Two Day, Two Deaths

This past weekend is one I would like to forget very quickly. It took away two people I liked very much.

Prof. Obaid Siddiqi was a celebrated biologist. He pioneered research on molecular biology, genetics and development in India. He built institutions and trained numerous students who will carry forward his legacy. Obaid received every possible award and recognition one could get in India, but those did little to curb the child-like enthusiasm he had for his own work and that of others, or to reduce his good-natured humility even an ounce. Obaid passed away on Friday evening and we buried him on Saturday in Bangalore.

Dr. Sabiha Saleha, or Apiya to me, was the elder sister I never had. She was not a famous scientist, but was equally proud of what she had achieved professionally. She was the unknown crusader who gave up everything, including her health, to raise her children and ensure that they get a good education and grow up to be decent human beings. They will carry forward her name. Apiya passed away on Saturday night and we buried her on Sunday in Aligarh.

As I reflect on these two individuals who did not know each other and were only connected through me, some common threads begin to emerge in my mind from the two lives and the two deaths.

They were both educated at the Aligarh Muslim University.

Obaid was a local boy who had his undergraduate education at AMU, excelling not just in academics but also in leftist politics and debates (especially Urdu debates), before he left for a job in Delhi and higher studies in UK and USA. This was the 1950s.

Apiya entered AMU immediately after finishing her High School in Lakhimpur-Kheri in the Terai belt of UP, her father being an erstwhile zamindar and a practicing Advocate there. Over the next ten years or so, she came out with a PhD in Organic Chemistry. This was pretty remarkable for a middle class Muslim girl, who was the first from her family to achieve this distinction. This was the 1970s and early 80s.

The Aligarh Muslim University, a hotbed of Indian Muslim intellectual activity, nurtured people as diverse as Obaid and Apiya. It gave them a platform to express themselves and become confident in their own ways to tackle the challenges of life. It accommodated diverse points of view with ideological leanings being strong, yet never in the way of personal or professional relationships. At the same time, it provided a secure environment into which a middle class Muslim family could confidently send its 17-year old daughter. Both are as relevant today as they were then.

But these values are eroding in times when they are needed the most, at AMU, in India and the world. Is it not our duty to preserve them locally and apply them globally? Perhaps the custodians of institutions as well as the self-appointed custodians of faith and morality should ponder over this with some honesty.

They both succumbed to matters of the brain.

Obaid spent his life trying to understand the mysteries of our nervous system, especially how we remember smell and taste. He used the fruitfly as a model and devised simple yet ingenious experiments to understand the genetic and molecular basis of these processes. He was as comfortable giving a lecture on his work to accomplished scientists as he was talking to High School and college students; I have attended both. It is ironic that he died due to a freak head injury that destroyed among other faculties, the same abilities he spent much of his professional life trying to understand.

Apiya suffered from a neurological disorder that was diagnosed about four years back. Despite all advances in neurosciences, no two doctors from India to Saudi Arabia to USA, agreed on her prognosis. Some called it Parkinson’s, others called it Multisystem Atrophy and yet others thought there were iron deposits accumulating in her brain. But all agreed that it was progressive and her condition would deteriorate rapidly. And this did happen. When I saw her last, about ten days back in Aligarh, her eyelids were the only body part she could move on her own. How painful must it be to hear everything, to understand everything, yet not be able to communicate her feelings? Yet, she had the courage to smile, when her facial muscles allowed her to.

And they were both lucky to be surrounded by people who loved them.

Through the five days Obaid was in the ICU, the Bangalore Baptist Hospital witnessed a constant vigil by his immediate family and people at all levels in the institution he created. They were with him, hoping without hope. But they also had the moral courage and sanity to not press charges on the 16-year old girl on a moped, who unknowingly knocked down this giant of Indian science. What a tragedy!

Apiya required much longer care. For over two years, her family – husband, daughters and son, tended to her with love, often getting frustrated, sometimes losing hope, but never really giving up on her. When the end came, her husband was there, struggling against a condition that had progressed beyond hope. Apiya was relieved of her agony, both physical and mental, in the wee hours of July 28.

