining silent and speaking”; protection against “self-incrimination”; and exercising one’s human right “to refuse a medical test being unwarranted intrusion into personal liberty”.

The court did not find favour with the projection of demands of employing the banned deception detection techniques as averments, even if investigation is imperative in the interest of sovereignty and integrity of India, which the court termed as “hypothetical”. It has also gone to the extent of even interpreting the fact of the acceptance of three techniques of lie detection, Narco analysis and brain mapping as being capable of prejudicing the mind of the trial judge; and also that, such presumptions on the part of the court would stigmatise the accused.

The baggage of truth is always heavy. Hence a few people carry it whereas a guilty human mind prides and survives on lies, which are stashed somewhere to be detected. But as the court intends it to be done, it is not without enough caution and exercising due diligence. The ruling has evoked mixed reactions making it expedient to put things in proper perspective.

“It is fitting that a liar should be a man of good memory”, says Quintilian. Basing their endeavour on this principle, the deception detection experts all over the world seek to know the truth, when it is embalmed or clouded. There can be innumerable theories with regard to the tendency in man to hide the truth as there can be a thousand explanations for this. But here we will deal only with cases involving willful suppression of the truth and try to see how the truth can be exhumed, with the help of the deception detection techniques currently prevalent and as being resorted to by the investigating agencies, initially as an aid to investigation, to be later on padded with corroborative evidence to be led in a court of law.

The polygraph is a graphic description of what biological changes take place in a suspect, regarding his pulse rate, perspiration, EEG, blood pressure, voice modulation etc. This graphic representation indicates what goes on in the subject’s mind at a point of time when he is accused of a certain undesirable behaviour and that when he is being subjected to the test, he is supposed to tell the truth but indulges in hiding it, through conscious effort. The physiological changes that take place in the person’s body are measurable.

The changes are visible on the face too, for example, sunkenness, stretching, twitching, paleness, bulging of eyes, drying of tongue, broken speech, etc. The subject’s actions are such as would not seem normal — tremors, trembling, tapping the ground with the feet and throwing off the limbs in various directions out of anxiety.

The subject’s mind is still not known to the scientist, expert or the investigator. For this, certain medical aids are required and the first generation of polygraph had four types of graphs needed to know the limits of blood pressure, pulse rate, respiration and perspiration. These are involuntary activities and one cannot hide these natural biological responses, unless one is a hardened criminal or has practiced the art of suppression of facts without having to allow these changes to occur or get recorded.

While putting the lie-detection technique into practice on a subject, one gets a normal graph till no “offending and involving questions” are asked. The subject’s blood pressure, respiration, pulse rate and sweat discharge tend to vary with uncomfortable questions that disturb his state of mind which instantaneously and with a biological process manifest themselves into measurable graphic presentations.

“Controlled questions” are queries about which the answer is well in hand, but your subject replies in a very guarded language and mostly contrary to the truth. Here, the polygraph comes to the expert’s rescue for it has already recorded the changes in the graph which appear different from the normal. It goes without saying that there is a certain correlation between the incident and its associated environment, i.e. a crime and its scene.

Suppose a murderer is being polygraphed. You know his probable involvement in the crime. Instead of putting a straight question, “Did you really commit that murder?”, you put a question like this: “Do you live somewhere near Mr X’s house (where the murder was committed)?”

Though you have not directly accused your subject, the graphic biological changes enable you to assume that the subject has become “anxious” and is not “at ease with himself” with the question, and is trying to suppress the truth.

For putting questions to the subject, one has to have standardised questionnaires prepared, in consultation with a psychologist, which he thinks will bring out the desired responses, from the subject, when drafted scientifically and systematically, in a sequential manner. Making assessments and assuming without developing any standard correlations so far as human psychology juxtaposed with criminal behaviour is concerned, it does not help on a polygraph.

Another component added, though lately, to the polygraph is in the form of an electro-encephalogram (EEG). Besides the other four components, the EEG provides a graph on the functional aspect of the brain while the lie-detection test is on. Though EEG is a very sensitive equipment, with the help of the standardised questionnaire, it helps in giving out a pattern of graphs of how the brain reacted to certain queries. But if the subject is suffering from epilepsy or other diseases related to the functional aspect of the brain, the desired results may not be coming forth.

