My Tribute to Khushwant Singh

By Promod Puri

Perhaps the least revealed aspect of Khushwant Singh's colorful and long active life, which he cited several times but which has been ignored as irrelevant by wordsmiths who wrote about him including the obituaries, was the fact that in his life he perfectly balanced his cogitative pursuits with active physical lifestyle of exercise, sports and walks.

Unlike most of the known contemporary thinkers and writers Khushwant Singh realized that both mental and physical activities occupy an equal space in ones daily routine, and that both are healthful to each other.

The last column I read by him at the age of 98, which still had his trademark of wits here and there, he talked about his daily routine and diet including a couple of shots of single malts. The latter was essential to give that kick of 'saroor' to relish his simple food and the evening.

 He emphasized the need for massage, which was done two times a day, to keep the body muscles invigorated and for better blood circulation. His reasoning was that in old age one can't do much strenuous exercises for muscle strength, but to keep them healthy and in shape massage was the only way.

Khushwant Singh also mentioned in the same column that how important it was to keep ones bowls clean. His prescription was that one should have fleet enema occasionally. And in his imaginative and typical satirical style he quoted Gandhi who used to have the enema not only for himself but doing it on his female aides as well.

He loved stomach friendly easy to digest food, and for that his preference was South Indian idly and sambhar. Still he never liked 'upampa', the wheatmeal  pudding-look salty dish which was not palatable to sweet halva-loving Punjabi Khushwant Singh.

His physical activities included playing tennis which of course he abandoned in his most senior years. He was a popular and friendly walker as he strolled along every morning with his neighborhood friends.

A lot has been said about his immense contribution toward contemporary Indian literary writings and his widely-read and lucid daily columns. However, his other big contribution was his creation of two funny characters in the name of Santa and Banta. The popular jokes attributing to Santa-Banta or revolving around them were what elevated Khushwant Singh from the level of an intellectual elite to the status of a simple fun-loving 'aam aadmi'.

(Footnote: as a tribute to Khushwnat Singh, my all-time favorite journalist, this piece was written with a glass of wine. Cheers and salutation Mr. Khushwant Singh where ever you are).

Malecon - An Abode Peace
(Puerto Vallarta Mirror)
By Promod Puri
It was one of these weekend evenings at the Malecon that this hub of Puerto Vallarta was more busier than other days. With lots of people, tourists, locals, young and old, family with children all seem to be having an enjoyable time strolling along the bay of Banderas, one of the best sea sidewalks in the world.

The whole ambience had a festive look as everybody seems to be happy and worry free. While there was recreation in savoring freshly cooked Mexican snacks from the vendors in the Zona Romantica area, there was quite an entertainment by the talented artists at los Arcos stage making the gathered crowd clapping, laughing and having fun. And facing the bay Mother Nature was having its own non-stop dance show of waves going back and forth in rhythm. In that breezy weather there was music all around. People were leisurely walking, talking and sharing laughs, and children were joyfully running around like free birds creating a scene of complete harmony and amity. At a distance somewhere from the north of the bay there was firework display joining the festivity. To cap this all the frequent sounds of bells from the majestic Guadalupe church were like heavenly blessings.

Overall, in all this congenial din there was a feel of complete tranquility and an atmosphere where the people were elated and having a good time of their lives. And that was what made me ponder if the whole world could be like the one I was experiencing at the Malecon how peaceful it would be.

I AM COMPLAINING, COMPLAINING, COMPLAINING

I'M COMPLAINING, COMPLAINING, COMPLAINING ......

By Promod Puri

I am a complaint type of person. So are some or perhaps most of us of this breed (complaining! ).

Actually I have not done any googling to find statistics about the extent of this addiction among us. The reason is even if I shovel to dig for the numbers these would be available in some percentage configuration as most of the surveys report these days.

Whether it is desired or not the trend is that a lot of information and data come in the mathematical veil of percentage. Example: there is a new small apartment building of 10 or 20 suites coming up in our neighborhood, and the latest sign says "90 percent sold". Why don't they make it more clear and simply say nine or 18 sold and only one or two are left. Another one: the merchandising sales are advertised like "50% to 70% off". Again we don't get the actual prices of sale items unless we visit the stores advertising these super special sales.

This subtlety of percentage is always baffling to me. Anyway, the point is that I am complaining even about trivial matters or things.

Still I feel the nature of complaining gives us an outlet to express our dislikes or disapprovals about something or most things we come across or experience in our day to day life.

There is an extensive cross section and mixed bag of complaints; an endless list of our grudges against governments, politicians, leaders, bosses and mother-in-laws; big corporations, big businesses, lawyers, doctors, dentists and plumbers; friends and relatives mostly at their backs; culture, traditions, systems, religions, god ( why not! ); weather, environment, health and bad knees; etc, etc, etc.

