62. For now, it is a question of answers

Any question? Keep it to yourself!

For once, this pandemic has forced all of us to be different, to seek answers and only answers on how to confront, control, and get over the dreadful virus. No one seems to be asking questions anymore, but everyone is waiting for a universal answer. All questions about its origin are painfully getting buried with those who unfortunately have succumbed to it.  Don't get me wrong if I may say that the conventional human trait of asking questions seems to have taken a backseat as the virus lurks around.
                   
To say that 'not to question is the question' does not provide any answer on our collective plight. Humans have always been in the habit of asking questions but rarely does anyone like to be questioned? Check this out! Students quibble on being questioned; teenagers resent probing wards; employees grudge questioning bosses and so on........because a question creates a situation when otherwise sensible people get temporarily stumped, feeling let down and somewhat insecure of themselves at that moment. The one being questioned can hardly escape being its victim, though.  

Given the present scenario, I wonder if we are not being rewired 'not to ask questions'? No one could be sure, but it may do a world of good for most of us should it were to happen. However, I have learnt that humans have not always been asking questions. Evolutionary biologists contend that humans were not born with this unique ability to ask questions, it was a cognitive add-on during the first millennium of human evolution. And once onto it, there hasn't been any looking back since then as the  psychological vantage to assert supremacy by asking questions gained social currency across all cultures. 

Many of you would want to question the evolutionary hypothesis but experience has shown that answers have always pre-existed questions at any time. In fact, I would imagine that it is the presence of 'answers' that gives rise to 'questions' in the first place. Whether to your satisfaction or not, more than one answer has always been there because a question alone can't survive. For every ying there ought to be a yang around. It is always two to a tango!  So, for any question on the anvil an answer is always discreetly around somewhere, for sure. 

If answers are lying scattered all round, should we not be searching for answers only? This is precisely what all of us are currently engaged in, seeking answers to finding a way of living life like never before, as there are not many who would care to address our questions. We all have to find our own answers. Sans questions, life is sure to ease out for teenagers, husbands, employees, bureaucrats and even politicians. The virus seems to be giving us an evolutionary back kick!   

Thank the faceless virus for masking us from the vice of asking questions. The only question we will still be asking is 'how are you', because it has an answer embedded in it.

First published in The Times of India on July 1, 2020. 

61. Geography of a rare encounter

The Incredible Col. Rinchen

Is there anything other than people, places and proceedings, in isolation or in combination, that plays on our memory? Perhaps, not. And, within each of these combinations are embedded stories and sub-stories. I recall one such from my first trip to picturesque cold desert town of Leh, which was considered incomplete without meeting Col. Chewang Rinchen, the living legend who had won the coveted Maha Vir Chakra (MVC) twice during his active military service, for his dare devilry during Sino-India and Indo-Pak wars. What is more, he bagged his first MVC at a young age of 17 - then and even now a rare feat! Small in gait but firm in built, Rinchen was compact and swift as a ‘desert goat’ in negotiating steep slopes and deep gorges in the high altitude cold desert. A ‘desert fox’ would have been an apt nickname for him, had it not been assigned to German General Rommel during the second World War.

Retired from active service in 1984 but served as Honorary Colonel of the Ladakh Scouts for the rest of his life, Rinchen had hair-splitting encounters to share with us as we sat on his first floor living room above an upmarket restaurant he used to own in Leh. One such encounter with the enemy in taking control of the strategic outpost of Turtuk during 1971 Indo-Pak war was worth mentioning. Engaged with the enemy in dreadful hand-to-hand combat through the night, it had shocked Rinchen at dawn that the enemy he killed was twice his size, an imposing six foot plus Pathan. It still sends shivers down his spine, as his expressions revived a long-dealt fear factor.