Yet another addition to the polygraph was in the form of the Voice Stress Analyser (VSA). In this scheme, a very sensitive microphone is placed in front of the subject’s mouth to record the vibrations produced while speaking. Audio perceptions beyond the reach of the human ear are graphed meticulously on the VSA and all accents, pitch-variations, voice-modulations, thought-blocks and articulations are noticed which add new meaning to the stress-evaluation technique. In the VSA, two properties of the voice or the sound produced are important. These are pitch and frequency. For one articulation, they differ from man to man.

The salivation-measuring technique could never be added to the polygraph. The Chinese have been known historically to be using an indigenous and unique way of lie detection and that being assessing drying of the mouth, as a result of the stoppage of salivation, due to stressful conditions. In olden times in China, the investigators used to put rice powder in the mouth of the suspect while confronting him with the question of his involvement in a crime. He was then asked to spit it out. If there was dampness because of salivation in the spitten powder, the subject was declared innocent.

All detection deception techniques prescribed by modern-day psychologists are endeavours to make the subject shed his introversion and become an extrovert (to put it in simple words) under relaxed conditions. A three-way formula is generally suggested for stress-evaluation on polygraph, Narco analysis and brain mapping. This comprises a pre-set interview, an interview and a review.

As for the accuracy of polygraph, Dr. V.V. Pillay, a professor in AIMS, Cochin, says that “despite claims of 90 per cent and 95 per cent of reliability, a recent survey estimated the test average accuracy of polygraph at 61per cent, which is a little better than “chance”. In 2003, the National Academy of Sciences, USA, issued a report entitled “Polygraph and Lie Detection” which stated that a majority of the polygraph tests was “unreliable, unscientific and biased”. In most countries, the polygraph test is not admissible in evidence unless supported by other corroborative and conclusive evidence.

Coming to Narco analysis, it is said to be an area which envisages many negatives and positives involved in the technology; ethics and legality of the same again remaining questionable. Brain mapping, which involves analysing graphs generated through electrodes on information having been stored, or not stored in one’s brain, is still voted to be more acceptable.

The popular perception as has lately obtained is that with certain necessary ingredients roped in the process of Narco tests, the technique should have counted with the courts in as much as transparency in executing the test is exercised; the log of activities and process is maintained; videography is done; the subject’s free consent is obtained; and he or she be convinced about the Narco administering experts’ objectivity in neither being a witness of defence nor prosecution, but an expert helping the court to arrive at the obtainment of certain facts — is concerned.
Barbiturates (sodium pentothal) or drugs like scopolamine to lessen the subject’s inhibition, shedding his reservations and coming out freely to share information and feelings are administered in the Narco analysis test. This drug was also known as the “truth serum” and was used in 1922 in Texas (US) for the first time by Robert House. Under controlled circumstances of a laboratory, a suspect is injected with hypnotics like sodium pentothal or Amytal, the dose of which to be administered depends on the person’s age, sex and health besides other physical presentations.

Then the subject is not in a position to speak on his own but can answer questions after he is given some suggestions. These tests are generally done by the Forensic Science Laboratories in Bangalore and Ahmedabad. In India, the projections of Narco anaylsis are padded with findings of the polygraph and brain mapping while prosecuting the accused persons.

Of late, the Indian forensic science community has been seen to be swearing by and has even moved on to the refined version of deception detection by Narco analysis called Brain Electrical Oscillation Signature Test (BEOS), popularly known as brain mapping. This technique also called Brain Finger Printing determines, whether specific information is stored in a suspect’s brain or not. It does not give out the details of the crime committed by an accused. But it does give a graphic representation that confirms that the information about the crime is “available” with the suspect.

Now, how come the information is there with the suspect cannot be explained but there is a presumption that the accused knows something about the crime or his misdemeanor. It is done by measuring the electrical brain wave responses to words spoken or picture displayed to the subject.