It is said that writing can be therapeutic. And for me it is. I will remember these two who meant so much to me in their own ways. Expressing my association with them will hopefully diminish some of my personal anguish.

But what about the anguish of an institution and community in which debate and reason has taken a backseat to guile and self-interest? Or a system that allows a 16-year old to drive without a license? Or the anguish of a family that witnesses their loved one afflicted by a disease that no “expert” really understands.

Can we channel our anguish into coming together to find solutions?

Because only solutions will take us forward.

A Walk Through Nostalgia

One sign of getting old(er) is to often visualize images of childhood and youth, and to revisit them. I did some of that today.

I grew up on the campus of the Aligarh Muslim University (AMU) and took a circuitous walk today absorbing the sites of my youth. Much has changed, but much remains the same as well.

My walk started from the Old Physics Building, a grand red stone building, which besides being home to the Physics Department in yesteryears, also gave birth to the Jawaharlal Nehru Medical College and sustained it for many years in the 1960s. It now houses the Biochemistry Department. This has a special place in my life as my father started this department and chaired it for many years.

Walking through the Science Faculty and in front of the Engineering College, I arrived at the Arts Faculty, with Theology Department on one side and the General Education Centre across the street. Besides my core (and serious) classes in the Science Faculty, this part of campus provided comic relief in the form of compulsory courses.

Sunni Theology from our time at AMU is synonymous with Iqbal (Barula) Bhai. I remember the time he admonished a fellow student (now himself a Professor at AMU) for questioning why the ‘qurbani ka bakra’ should have certain attributes. Iqbal Bhai was a loveable character despite his insistence that we buy his book from the Educational Book Depot (in Shamshad Market) before he would give the sessional marks. It was widely believed that Iqbal Bhai did not know either English or Hindi, so it was safe to answer the Sunni Theology paper in those languages. Those who answered it in Urdu were usually in trouble; others got passing marks. May he rest in peace.

My memories of Arts Faculty go back to friends who were studying History, but also to two widely divergent experiences. I registered for a French language class, but left it rather quickly because the teacher could exercise little control over his spit, which those in the front had to bear. Moving to the rear was not an option since the professor also liked to walk around the class. The Advanced English course, however, was a joy. We read George Orwell’s ‘Animal Farm’ and Henrik Ibsen’s ‘A Doll’s House’ and the professors who taught these were outstanding. We got engaging commentaries on communism gone awry and gender equality from a leftist and a feminist, respectively.

The General Education Centre was the hub of cultural activity with many a memorable play and evenings of music and ghazals in the Kennedy Hall Auditorium. The play Agra Bazaar, the Mock Convocations and late Maqbool Mahmood are still etched in memory. The GEC was also the site for our compulsory general awareness course ‘Science and Society’ taught by Surti Saheb. A course that you only had to pass, and whose class met at 3 pm in the summer of Aligarh, was bound to attract all sorts of mischief. But Surti Saheb went on undeterred and managed to give us a decent overview of the subject.

Maulana Azad Library

Time to move on. My walk took me to Maulana Azad Library. It looks as lovely as ever, with an extensive green lawn in front and the imposing Moorish arch adorning its main gateway. It was encouraging to see many students studying on the sunny lawns and hectic activity in and out of the Library. So, I walk through the Library Complex towards the sports fields. Soon, my optimism turns into disbelief.

The football ground now has a cricket pitch in the middle. Why? There were two dogs enjoying an afternoon snooze and just two boys dribbling with a football. There was some activity on the basketball floor, just a few boys shooting the hoops. The tennis courts and hockey ground were major disappointments. In the mid-1970s when I played on the AMU tennis team, four courts were set up every day, with at least 15-20 students playing there on a given day. Today, there was just one court and no one was playing on it. The attendant said the University Team had just left to play the Inter-Varsity tournament. But where were the others? The hockey ground of my memory was always full, with two full teams playing a match every day and many boys waiting on the stairs. Today there were just two boys dribbling and one shooting at the goal post. Will AMU hockey ever produce another Zafar Iqbal (my friend and contemporary at AMU)?