Rinchen had an image larger than his short frame, every new military commander to the region would consider an honor to meet the legend first. Rinchen had most memorable meeting  with Field Marshal Sam Manekshaw in a military party. While Introducing the most decorated living soldier, Manekshaw was accosted by an unusual question from his wife ‘what were you doing when this young officer was winning honors for the country?’ Known for his raw humor, the Field Marshal was uninhibited in his response ‘sleeping with you dear!’ It not only needs courage to laugh at oneself, but make others join in the process too. In highlighting human vulnerabilities, Sam's humor in uniform had portrayed the lighter side to a rather tough life.

Rinchen lived his life to the fullest, considered an inspiration for youth in the region. At an altitude of 14,650 feet in Ladakh, a 1400-ft-long bridge on Shyok River now stands in his memory although he fought battles at much higher altitudes. To me, the bridge is a testimony to his never say die approach to life. It reflected in all that he would do, I recall how despite being wavering under the influence of few pegs of drink, the incredible officer had driven us to our hotel after hosting a dinner for us. We may have been scared, but not him. Even in those small and insignificant moments his firm resolve would come to the fore - 'you only live once' he would assert! 

Days are meant to be gone, and so were those days. For those who visit Leh these days, a statue of Col. Rinchen at a public roundabout is all that is a reminder of the deeds of this valiant officer, and a gentleman. But I continue to cherish meeting the incredible soldier with awe and inspiration, because it is a sheer chance that the geography of a place creates sociology of a rare encounter. 

60. Connecting the celluloid dots

Ranjha Raaj Kumar in the backdrop of Dhauladhar mountains. 

In times of the pandemic threat which seems not too distant in future but uncertain nonetheless, reliving nostalgic moments provide much desired comfort. These are the times when indulging in nostalgia helps revive feelings, a kind of matter or some kind of energy that can destroy or cripple present melancholic moments. It is the involuntary unlocking of those eventful moments that allow trapped energy to spring back to life, giving fresh chance to revisit and reprocess life differently.

When going to theatre was a rarity, watching one-movie-per-week was a kind of God-send privilege. Thanks to my father tasked with running the cantonment theatre in picturesque Palampur town in the lap of majestic Dhauladhar mountains, learning the supply-chain of film distribution and screening came handy each week as aluminium cans carrying film spools arrived by road from rail head at Pathankot. Four such spools were glued in a sequence to run the film in four-segments, with three intermissions, on a single towering Westrex projector. 

A message on now obsolete telex machines would convey film title in advance, helping in drawing a screening schedule for the troops. One such highly clobbered message had thrown life in a tizzy as nobody could figure out the film title. Given my interest in films, the onerous task of decoding the title was bestowed on my young shoulders. Playing around with the words on offer in the message I had confidently pronounced the title 'Banke Bihari'. Embarrassingly, the first screening revealed it to be a 1969 film Bank Robbery instead. I had to live with that indignation for long.

Palampur had turned out to be poor-filmmakers' Kashmir, a perfect place to capture wide brush impressions on film making. Hailing from a nearby village, filmmaker Jugal Kishore had captured the scenic beauty of the place in most of his two dozen odd low-budget films. An award-winning producer of Punjabi films, he would descend every alternate spring with hordes of newcomers for outdoor shooting of his Hindi films. Bunking classes to throng the shooting location was preferred but somewhat boring pass time as a perfect shot would takes days to complete. But it didn't deter newcomers like Shatrughan Sinha, Anil Dhawan, and Yogita Bali from throwing star tantrums. 

Such tantrums must have been an ordeal for small-time filmmakers!. So it were for Jugal Kishore which only compelled him to make some serious compromises with the script. Taking liberties, he repeated his motorcycle dare devil sequence from Lal Bangla in his subsequent film Munimji. That had mattered least to the locals who often read his rags-to-riches story like a film script only. From among us a non-descript youngster is rubbing shoulders with the bold and the beautiful in the mad-bad world of film making was an oft-repeated adage to define this little-known film maker.   