That the brain processes “known relevant information” differently and “unknown and irrelevant information” differentially, was first invented by Lawrence Farwell in 1990. Such processing of known information like details of crime stored in the brain is revealed by specific pattern in the EEG of that person.

Technically explaining, brain mapping involves confrontation with a stimulus of special significance with electrical signal known as P300, emitted from individual’s brain, beginning approximately 300 million milliseconds after the confrontation. For forensic purposes, P-300 is considered as a response of stimuli related to a crime, for example, a murder weapon or victim’s face etc. Of late, MERMER (memory encoding related multifaceted electro-encephacophic response) is being used which includes P-300 and provides a higher level of accuracy.

Since it is based on EEG signals and graphs, the system does not require the subject to speak at all and he in way continues to exercise his right to keep silent. The suspect wears a special hair band with electronic censor that measure the EEG from several locations on the scalp. He views stimuli consisting of words, phrases, pictures etc. on a computer screen or even directly.

The stimuli are of three types: (i) ‘stimuli’ irrelevant to the investigation and to the subject; (ii) ‘target’ stimuli relevant to the investigation and known to the subject; and (iii) ‘probe’ stimuli relevant to investigation and that the subject denies. These probes contain information that is known to perpetrator and investigators, and not to the general public, or to the innocent suspect. This determination is computed mathematically and does not involve the subjective judgement of the scientist.

Advantages that can be counted of brain finger printing include the fact that they do not depend on the emotions of the subject’s information, nor are they affected by the emotional responses. Also unlike polygraph, it does not attempt to determine whether or not the subject is lying or telling the truth.

It only measures the subject’s brain responses to relevant words or pictures or scenarios to detect whether or not the relevant information is stored in the subject’s brain or otherwise. Probably for this reason over 99 per cent accuracy has been reported in brain mapping in laboratory as also field applications.

With the latest ban on deception detection techniques like polygraph, Narco analysis and brain mapping, the investigating agencies may have suffered a blow in expeditiously reaching out to truth. However, keeping in view the self-incriminating nature of this kind of evidence and consequences of employing these tools on an individual’s liberty, the judgement will not only restore people’s faith in the system but also enhance all right-thinking citizens’ respect for human rights and values.

The writer, a senior IPS officer of Haryana, has specialised in Technology-Driven Policing. He is also a National Police Trainer recognised by the Bureau of Police Research and Development, New Delhi
http://www.tribuneindia.com/2010/20100509/edit.htm

[Dudee]

Stylising handicaps
by Rajbir Deswal

Watching me shave while standing almost akimbo in front of the washroom mirror, wife said the other day, “Looking great in this style!”

“What style?” I questioned. “The way you are standing, with one hand taken behind you on your back and the other working up lather, with the brush on your face!” she explained smiling.

“And you call it style! I am only trying to give some support to my Lumber-five & S-one diagnosed slip disc, darling!” I elucidated while she took the justification with a pinch of salt.

On another occasion, a teenage daughter of a friend told my wife about me that “Uncle has a unique style of holding his chin always, when he is thoughtful or reflecting.” I had to explain it to her in our next meeting that some kind of neck pain had me hold my chin sometimes. But the young-thing didn’t buy it, grinned and laughed away.

On hindsight, there is nothing wrong if you could make up for your deformities and inadequacies in a way that it appears to be a style. Everybody is not as strong and handsome as Hrithik Roshan, who can afford to show his six-fingers on screen, believing he could be spared his (otherwise perceived as such) handicap.

Legendary Meena Kumari is said to have chopped off her little finger, which she hid in a way while dancing, etc, as would appear to be one of the mudras. Zeenat Amaan in Satyam Shivam Sundaram had her scalded face covered with side-locks and looked cute. Fight the composer and villain of yesteryears; bald Shetty, had a meek voice box. The directors always thought it wise not to put words into his mouth lest the impact was gone.

Those who stammer and have their tongue, too, protrude in an attempt to grab a spoken word, generally cover their mouth to let it appear a style, a la Manoj Kumar. Bharat Kumar though took exception to his caricaturing and lampooning as such, in Om Shanti Om. But he had been doing it, not to cover a handicap, but for style. And here handicap and style come to each other’s rescue.