Realizing that this is the age of cricket and AMU has just won the North Zone Inter-Varsity Cricket, I started walking towards the Willingdon Pavilion, and took the path through Sir Syed Hall. This place was alive. The AMU Students Union elections have just been announced and every major candidate has a camp in SS Hall. There were groups sitting around in the sun discussing strategy over endless cups of tea. I enter through Bab-e-Ishaq and walk through Strachey Hall towards Bab-e-Rahmat. This part of campus has no equal in terms of its architectural grandeur. But the drying laundry in front of Asman Manzil and Mushtaq Manzil does spoil the scenery. The University Mosque stands out like a pure jewel.

University Mosque

I arrive at the cricket ground to find seven boys at the nets. Just the other day there was a programme on NDTV about the Toyota University Cricket Championship in which 16 university teams are being invited to participate in a T-20 format. AMU is one of the teams. But why are those players not on the nets? The weather was perfect.

My disappointment is growing. So I take the road in front of Victoria Gate to walk towards University Road. The red stone architecture is lovely and well preserved and lifts the mood. As I approach University Road, there is Faiz Gate, popularly called Bab-e-Himaqat, either for its ceremonial role in welcoming dignitaries or the story that an elephant towed it from a ‘riyasat’ around Agra to Aligarh. Opposite the Faiz Gate is the newly made University Circle, which today sported the banner of one of the election candidates. Such a pity!!

Bab-e-Himaqat

I turn left to find a group of students demonstrating in front of the administration building, and overheard someone saying – “phir yeh drama shuru hua”. I move on towards Bab-e-Syed, the youngest of AMU gates that looks quite nice. I hope it does not get plastered with election posters as in yesteryears.

Next to Bab-e-Syed is 3 University Road. This is the house where I was born and spent my childhood, living there till 1968. Naturally, I turned into it. The beautiful house with 10 rooms, a large outer verandah, a portico and a large heart-shaped lawn, has changed over the years into a mess that now houses the AMU Admission Office. When the Administrative Complex was built where the AMU Nursery used to be, it took away some space from 3 University Road as well - the one that occupied the left driveway populated by palm trees and bougainvillea. My neem tree is still there but the ‘morpankhi’ in my favourite lawn was no longer there. What stared back at me was something I did not recognize. How can I expect it to recognize me?

3, University Road

I turn towards Muzammil Manzil and quietly melt away in the cacophony of Dodhpur.

All major roads on AMU campus are dug up right now, but this will hopefully lead to a better future. But many more students who aimlessly ride motorcycles on university roads compared to those present on sports fields, is something to be worried about. This is not a good sign for the future.

AMU has some of the best sports facilities of any Indian university. On this winter afternoon every single sports ground was ready to welcome users. Sadly, the users were missing. Can we not make it compulsory for every first year student to participate in a sport? The lessons of discipline, rigor, competition, defeat and triumph learnt on a sports field will help our next generation better face the challenges of life.

The challenge however is to get them there.

Auto Expo Unvisited

(This piece was written in January 1998)

I was on top of the world. I had a good job, an apartment, two cars and a bunch of credit cards – all the benchmarks of success in this city of 13 million. My immediate irritation was my Gypsy, which was seven years old and not very pretty. The plan was to take the afternoon off, visit the Auto Expo in town and start thinking about a new set of wheels. I could afford one and felt I owed it to myself for putting in all those long hours at work.

Around 10 am I learnt that my colleague Sunil lost his ailing mother. A few of us rushed to the hospital and later accompanied Mataji’s body to Crematorium. The sights and events of the day were revealing in many respects.

Getting to the Electric Crematorium near ISBT from Vasant Vihar was a major hassle. The India Gate roundabout was closed to traffic due to Republic Day Parade rehearsals. We therefore decided to approach Ring Road via Mathura Road. It was a mistake. Everyone in Delhi appeared heading towards Pragati Maidan for the Auto Expo. People were driving their cars into traffic jams, spending hours getting there, then fighting over parking spaces, and for what? To go and buy more cars. But for the circumstances, my plans exactly.

Once at the Crematorium a brief puja was performed and the body submitted to the incinerator. There is only one Electric Crematorium for this vast metropolis, and even there, only one of the two ovens was working. Another body that came in later had to wait till the first one was done. Even after dying, Delhiites have to wait in a queue. Everyone waited and no one complained. After all, it is our national ethos. We do not work to our full potential and have a chalta hai attitude.