And then there are complaints about complaints, quite genuine ones.Here is a sample: a friend is meeting his buddy after quite sometime. His first remarks the moment they meet are like this "why you did not inform me about your father's death". Before the buddy comes up with a reply, the friend continues "anyway, I am sorry to hear that....". The very basic civility is to express condolence before complaining of not being informed about the sad news.

My own experience about complaint is regarding talking with relatives in India by phone. A few of them, the moment they pickup the phone, sarcastically say " finally you have come to remember us" or " you are phoning us after a long time". Again the underlying social grace is to express thanks for my phone call and then complain if one has to. Here in Vancouver, Canada, the den of preserved Punjabi culture, the complaint goes like this " O' phon phan maar liya kar kadi".

And then some people don't have any distinction between a complaint and a compliment. Example: "Oh you look weak, you have lost so much weight, are you ok" or "you have put on quite a weight". "Nice to meet you"!

I don't know what is the psychology behind being of complaining nature. But  complaining can be considered as healthy criticism (sometimes). And for that reason we should be in the elite category of being called critics like food critics or film critics.

So folks keep complaining, it gives an outlet to express oneself as well as some status of being a critic.

Tackling Rape Problem In India

By Promod Puri

Massive number of demonstrations have been staged, a lot has exuberantly been expressed, suggested, written, discussed and debated on the ever burning issues of violence and rape against women in India. Do we need more to say, more to express and more to propose, as well as reiterate, replay or rerun to build up the spectrum covering the issues.

Categorically Yes!

The more uproar we continue to drum up, even if it is repeated thousand times, to express our anguish and to keep the debate on, the rally of words is both a conviction and an incessant tool to weed out the imbedded immorality.

The street protests rallies may be abating, the politicians may be staying away from the row, the parliament and judiciary might have done their work in formulating and introducing new laws, and the police might have more ammo to apprehend and prosecute the culprits, but the words perpetually being expressed on the issues can keep the fire on.

Delinquent teens and adults, even those approaching the senior age, to fake gurus and saints promising celestial peace, powerful and privileged politicians, high-profile bureaucrats and professionals including the crime-busting scribes, those with "compulsive and impulsive" addictive behavior, and a lot more scums of the society, all are culpable party to this multi-facet social disorder.

Atop an observing post the landscape looks visibly blighted with crimes of rape and violence against women committed by beastly creatures who have practically debased every fold of the Indian society.

Also from the same post the cries and sobs of traumatized women vehemently struggling to somehow slip away from the beasts, their screams and shrieks to catch some help and their desperate "don't, don't" pleas during those dreadful moments endlessly reverberate like the recreated sounds of executing afflictions from Andaman's "kalapani" jails.

But the agony of the ordeal do shake up the nation's consciousness as has been lately happening in the country. And an ambience of hope is slowly emerging from the horizon. Beside other positive developments, more and more victimized women are boldly coming forward or trying to get thru the clogged system to report the crime and expose the criminals.  After all "silence is the enemy of justice".

Not to speak out publicly is appearing to be a receding taboo. This trend along with the public condemnation and outbursts, overall awareness of the twin issues thru extensive media reporting of the crimes, the protest rallies and the continuous exchange of opinions are all thrown in with a downpour of words. And that sure can help to drain out the culture of rape and violence against women.

The blitz of words must continue.

The Humble Broom

The humble "jharoo"(broom), beyond one's imagination, has got a status now, the symbol of power.

While the physical jharoo still keeps its down to earth job of cleaning floors or streets, the symbolic version has been assigned a very noble and exalted role. And a lot is expected from its upgraded assignment. It could be the beginning of a promising career but the job is a tough one. Still the chore is basically the same to clean, rather complete and deep cleaning. This area has actually never ever been cleaned. And over the years a lot of dust and dirt have accumulated over the surface that nobody has ever seen how does it actually look.

The jharoo, in its new role, has to be a tough one. Anyway, my best wishes to "aam" guys and gals who will be swirling the humble jharoo for the long overdue cleansing.

MUSINGS ABOUT HOME SWEET HOME

Musings about Home Sweet Home

By Promod Puri

Back in 1972, when I immigrated to Canada and made my first home in
Winnipeg, Manitoba, I happened to meet a very helpful and friendly
person by the name of CR Bector. He was a distinguished professor of
mathematics at the University of Manitoba. And out of respect, as he was my elder and held an academic professional status, I along with other close acquaintances addressed him as ‘Doctor Sahib’ or ‘Doctor Bector’. He was not a medical doctor but had a PhD degree in his extensive portfolio of
degrees.

CR Bector, although to most of us in the Indo-Canadian community sounded
like an English name, especially since the surname hails from Punjab and is typically Punjabi. He was a popular personality in Winnipeg simply because of his informal, lively and sociable temperament.

