On Impossible Trinity

It is not always vitriol and vinegar. Oftentimes one gets touched by the terrible cuteness of it all. Techno-managerial-bureaucrats pooling in resources, joining purpose, attaching minds and hearts to solve intractable problems of how to score more marks and rank above the next person is a heartening sight. A mark here or there is all that determines whether one becomes a cabinet secretary or a chief secretary or a nobody. It is that tough, this intense competition, this dog-eat-dog-eat-dog-eat-dog-eats chowmein and momos world. Tough, tough, tough. And amidst this chlorinated atmosphere, this pungent, vitiated air, there are heartwarming stories of romance, budding love, pink and rose hued shades of friendship, of group studies in groups in which oftentimes one has eyes for only one or more, of congregations in the hostel lounges, of currency in slide handouts, justice, welfare, maintenance all mingling in cloying displays of affection and equal parts tension. What of the time when one is in the field, that far away, exotic la-la land of red, blue and amber beacons and four score retinues and the forefathers breathing down one's neck?

A possible trinity but an impossible threesome. Alas!

Here is an impossible trinity for you. Dinner at Momo's, dinner at Little Llama, desserts at Clock Tower Cafe or Rockby all in the same day. That came out all wrong, it is quite possible.

Let us try again. Fixed exchange of hearts, open bank account and autonomy in marriage policy. Ha! Got you.

A good thing about the exam is that the whole batch is exempted from PT. Hurray!

Schrodinger's Cat was a Cow and other Absurdities

24 days for the circus to leave the town. Would you shed some tears for the dearly departed?

It is always a good idea to write off when in anger and then trash it. Or put the post up in the probables list. Or dip the post in such caustic humour that it turns in to a pulp of vague references.

Anyway, it was a dreamy day. The sun light was sweet, straight and bright. It fell on the delicate shoulders and intelligent heads of the pretty lady OTs, giving an unintentional brilliant golden highlight to their hair, illuminating them as Madonnas on stained glass panels of medieval cathedrals. Just another day in the academy. The class rooms are neither cosy nor cold, they are just so. However, a filling breakfast of proteins, carbohydrates (hydrocarbons?) and fruit juices puts a generic gentleman OT in to a genial mood for sleep. Lectures on rights based legislation by explorers and pioneers or on macro economic policies by advisers to very important people of India get taught, while a head somewhere drops abrupt, a fresh entrant in to the world of the sitting sleepers.

Sometimes the 89th FC OTs get surprising guest lecturers. Shrimati Karenjit Kaur Vohra, a.k.a Shrimati Sunny Leone, an actress of some talent and an accomplished business person, visited the academy to deliver a lecture on the Ancient Art Forms Of India. A particular art form was referred to more than others. A clairvoyant's image of the artist captured the essence of the art and the artist's engagement with the audience. The guest lecturer asserted that the Ancient India was a place of high refinement in tastes. Cultural norms of the society of Ancient India were of a standard unsurpassed. The guest lecturer derided the current crop of civil servants for their pusillanimity in their imagination. She insisted that glorious, golden, halcyon days of the past can be regained once gain when the civil servants shed their inhibitions and take grand decisions, adopt bold positions on issues and come out on top, in general. The degradation in standards (of what was not specified) were a cause of concern to her. The guest lecturer concluded by exhorting the OTs to exert themselves (on what was not specified).

Shrimati Karenjit Kaur Vohra extolling the glorious days of Ancient India.

A gentle tap on the shoulder usually wakes a day dreaming OT before they embarrass themselves by exerting  in snoring during the classes. 

Apart from the exciting guest lecturers, the batch also receives unsolicited emails from well meaning citizens and/or civil servants. The emails are summaries of news, general impressions and opinions. Fearless fellow OTs however are not very amused by the voluminous mail as it only adds to the increasing sense of an impending showdown, a denouement of the FC, adds to the stress of unresolved issues, unread mails amidst a deluge of emails dreaming of achieving coordination via electronic media.