The two hour wait to collect the ashes was even more revealing. At the entrance of the Crematorium is a statue of Lord Shiva. And protecting it is an iron grill enclosure, with a lock at the gate. In this city, even Gods need protection. The scenery was rather bleak. This place overlooks the vast slums of the Jumna Pushta. The half-naked children playing in the vicinity of death had very little to live for. Yet, they were laughing. They often go to bed hungry, but they were cheerful. They have no clean drinking water and have not been vaccinated yet they survive. These are our models of Drawinian selection; they survive because they are the fittest. But as a society we have failed to provide them an education or a dream. And they will not forgive the likes of me for our selfishness and complacency.

There was still an hour to kill. A few metres from the Crematorium stood an innocent-looking room. A peek inside was horrifying. There were about haf a dozen dead bodies piled on top of each other. These were unclaimed bodies brought from hospital morgues and collected for a mass cremation every evening. Just then, a van pulled up with three more bodies, which were dragged out and dumped with the rest. These people must have been someone’s sons and daughters, fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters. Now they were reduced to a pile of bodies waiting for their date with the oven. They once had names. Today they were only a number and a statistic. They were only worth Rs. 40 a piece for the van driver. For him, the more the merrier.

Sunil walked out with the ashes in an earthen pot. It struck me that my existence was no more than a pot of ashes or a handful of dirt. Just then, the muezzin called the faithful to prayer, as if to remind me who really was in charge.

Driving home in the evening, I gave way to pedestrians and cyclists, and did not even get angry when a car with a “Montu di Gaddi” sign zipped across my driving path. Now the dents and scratches on my Gypsy do not matter.

And that Auto Expo got one less visitor.

Back after a year!

Before I get to new posts, there is one apology and one comment.
Apology: I am writing on my blog after one year. It went off so fast. And I seem to have done nothing significant in this one year that can justify this absence.
To make up for it, here are some pictures from beautiful Kashmir. I visited Srinagar in September this year.
Comment: I cleaned my office recently and came across some old writings from the pre-blog days. I will reproduce them here in the coming days, hoping these will be liked and saved for posterity.

A Day in Ahmedabad – Marvels in Stone

A canceled meeting gave me the entire day to explore some impressive architectural sights in Ahmedabad, the largest city in Gujarat state in western India. Situated on the banks of the Sabarmati River, Ahmedabad is now the seventh largest city in India.

Sultan Ahmed Shah I of the Muzaffarid dynasty established Ahmedabad at the beginning of the 15^th century. Zafar Khan Muzaffar (later Muzaffar Shah I) was the Governor of Gujarat under the Delhi Sultanate. Following the sacking of Delhi by Timur in the late 14^th century, he established himself as the Sultan of an independent Gujarat. His descendants, the Muzaffarids ruled Gujarat for almost 200 years (1391-1573) before the Mughals conquered it. In 1753 it was taken over by the Marathas and finally by the British in 1780 after the First Anglo-Maratha War. After the bifurcation of Bombay State into Maharashtra and Gujarat in 1960, Ahmedabad became the latter’s capital city.

During Muzaffarid rule, Ahmedabad became one of the wealthiest cities in the world and became home to a distinctive style of architecture that blended Islamic elements with indigenous Hindu and Jain building traditions. This architectural style found later in Mughal buildings, include ornate mihrabs and minarets, jalis (screens) carved in stone and chattris (pavilions topped with cupolas). One distinctive feature is the absence of Quranic inscriptions from masjids, the ornamentation brought about by floral and geometric patterns.

My taxi driver, Naresh, was apprehensive about going to the old city citing bad traffic. Even the newer parts of Ahmedabad, with its wide and well-paved roads, struggle with the terrible driving sense of its occupants, who have no concept of right of way. Nevertheless, I convinced him to park a safe distance away and I would manage on foot. Crossing one of the bridges over Sabarmati, we left the environs of shiny glass buildings to enter a different era in which the surroundings were old and the traffic even more chaotic.