Those who lose their crowning glory, and go bald in whatever balding pattern, have a tendency to grow as much hair on their faces as they can whether it is the sideburns or a bushy moustache, or even a French-cut beard. Also they would allow a dense growth, on the nape, as also on one side of the scalp, that they could turn the entire bunch of hair the other side to cover every shining spot.

Those men who are hairy on the chest leading to the neck and forearms wear full-sleeves shirts, as the bow-legged always wear losers and not the slim fit. For reasons of decency, I would desist from talking about women, who do what they do and who do not do what they do not do to allow a swap of their handicaps with styles. I can gainsay, but they are the master connoisseurs in the art of stylising the handicaps.

Correcting the handicap in a style is also a wayout. I met an officer who earned two doctorates, and in the process of deep studying his eye lashes lost the voluntary control of blinking and what he had was a look to present, as if he was sleeping, always. Once his superior officer visited him, and I found him wearing the double-triangle fixture, which helped him show by holding up the eyelashes that he was enormously attendant to the celebrations.

Last but the not the least, one must mention those who care two hoots to stylise their handicap. There are people who would allow hair to grow on their ears like the alien in Koi Mil Gaya. They aver-removing them would make them lose their riches. So far, so good! But style is the man himself.
http://www.tribuneindia.com/2010/20100517/edit.htm

[Dudee]

From Kohlapuris to ear piercing
Reviewed by Rajbir Deswal

Right Fit Wrong Shoe
By Varsha Dixit.
Rupa.
Pages 234. Rs 95.

INDIAN Kohlapuris are not permitted in the West-influenced corporate offices in India, while ear piercing may be. This sums up the mood of the book, which otherwise has no story line but a narrative sequence that has no highs and lows but a free-flowing continuum, which is no doubt interesting to get along. More than storytelling, gossip-selling seems to be the author Varsha Dixit’s tool here. Undoubtedly, she impresses though.

If the mystical, captivating and make-believe world of serious fiction has ingredients like intense drama, tense situations, haunting suspense, trepidation, hold-ups, continued and indulgent obsession to sink in, besides love and betrayal, murder and survival, real and surreal, then Right Fit Wrong Shoe is not the right stuff you are looking for.

This light fiction has ‘Cawnpore’—an imperial town of the United Provinces—as its locale, where all action (almost none!) is centred. Twenty-six years old, intelligent and forward-looking Nandini is holed up here in a mess of, largely her own creation, in devolving to struggle and slug it out, being in a ‘love-to-hate relationship’ with a rich and famous, and spoiled Aditya—heir to an enviable business empire and the most eligible bachelor around.

The heroine Nandini howsoever rubbished (and almost ravaged!) by Aditya Sarin, represents the modern progressive and forward-looking woman who despite her secret love for her man would not like to be his ‘dish-on-the-table’ but the ‘main course and the dessert’. She is the one who would like to rub shoulders with men rather than lean on them. She even castigates Aditya, "... my foot, he probably thinks he is God’s gift to women." But at the same time, Nandini seems to be under such a spell of Aditya that the moment she finds herself so close to him, as to smell the fragrance of the deo in his armpits, she starts melting.

Varsha Dixit’s knowledge of the current mores, brands, styles, in-things, hypes, slangs is all-impressive and updated. Not that she takes enough supplemental stakes form Hindi movies only to make her storytelling more engrossing and funny, but she has a penchant for using excellent expressions when she says: "Nandini ate her smile ... she could almost taste bile in her mouth. ... irritating life out of him was as natural to her as salt to a Bloody Mary or kanda to paav bahji; and ... are we, the Queens of Ghantaghar (referring lewdly to a well-known expression in Hindustani)". Care to have a look at this: "Free food is the best—like sex free from any threats of pregnancy, STDs and HIV".