However for me, the enticing thing about him is that his real name is Chajju
Ram. It is really an old-fashioned North Indian name as we seldom come
across people with that name any longer. And his first name, Chajju, immediately strikes up memories of the famous Indian proverb “jo sukh chajju ke chobare, na balakh na bukhare.
Translation: East or West home is the best.

The name Chajju certainly resonates with the importance of home
as it is part of life’s triangle, rather I would say the most
sought-after trinity of “roti, kapadra aur Makaan”, meaning
food, clothing and shelter.

The fact is anybody with a home in reality owns his or her little sovereign
kingdom or queendom. It is one of those virtues of life which one aspires to have. Life begins and revolves around home and we also enjoy the pride of
having that possession.

Home is not merely a physical dwelling of walls, windows and doors; floors
and roofs. It is not just a rest spot either, but a cozy place of peace and
tranquility in the midst of family or friends’ lively togetherness and
entertainment. Home is the place of absolute independence within acceptable social norms.

Home sweet home is a simple expression carrying deep feelings of that warmth
and comfort which one yearns for.

If the home does not give all that is expected then it is a house, and for
that reason home sickness is better than being confined under a sort of house arrest.

Home is the place of everlasting nostalgia of living with parents,
brothers, sisters and dear ones, the childhood anecdotes of little fights and
laughs, the home-cooked food, books and beds, and a lot more. The physical
remembrance of each and every household item is also a somewhat nostalgic
reflection.

Home is where we accumulate our cultural values, connect with our heritage
and acquire our family’s social, linguistic and religious identities.

Home is that place of security and independence where with elated feelings
one can unwind, recline and relax.

As eighteenth century English poet James Thompson has exquisitely expressed:

“Home is the resort
Of love, of joy, of peace, and plenty; where
Supporting and supported, polished friends
and dear relations mingle into bliss.”

But that bliss is denied to millions of homeless people all over the world sheltering under the open sky at the mercy of Mother Nature. It is this sad aspect of humanity that is visibly invisible as life goes on in busy metropolises.

Size Small

SIZE SMALL

By Promod Puri

In all my adult life and now in the entry-level of my senior years I have been habitually putting on only boys' size sox because the regular ones, especially of 100 percent cotton, always gimme a little flabby nuisance at the ankles. It is not that I am of diminutive framework, but my feet somehow did not mature beyond size 8.

I accepted long time ago this abnormality, if one can tag me with that, but it was a done deal conforming to my feet's karma. However, in my early ordeal years the consoling factor was that there used to be no tax on children's clothing, and my shopping for sox was always tax free. Not any more. Still, it is a cheaper buy compare to the price of men's socks especially the name brand "gold" toes ones.

I am unquestionably aware that I'm not alone in the small foot grade. There is a whole flock of men looking to cozily snug their feet in size small as they shop discreetly in the boys's section or even ladies section like I did many times.

Most of the sox available in the men's section are deceitfully labeled as "size 7 to 11" or more vaguely as "size 7 to 13". How that is possible! The feet don't magically shrink or expand to wriggle or drop into a sox, nor the latter is elastic enough to fit one size for all. But people of all adult ages do buy those seven-elevens or seven-thirteens.

My discriminating aversion create that bumpy layer in the hind foot or droopy folds at the toes when wearing extra size sox. It seems to be ok for those adults who don't care much about that soft bump, or perhaps they like the extra little cushioning. Anyway, that is a personal choice.

But my story does not end at the foot level.

Accepting that the age factor has taken off some layers of fat in the upper body, a natural physiological phenomenon including some muscle loss if I ever accumulated one, that lately I have downgraded myself from size "m" to size "s" shirts. Perhaps, it was overdue, but I knowingly ignored the fact, with some reticent feeling, that size small was the perfect fit to represent me physically speaking.

However, unlike sox buying for which I have to go to somewhat reluctant area of boys' section ( ladies's too ), the small size shirt shopping in the men's territory is a commonplace area for everybody from medium, large, extra large to 2extra large sizes folks.

As a matter of fact it is true for many men who just need the small size but they keep on wearing shirts and other outfits beyond their size. It is a puzzling commitment not to accept that their real fitting size is small.

And for many others small is ok in the neck area but arms and shoulders are too short or still too long. Still the main problem arises for those with Bartlett pear belly where the shirt buttons refuse to close, especially when one tries to sit down. This is a real personal dilemma which the readymade shirt makers have not addressed at all.

Not only that, both the designers and manufacturers have not realized the changing demographics that the population is now of mixed races with different sizes. And that we need further subdivisions within a size, like extra small, medium or large small; or small medium,medium medium or large medium. After all one size does not fit all.

In short my message to the shirt designers, manufacturers and retailers is simple and clear: the body needs a shirt to fit into, nor the shirt needs a body for the right fit.