In other unrelated news, conclusive evidence emerged that the Schrodinger's cat was in fact a cow. Not any other average Joe cow but the very sacred one, a cash cow. The cow was supposed to answer the question 'when does the actual quantum state stop being a linear combination of states, each of which resembles different classical states, and instead begin to have a unique classical description?'

Disclaimer: None of the points stated in this post are true except this disclaimer. There was no such guest lecturer nor was Schrodinger's cat a cow.

On Diwali at the academy

Diwali/Deepawali at the academy was a semi-festive occasion. The lunch brought the batch together. There were activities by the Fine Arts Club which kept the artistically inclined occupied for the day. Like rangoli and painting. The participants must be appreciated for their efforts. Here are few examples of their works.

To abstraction

Wishing well

Rangoli prepared by the OTs

A sample of the fireworks show

Cross current of fireworks

The artistically challenged like me spent the day lazing, recovering from the hectic non-reading for the mid term exam.

There were attempts made to decorate parts of the common areas with diyas. They were valiant efforts by few people. However, without almost anal retentive level planning, illumination of wide open spaces is a tough proposition. As a KGPian and that too from RK Hall I can say this with certain level of confidence. One only needs to see illumination from KGP to know what they are missing when trying to do anything with diyas. Yes, Diwali is a legitimate reason to get senti about KGP.

The fireworks show was good while it lasted, which, like most crushes, was for a woefully short duration. However, efforts to procure fireworks and plan on having a resemblance of a fireworks show in itself is reason enough to applaud the efforts.

Lady OTs turned out in dazzling, colourful ethnic wear and were by all accounts brighter than a million diyas put together. Gentlemen OTs, those who made the effort to dress up in ethnic wear, were still not a patch on the ladies. 

What was missing? Sweets! Tonnes of them. I miss the wide assortment of sweets that are de rigueur on Diwali in northern India and the gratuitous stuffing of oneself with as many sweetmeats as possible.

One's family is missed on these festive occasions. For those who could not join their families on account of distances and time and archaic no leave rules of the FC were seen trying their best to be present in the academy mentally too. Their hearts and their minds were with their families, their loved ones.

I found a rather curious happening as regards the ITBP guards posted at various points of the campus. Yesterday, few guards were overheard speculating on their chances of getting a day off on Diwali. One was unpleasantly surprised to find guards of a particular community having been posted for the sentry duties today. The motive may have been pious, but the intention can be misconstrued a thousand ways. Such practices are likely to reinforce expectations and behaviours that are contrary to the ethos of the uniformed forces. This is a dangerous path to go down.

How would you as a civil servant deal with such situations? Would you opt for convenience over hard choices? How would you handle the demands for leave from all quarters on such hot holidays?

On Marxist lectures and Sleep Operas.

What political orientation would the agents of polity have? 

Should the political orientation be declared? 

Can a civil servant be neutral? 

There was a guest lecture today by a faculty from a well known university. The lecture was about socialism (in particular Marxism) and its relation to politics. After the lecutre was over, the common refrain that I got to hear from the batch was that there was a bias towards one particular ideology and a bias against another. This is purely speculative, for a random overhearing of grumblings of sleepy OTs is in no way an authoritative account of their political leanings or preferences, but the majority seem inclined to a particular ideology. In itself, it is no harm. However, one wonders if it is desirable to have homogeneity in opinion. Does that mean heterogeneity is desirable as and end in itself? Another question might be, how has the selection process succeeded in screening so many like-minded people? I suppose it may be answered the day one understands the reason why there is a preponderance of engineers in this batch of civil servants.

While these and other thoughts were churning about, I found, refreshingly enough, that I was awake. It afforded me a chance to see my batchmates in (in)action. Perhaps I too may have snored gently, almost inaudibly. Perhaps I too might have been nodding away to dream lands all these days. We never know. A gentle tap on the shoulder by the kind staff woke those sleeping sitting near the aisle. What of those ensconced in the middle of a row, surrounded by similarly drowsy friends?