No wonder, local support was to his calling. However, such favors did carry some intangible costs. I recall one such sequence, perhaps from film Munimji, wherein a villainous character was pushed into a small pool of water with the hero in verbal dual from the outside. The pampered lad of the local MLA, who also owned a tea estate, had insisted on being in the pool, and after long deliberations was let in with clear instructions to swim at a distance from the character. After the film release, the boy had become a laugh-of-the-town as his skill in swimming was nowhere seen on the screen.

              

For me, conversing with supporting actors was more meaningful. Relaxing on an easy chair under a garden umbrella for his shot, I had expressed my surprise at him (to actor Chandrasekhar) playing the lowly role of a police inspector in Sabak after having played the lead in many films including Street Singer. Flabbergasted, the actor had questioned my interest in such vintage stuff. My one- movie-a-week schedule was loaded with some old and many forgettable movies, I had told him. Now in his late 90's, Chandrasekhar had changed tracks subsequent to his acting career to assist Gulzar in the making of classics like Parichay, Aandhi and Mausam.   

Towards the end of the 1970's, Chetan Anand had descended with his Heer Ranjha troupe to Palampur to shoot just a verse from Kaifi Azmi's lyrics on a Madan Mohan composition to be rendered on screen by iconic Raaj Kumar - ae parbat rasta de mujhe ae kaanto daman chhod do. Such perfectionist was the eldest of the illustrious Anands, Dev and Vijay Anand being the other two, that it took almost a week to shoot the verse from one of the finest melancholic renditions by Mohd. Rafi. Those were the days, and perhaps the last of the major outdoor shooting schedule around Palampur.     

That place is no longer the favorite location for present-day filmmakers. But those years had impacted my sensibilities a great deal, letting my interest in studying various aspects of film-making flourish no end. What was then an interesting exercise to learn is today just a click away on any smart phone. As I relive those moments during the ongoing lockdown, I find my past connected to the present through aspects of film appreciation which has continued to this day -  in viewing, reading and commenting on films. It is no more a boring pass time, but a compelling engagement now!

First published in The Hindu, issue dated May 10, 2020.

59. Itna sannata kyon hai bhai?

'Why is there such a silence, O brother'
(A K Hangal as 'Imam' in 'Sholay')

During these corona time when all of us are forced into locked seclusion I wonder how would anyone respond to Imam Saab's innocent query itna sannata kyon hai bhai? Come on, don't ask me what sense does it make to respond to an innocent query raised decades ago on screen, in blockbuster Sholay. The unprecedented sannata leaves the blind old man baffled, wondering why human relations snap during such testing times? Ever the chirpy chatter Basanti is nowhere around. 

Once a hub of cultural activities, village Ramgarh today bears a desolate look. But for stray cattle and wandering chickens, the eerie silence enforced by a complete lock down had shocked the trio who brought back a sack of mixed emotions filled instead with thankfulness to the villagers. Despite social recession staring at him, Gabbar had gathered courage to thunder: kitne aadmi thay. The Kalia-led trio could only heave a sigh of relief saying sab bachh gaye saale. 

The iconic writer duo Salim-Javed deserve credit for giving us a quintessential script, which without losing any bit on its incredible popularity has only helped hone abilities of many like me to obfuscate comic relief out from it.  So flexible is the script that one can rephrase it despite its engrossing storyline being largely impregnable. Not without reason has the explosive script with its stunning characters outlived its screen presence, almost a folklore of sorts. 

As a vast majority recoils in horror, my cavalier approach instead has been to construct comic moments out from the script and multiply them faster than the virus. Thank goodness, Gabbar neither sneezes nor shakes hands. In fact, he has been averse to people with strong hands. No one else knew it better than the irresistible Thakur who was not only relieved of his two limbs, but spared from compulsive hand washing too. To kill a social vermin, however, feet worked better than hands! 

With life patterns thrown out of gear, an expansion of mental bandwidth to transform challenges into possibilities only springs hope. Aren't most of us hopeful like Thakur? Else, why do we go without reservation to our preferred restaurant on a saturday night with the hope of finding a table? As we all struggle against a sagging economy and sinking emotions, search for comic relief holds promise of staying sane in this emerging theatre of the absurd. Loneliness for once is a forced virtue!