Situations howsoever comical or intense, or even grave (although there isn’t much of it in this book) are all poked here with fun, in clothing and phrasing the outbursts and interactive conversations of characters, into a style which these days comes very naturally to the representatives of Gen X and Y who speak more abbreviations than their elaboration, e.g., DBB (Desi Betty Boop), DDLJ (Dilwale Dhulhaniya Le Jayenge), BTW’s (By the Way), GRBR (Good Riddance to Bad Rubbish), SSS (Sweep, Serve and Smile) for a daughter-in-law, and AAA (Accept, Adapt and Adjust) for a mother-in-law, etc., etc.

The book, abundantly laced with impeccable prose and a kind of lyrical flow, is also fraught with what can be attributed to indignant liberties, and poetic license, on the part of the author, in using as many colloquial and Bollywood-en expressions as could be at her command, making her style and technique a unique and spicy one.

Varsha borrows Hindi films’ famous quotes and uses them appropriately and almost intrusively in her writing medium, i.e., English, sparing impunity for herself. Sample some: Bhagwan ke liye mujhe chhod do; Kutte main tera khoon pee jaaoonga; Hey, Ram! Ye dharti phat kyoon nahin jaati; Do jism ek jaan; Gutter ka kida; Haraamkhor, Kulta, Gadheri, Itna to banta hai; Kameenee Budhiya; Papi pet ka swal hai; Khush keeta; Ladka haath se nikal gya and gayi bhains pani main.

Every chapter here is titled after the name of a Hindi movie which appropriately sums up the contents. The author very frequently flashes back to enhance effect and is successful in maintaining interest to a great extent. The last line of a chapter generally shocks to lead on to the next episode. Varsha’s characters are real and live in a real, modern world. This reviewer would sure recommend the book for the new generation of readers, and not so old, too. But not too old.

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RAJBIR DESWAL

[Dudee]

Regret slips
by Rajbir Deswal

THOSE were the days when one received a cheque as remuneration for a published piece along with a clipping of it. But there were infamous regret slips too. A kind of good gesture from the editors for your creative effort was also the token of their advice and intention to tone up and try again.

Their “acknowledgement” was generally taken by you a little shyly in right earnest, but most of the times with a pinch of salt, for it did pinch you a bit and almost rubbed salt into your injured self (acquired) respect!

Before the advent of the system of sending messages by email or through the fax and telex machines, the regret slips were sent unlike these days, when you keep guessing for the fate of your “creation”.

They gave a mixed feeling of grief and joy to me. Grief, for my piece was declared “killed”, and joy, for it came with an acknowledgement from none other than the editor himself. And, generally, as the masthead impression of that particular newspaper was there on the regret slip, it gave an enhanced joy of receiving something from an august office.

At least your name was there on the envelope, and you could boast that it had a cheque in it, if not a clipping of your printed piece with your byline. No one would know the reality of the receipt of a disheartening and disquieting regret slip.

But the regret slip got the pride of place in at least my scheme of things. I gazed at it with adulation, for here was proof that my piece had been at least touched by the editor himself, the (str)etched out impression of his blue or red pencil notwithstanding. I held all the regret slips as the most sacrosanct documents, almost like Bhoj-Patras — holy leaves of an epic.

I have known nobler souls who acquired and boasted of the collections of regret slips. They kept telling others about their “passion” for writing, but they never mentioned what they felt when “heartless” editors ruthlessly cleared their files of articles, unmindful of the writers’ emotions.

I could make out from the way the regret slip was either pinned or stapled or even folded with my “failed missile” if at all it got the desired treatment. In that case, I would send it to some other newspaper, and sometimes this led to the write-up appearing in the paper’s columns, giving me a thrill of sorts.

Once in a while I felt like getting mad when I received my articles back — which had the editor’s punches marked here and there in the first and second paragraphs — with a big ‘R’ scribbled in a corner and rounded off, trying to make me realise that it was a piece beyond repair.

This kind of a slip plus the rejected piece always haunted me if I chose to preserve them, which I did, but with a feeling that “I was a gone case — will never grow to become a writer like so and so!”

All said and done, the regret slips were good indicators that you were not getting cheques, not too soon. Or never!

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RAJBIR DESWAL