Tongue firmly in cheek, therefore, I would like to dedicate this tenor aria by Luciano Pavarotti to the batch, from the 3rd act of Giacomo Puccini's opera 'Turandot.' (I got this information and much of everything else from Wikipedia). Yes, the aria has shades of gray, but take the opening lines literally, please.

For those interested in what the aria means, here is a good source and this too.

Coffee and baking

The Plaza Cafe is open from 4 pm to 10 pm. It is a hole in the wall operation, in the literal sense. It is located close to the Gyanshila building. The cafe has a coffee machine, obviously, and also serves snacks of a single variety. I have Cafe Americano (a diluted espresso) and the snack. I am finding good company for the coffee nowadays. It is a good sign. A coffee tastes better when one talks in between taking sips. [I should probably patent this idea.]

Every alternate day, the snack happens to be a brownie. The brownies are fresh baked, light, fluffy and taste perfect. To top it all, it costs only Rs.10! Not for me the brownish black lumps of bread that masquerades as brownie at run of the mill coffee shops. I have become a fan of the brownies here.

Mussoorie has a baking culture, probably a vestige of the colonial times. I have read about few places on the Mall Road and Landour that are famed for their pastries and other baked items. Besides, there is an extra curricular module on baking and cooking. Few batchmates were kind enough to share with me their experiments with baking. I am looking forward to them improving their skills and testing the end products of their efforts on me. I am not averse to tasting a cake, brownie or a cookie every evening at 4.45 pm and passing my considered opinion on the baked goods and the baker.

I shall make it a point to visit the bakeries that made Mussoorie famous someday soon. The thing about making promises is that I am wont to break them. Even promises made to myself. But this is about food. I may find my feet walking to these places without me knowing it. All in good time KS.

One would expect the Officer Trainees to be more officer-like sometimes. However, I have no business standing in judgment of anyone. Probably with time one becomes officer-like by default. Time will tell.

The Ganga Dhaba and its unnamed cousin, the adjacent cafe/grocery shop/daru-sutta adda are gaining the batch's patronage steadily but surely. The mess and the cafe within the campus may have to work harder to retain the loyalties of the OTs.

Hear it from the horse's mouth

Hear it straight from the horse's mouth, then: Dear readers of KS's blog. I am Tin Tin. I am a chestnut brown horse, 5 years old. I have beautiful black mane and my groomer is quite good at his job. Therefore the chestnut skin glows like molten Dairy Milk, especially when my thigh muscles ripple whenever I gallop. And gallop I like to do. Often. Alas! I am not free to gallop to my liking, though. I was born and brought up in the Indian Army. At Equine Breeding Stud, Babugarh to be precise. The first letter of the place of my birth and the last digit of the year of my birth are branded on to my left thigh. So, I have B9 with an arrow mark pointed upwards indicating my ownership by the army. I was born in 2009.

While the OT group of about 28 (us horses are good at numbers, among other things) gathered in a circle about the Riding Instructor (RI), the riding assistant (helper etc) helped demonstrate to the OTs how to unshoe me, clip my nails, brush my mane and how to saddle me up. The Riding Instructor is a 6.5 ft tall gentleman from the President's Bodyguard. The OTs were also instructed on how to mount and dismount a horse. Grab the rein in the left hand, grab the pommel with the left hand, stirrup leather to face you, left foot in the stirrup, haul yourself up on your left leg, haul your right leg over the cantle on to the right side, sit, take better grip of the rein, snag the right foot in the stirrup. The RI explained to the OTs the dietary requirements of us horses and I could see one fat, round OT shift uneasily on his feet at how many kilos of different kinds of sprouts, jaggery, salt, mustard/fish oil we are fed. Was he hungry or did all those kilos mentioned remind him of how less he was eating?