As we all brace to confront the dreaded virus, ab aayega mazaa should echo our collective resolve to settle the scores. Nothing less than Viru's war cry chun chun ke maroonga will help in winning it over. Till such time, we all need to learn to live like Tom Hanks in Cast Away, who survived four years stranded on a remote island with only a volleyball. Social isolation does take a toll on humans though, but do we need to be reminded that jo darr gaya samjho mar gaya?  

(This write-up is inspired by many of the characters and dialogues from the Bollywood film 'Sholay').

First published in The Times of India, Mar 26, 2020.

58. Life starts with everyone clapping

The pun in his remark got me clapping involuntarily. Wonder, how else could anyone react to famous rapper and Grammy winner Jay-Z holding former US President Bill Clinton as the ultimate rock star, "people clap in a restaurant when he finishes dinner." And, he didn't stop at just that and added "I don't get that treatment. I get it when I walk onstage, but not when I have dinner." There is not much to read into it other than the fact that anything that induces clapping should be worth a cause. And, I mean it!  

I say so because I find clapping doing more than what it may have been known for.  You find people clapping in the park; yoga teachers induce clapping as an essential step; and acupressure technique counts on clapping to trigger a healthy body response. As old as human existence, clapping both hands is more than what we might ever consider it to be.  It is clearly more than a standard civic gesture to attract attention; to celebrate success; and to express admiration - as a sign of approval.  

Clapping gives an adrenaline boost to the one who gets the cheers, be it enforced at a political rally or voluntary during a public performance. Any which way, the reaction of the public plays a very important role. But it works the other way round too! Don't you recall deliberate clapping that has been often pressed to pull down a bad speaker or woo a poor performance - as an act of disapproval, Both ways, it holds immense value as a distinct means of communication that is race and creed neutral. 

It goes beyond, and my sense is that it is the musical aspect of clapping that has often been underrated. Be it classical or western music, clapping has been tried as an interesting musical interlude. While it is somewhat organic to qawali, in other genre it has emerged as a creative aspect that few music composers have been able to master with finesse. Who can forget several such compositions by noted musician O P Nayyar who had turned clapping as his signature tune for numerous Bollywood songs from the 50's through 70's. 

Clapping is after all the most common sound that we, as humans, have been using without our voice chords. Need it be said that clapping with hands is the first act that all of us have learnt as a child, with our parents encouraging us to persist with it during our formative years. However, it is only in later years that we become conservative in the use of clapping as a social gesture. Don't we? No wonder, we now find claquers filling the gaps in radio programs and television shows. Why clap when one could be paid to do so? 

But clapping must merit as a means of self-amplification for a healthy existence. If not for anything else, the signature clap of the transgender helps them stay fit. Mark my words, it is acupressure at work in each clap. Else, they wouldn't have been as fit. Have you ever seen a transgender with a weak eyesight, if I may ask! 

First published in Deccan Herald, issue dated July 22, 2020.      

57. What matters at the end is ingenuity

The Lady Ninkharsag

Bad news holds currency, subsuming whatever little good that lies littered around. That has been the way of life, lately. Had I not read hugely popular Factfulness by noted statistician Hans Rosling who stressed that one must strive to get the good things out in the public, it wouldn't have occurred to me to revisit the momentous weeks I had spent in Aleppo, before this historic oldest inhabited city was devastated beyond recognition in the unending war since 2012 in Syria - the citadel of civilization.  

Aleppo's largest covered market, Al-Madina Souq, with its almost 13-km long and narrow alleys could belittle any modern shopping mall for the diversity of merchandise on offer, from luxury goods to raw silk, and from spices to carpets. The market also housed the heritage-tagged public bath, Hammam al-Nahhasin, as much known for its intricate wooden interiors of the Ottoman era as the exquisite modern facilities on offer to the bathers, both men and women.   

My sweet memories of the city are embodied in the miniature but perfect replica of The Lady Ninkharsag on my desk. That piece of memorabilia was sold to me as the Goddess of Prosperity by the young counter-girl at the Aleppo museum, which I later learnt was better known as the Goddess of Irrigation. Does irrigation in a dry region not lead to prosperity? In my solitude, I often speak to the goddess to help restore the war-ravaged region to its historic prosperity. Amen!

Need I say that not only the city, but its women have been one-of-the-most beautiful. My Chinese colleague Wu would translate his appreciation for the native beauty - 'it is the frequency of beautiful women that makes it a distinct place'. I could not agree with him more as every second women was as beautiful. Considered a deeply religious and conservative country, in contrast its women were as comfortably shrouded in a burqa as snugly unveiled in the modern western outfits.   

What was a crude cultural shock then was the ease with which I found women negotiating purchase of most outrageous pieces of inner wears with the male salespersons. Forthright displays of scantily covered mannequins' with fishnet negligees, fake flowers adorned bikini sets, and G-strings with flimsy plastic mobile phones didn't raise any eyebrows. Someone had commented that even Madonna would blush to wear such all showing bawdy creativity with a wicked sense of humor.

Were the Middle East women more liberated then we had ever thought or were they at ease in celebrating their lives in private? Much later I found answer in the research by two London-based Arab women, Rana Salam and Malu Halasa, who had revealed that it was an all-men fledgling industry that gave the over-the-top lingerie choice to women both as a tool for sexual expression as well as a desperate defense against straying husbands. It had made Syria world-leader in kinkiest leisure wear.  

There was more to learn from the Syrian way of life. For just ten local pounds, one could buy a pack of pre-cooked rotis (bread) at any grocery shop. My impression that such gesture by the state may have been towards the poor was shattered when my host had served the same rotis in my farewell dinner, telling me with pride that the state was compassionate towards its people - ensuring equity in food security through cooked food, and not raw grains.     

It is hard to fathom how the world could transform such good news upside down, and persist with it.

First published in Deccan Herald dated March 16, 2020.

56. Thrill is worth a try, risk it

Avoiding danger is not safer in the long run

It is only recently, after he turned 70, that he sought to do away with the impulsive act he defined as 'thrill', something that seems to have eluded the forthright government official. Having known him from his pre-retirement days, I used to wonder why he would avoid using the 'red beacon' on his official car. It was a facility, he would suggest, that an already privileged officer can easily let go. Interestingly, his office gifted him the red beacon as a parting gift. 

Having found a new toy, he started floundering it on his private car to evade dispensing toll fee at the highways. Visibly elated but equally relieved, the feeling of deja vu lasted quite a few trips on the highway. Why would you do so when you were scared doing it? That is the fun of doing it, he would say. If one isn't scared, something is surely wrong, because the thrill is in itself scary. The day it isn't scary, there won't be any thrill in taking the risk.     

Howsoever thrilling, can such socially frivolous act be justified? Keep your moral prism aside, he stresses, any thrilling act has an intellectual side and is inherently creative. Without an iota of embarrassment, he tells me that hacking, the undesired act of breaking into the systems, was initiated by curious cyber kids who pursued it as an act of intellectual inquiry to draw thrill in the pursuit of knowledge. Little was realized then that one day hacking will be a big business.

Jumping toll comes naturally to us, as we are wired to breaking norms. Some do it, but most avoid risking it. Any act that helps stay clear of social norms or break institutional barriers evokes thrill, resultant adrenaline rush gives an unexpected kick. What is more, the sense of privilege that comes from being skillfully different heightens the right to enjoy oneself. You need to engage in the little things, within limits of civility, that would ordinarily bore you will suddenly thrill you.  

This is where the family during their Bali sojourn got it wrong, forced to unpack all that they had conveniently flicked from their hotel room, because it tantalized itself with hopes of possible fortune. Rest, as they say, has become history. That they had allowed the sense of obsession to get beyond what could have been the thrill of adventure dig them in. All said, the thrill of something new or weird is immensely alluring! One must not avoid getting one's thrill on. 