We were a bunch of 17 horses, of different ages and colours. The riding assistants had worn us out previously so that we would be tired and less frisky when the OTs would decide to ride us. Soon enough, as Fate would have it, that fat, round OT was assigned to me. He had some difficulty  mounting but once he was settled in the seat of the saddle, he seemed content just to be where he was. Probably he had never seen the world from these commanding heights. We were led by the riding assistants on a round of the riding grounds. The OT assigned to me pulled the rein too hard initially, which is a sort of a brake for me, so I stopped, bringing the group of horses at my back to a halt. The riding assistant asked him to loosen the rein and things were all right from then on. Press the heel of the corresponding leg to go in that direction, pull back the rein to brake, press both the heels to move forward. Basic movements. The Riding Instructor asked the OTs to slap our necks in appreciation. In the good old military fashion, it was an 'ek do ek' of appreciation shown. The OTs dismounted and thanked the riding assistants and walked to our front. The RI instructed the OTs not to move to our back without intimating us. A well placed kicking of an IAS officer is therefore missing from my account.

Riding ground where Tin Tin and KS met

A fat, round OT's account: You could hear the 'clop, clop, clop' of their horse shoes on the steep, cemented road running from the Silverwood hostel near the academy gate all the way down to the Polo grounds. Over and from between the tree tops one could catch glimpses of the riders in riding helmets, riding breeches and riding boots, every bit equestrian and smart. When my turn came for riding a horse, a chestnut brown one, I was a bit apprehensive. However, my heart rate stabilized soon and though I looked ridiculous riding a horse while clothed in formal wear, I might have also looked like a fat, brown saheb on his brown horse. We were asked to slap the neck and the back of the horse to show our appreciation. It came naturally to me, the appreciation in 'ek do ek' time period.

One juggles, one struggles.

One juggles, one struggles.

The academic sessions have started. A common complaint of the OTs seems to be a struggle to remain awake during the classes. In all fairness, this is not a reflection on the faculty or the course content. Instead, it is a race to adjust to the changed circumstances of structured physical exercise in the morning and classes all day. Hopefully we should be able to win this race.

I see no point in updating details of the classes. I might just as well upload the course PPTs and the time table. If I persist on insisting on writing about the going-ons of this place, this will turn irrelevant. However, I shall try my best to capture the interstitial spaces and times. I shall try to write about the reading in between the lines.

There is a great deal to do at the LBSNAA for the OTs. There are extra course modules specifically designed to let an OT hone her skills or pick up new ones. The OTs are also expected to learn a new language. The idea is to push the OTs out of their comfort zone.

Yours truly has opted for, and has been allotted to, horse riding. Yes, I too am thinking Sea Biscuit. Or Black Beauty. That is how far my knowledge of horses and riding extends. This promises to be a novel experience. We can hear it straight from the horse's mouth in the future. :)

Ice breaking, crushing, slushie making

The thing about being in the hills is that sometimes one sees the sun rise much later than one’s brethren in the plains. So we watched the sun rise from the Polo grounds during a 2-minute break we got in the middle of the PT. Since it was the first day of the PT, the instructor was easy on the OTs. Just some basic stretching and few rounds around the ground.

The climb up to the hostels after a vigorous session of PT may just be one of the many challenges that the OTs may face in the coming days. 

The batch was split in to groups for activities to familiarize with each other. However, after few hectic ice-breaking sessions, I suspect I forgot more than I remembered. May be the ice did not  break enough, it only thawed and refroze. Then it refroze all wrong. We are at a worser place than from where we started. Faces that look vaguely familiar are somehow not associated with the names and names that one has on the tip of one's tongue are somehow blurted out to address the wrong people. Perhaps it is the initial awkwardness, perhaps it is the cold climate and the decreased supply of Oxygen, if it is true, whatever be the reason, this name-face matching is taking too long.

A session today spoke of mess etiquette and another on the sartorial expectations from a civil servant. The aim of both these sessions was to instil officer-like behaviour in the OTs. Few of the suggestions made for the sartorial options available to the lady OTs may have tread on quite a few toes of the OTs, both male and female. Or I am reading too much in to the sentivities of the batch.

The overarching theme that emerges, in clothing, is the requirement for an internally motivated conservatism in the civil servants. Though this holds true in any other sphere of activity, it is of particular importance in clothing. One wonders if there were any civil servants during the Neanderthal era and if they did, what conservatism went in to their dressing before they jumped off a branch from the tree of evolution.