If there's even a slight chance of getting something that will make you happy, risk it. Author Helen Keller had remarked 'avoiding danger is no safer in the long run than outright exposure'. With age no bar, life is either a daring adventure or nothing,  

First published in Deccan Herald, issue dated Oct 4, 2019.

55. The leftovers of cross-border hostility

Despite my wife’s trepidation, I couldn’t resist travelling to support local communities in their post-war rehabilitation, just about the time when the guns were falling silent during the Kargil War. The occasional thunder from the burning ammunition dump that had been targeted by the enemy didn't bother the locals who had been through the worst.    
Some 30,000 people were uprooted from their homes, had lost their animals, and more importantly, the productive three summer months. Having extended unconditional support to the armed forces during those testing months, the locals expected more than what came their way as relief. There were several, like the chaiwallah at Drass, overlooking the imposing battlefield of the infamous Tiger Hills, who had extended their undeterred services under gunfire. 

From the treacherous heights of Batalik to the undulating dry slopes of Mushko valley, I gathered stories of trauma and courage from hundreds of villagers in Chanigund, Drass, Holiyal, Kharboo and Trespone. Village residents dreaded going to their fields as unexploded bombs were suspected to be still scattered around. That such bombs had claimed the lives of two young boys was still fresh in their minds. I spotted a half-buried mortar in an abandoned field in Kharboo. For humans and cattle, the agricultural farms had become the new killing fields.   

In all, some 4,000 families were evacuated from as many as 52 villages, not a small number in a sparsely populated cold-desert region. Noticeable was the resilience of the communities, and their hand-holding. Trespone, a village with 370 households located about 20 km from Kargil, had played host to all families from the border village of Kaksar — the first village to be evacuated. I had made a failed attempt to seek benevolence of the resource-stretched district administration for the households. One from the village, Tahir Hussain, had questioned if seeking compensation for the goodwill extended to their brethren wasn’t unethical! 

It wasn’t easy to convince the administration that as much as the displaced, the hosts too needed to be counted in the relief and rehabilitation package. Much to my surprise, affected households demanded fuelwood and not food as relief. Survival during harsh winter, which was already knocking at their door, could be possible without food, but not without fuelwood to keep the homes warm and liveable.  

War had traumatised a large number of children. Eleven-year-old Mohammad Abuzor was one of the several children who witnessed the unfolding war. Alone at home when the war erupted, he was the first to see bullets hit his grandmother. He had sought help from an Army picket before the entire village of Kaksar was evacuated. Like others, his blank eyes were reflective of a gloomy future. 

As I recall those days, I wonder how might have Abuzor grown as one of those directly affected by the war.

First published in The Tribune, issue dated Aug 3, 2019

54. Jhumka by another name

It is the stuff of legend that products and places pride their identity from. Think of it, the ash gourd sweet candy called petha has given Agra its distinct geographical indication label. Far from discounting the Mughal legacy, I am only accentuating it by bringing the petha in as this sweet originated in the kitchens of Mughal emperor Shah Jahan, Synonym to each other, the product extends emotional and cultural bonding to the place. Such intricate is their interrelation that neither can be stripped of the other.  

Come to think of it, not every place may be as popular but rarely is any place without a distinct cultural output of some kind though. We only need to look around. Aamir Khan starrer Piku revived memories of my train travel beyond Lucknow wherein I had first tasted ladoos of a different kind. Named after the non-descript town Sandila, the soft and paler country cousin of the glamorous boondi ladoo has lent an identity to this small town in Hardoi district in Uttar Pradesh. But for these ladoos, Sandila would have remained a dot on the map. 

Not much is being done to either identify and establish, or revive and restore such distinct cultural identities of small towns and cities. Either crass commercialization has uprooted geographical indicators from their place of origin or overt homogenization of cities has erased such cultural identities. Take the case of Pratapgarh in Rajasthan. This small town is the birth place of that intricate gold-glass fused jewelry called thewa. Ironically, thewa has gone places but its birth place does not register in popular imagination any bit.  

I am convinced that a little spark of madness on the part of the city administrators can turn things around. There is little doubt that tossing a cultural identity will only do good to the existence of a city. The myth of the dangling earring, the ubiquitous jhumka, lost in the street of Bareilly has remained in popular imagination for over half a century. Thanks to well-known lyricist Raja Mehndi Ali Khan who rhymed Bareilly into his melodious composition jhumka gira re bareilly ke bazaar me for the immensely popular film Mera Saya.

Stories about how bareilly was rhymed into the song abound on the internet, but noticeable is the fact that jhumka has finally caught the imagination of the Bareilly Development Authority in drawing plans to give shape to the city's mythical jhumka identity at its entrance by installing a replica of this piece of jewelry, 12-14 feet in height and 2.43 meter in diameter. Only by preserving the uniqueness of a place, real or imaginary, can the distinct character of cities be restored from overt homogenization.

More than being just 'smart', cities need cultural icons and not concrete structures to bond with its residents. For those bent upon renaming cities/places, there are secular ideas up for grabs!

First published in The Tribune, issue dated Sep 24, 2019, and The Hindu dated Oct 13, 2019.

53. When being dumb is smart !

Like others of my generation, I offered unsolicited advice to my young niece to be smart enough to shun modern gadgets, as obsession for mobile handset makes one dumber. Far from taking it kindly, she chided me for my naivety and suggested that I better read the Dunning-Kruger effect to stand corrected. Even before I could make any sense of it she quipped nonchalantly ‘why acquire new knowledge when less of it can do the trick’, and moved on with her unfinished task on the mobile.  

I haven’t got the academic credentials to challenge the researcher duo of David Dunning and Justin Kruger at the Cornell University who created such an ‘effect’, but have been intrigued by their conclusion that ‘the dumber you are, the more confident you are that you're not actually dumb'. What’s more, they have identified a human trait that prevents a person from acquiring new knowledge to become smart..   

Although it will take time for the DK effect to sink in, I find living evidences in gadget-zombies roaming all around that being 'smart' may not be the in-thing it used to be in not too distant past! I may not be the only one who seem to have sensed it. Wear your thinking cap or glasses or shirt or whatever, and you will get to feel it - 'smart’ has ceased to be what most of us have grown working towards in our younger days! 'Smart' is no longer a virtue, being 'dumb' adds value to your profile. 

Whether you doubt it or accept it, this change is right upon us. While most parents remain somewhat circumspect, youngsters are undoubtedly in awe of themselves. Loaded with self-belief, and lots of selfie, they go beyond the natural brashness of being young. They are no longer windbags that many had thought of them in the past, they are smart err dumb enough not to carry any baggage of knowledge as much of it is only a click away. 

No wonder, my telling the young lady to be smart was not taken kindly by her. Youngsters like her seem to be telling in no certain terms that smart as a goal of life is anything but passé. They would appreciate parents to be less persuasive on their children to be 'smart'. "If with an average IQ George Bush Jr. could rule the USA and the World for almost a decade, what the fuss about being smart is all about', she questions.  

And, the catch is that letting people think a little less of you is always helpful to get away with some silly stuff without it being counted against you. Smart people are known to make stupid mistakes while the stupid escape getting caught for the same. There are any number of examples to prove the point, perhaps the reason for my niece to press home the idea. She even went to the extent of telling me that humans have lost the evolutionary pressure to be 'smart'.

Having used our intelligence to create artificial intelligence, I doubt if there is much left for humans to get any further. Rightly so, as it is better to be dumb when things around are becoming 'smart' - from smart phones to smart kitchens and from smarts cars to smart cities. Let everything else be 'smart' but for us. Amen!  

First published in The Tribune, issue dated July 2, 2019, and in Deccan Herald on Sep 23, 2019.