My first stop was the masjid of Ahmed Shah, built in 1414. Meant to be for the private worship of the Sultan and his nobles, it located within the Bhadra Fort. The citadel itself was a big disappointment, being completely ruined and vandalized. There were signs of ongoing repair and the security guards were particular that I take no pictures. The masjid represents the earliest architectural style of the Gujarat Sultanate and is characterized by lofty stone pillars, brackets, beams, corbelled ceilings with buttresses on both sides of the spiral minarets. The pillared hall has a screened hanging gallery, the Muluk Khana, used by the Sultan for his prayers.

Ahmed Shah Masjid

Just a few hundred yards down the road is the beautiful Sidi Saiyad masjid, built in 1572 by an Abyssinian slave in the service of Khudavand Khan Khwaja Zafar Salmani, the Governor of Surat during the rule of the tenth Gujarat Sultan Mahmud Shah III. This elegant masjid has some of the finest screen work in stone. On its western wall is the famous jali depicting the intertwining branches of a tree, which has become the architectural symbol of Ahmedabad. The other carvings on this masjid are also delicate and masterly. A true gem situated at a busy intersection of the old city.

Sidi Saiyad Masjid

The famous jali at Sidi Saiyad Masjid 

Walking down past the Fort one goes through a busy market that could very well be Delhi’s Chandni Chowk or Hyderabad’s Laad Bazaar. Straight up front is the Lal Darwaza, an imposing gate with three carved arches. This was the entrance to Maidan Shah or the Royal Square from where the Sultan is believed to have watched the processions. Past the Lal Darwaza, on the right is the Jama Masjid.

Lal Darwaza

The Jama Masjid is a congregational masjid built by Sultan Ahmed Shah in 1423 and would have been the centre of social activity in those times. Built in yellow sandstone, it has an inner hall containing 260 pillars carved in the Hindu and Jain styles, which support 15 domes at various elevations. The right hand corner has a lower roof to accommodate another level, the Muluk Khana, which is surrounded by screens on all sides for the Sultan’s worship. The central court is massive (75m x 66m), paved with marble and surrounded by columned verandahs in the east, north and south. In the centre of the courtyard sits an ablution pool with a fountain, which adds to the serenity of the complex. Scholars have rated this masjid as one of the most beautiful and imposing structures in its class.

The Jama Masjid

Interiors showing the Muluk Khana

Ornamental work on the pillars

The eastern gate leads to an enclosure that houses the Ahmed Shahi Tomb that houses the remains of Ahmed Shah I, his son Muhammad Shah I and his grandson Qutubuddin Ahmed Shah II. The building is distinctive with nice latticework, but the condition is bad and squatters have built dwellings in the surrounding area.

By now I have walked for over 3 hours. It is Friday, but there is still some time to kill before the congregational prayers in the Sidi Saiyad masjid. Across the road was an inviting Café situated in the garden of a 19^th century mansion. The cappuccino I ordered was lukewarm and on complaining it simply came back after being boiled in a pan! When in Gujarat, eat like a Gujarati. I forgot this basic travel rule. The forgettable cappuccino was however followed by serene Friday prayers in the Sidi Saiyad masjid, giving me more time to admire its intricate stone carvings.

It was time call Naresh and move on towards the Dariyapur area of Ahmedabad, which has more carved stone masjids. First on the stop was Rani Rupvati masjid, named after the Hindu wife of Sultan Mahmud Begada (reigned 1458-1511), the most prominent of Muzaffarid sultans. Begada also established the fortified city of Champaner (near Baroda) and built the beautiful Jama Masjid there, which remains one of the finest monuments of that period in India. The Rani Rupvati masjid, also called Masjid-e-Nagina, is yet another fine example of Indo-Sarcenic architecture. Here I run into a group of enthusiastic boys, who had just finished their Friday prayers and wanted their pictures taken. A few hundred yards down the road was the Qutubuddin masjid, a smaller monument in similar style with intricately carved pillars and fine jalis.

Rani Rupvati Masjid

Ornamental work on minarets

Children after the prayers

We go past the Delhi gate to the impressive Hathesing Temple, built in 1850 by a rich Jain merchant at a cost of 10 lakh Rupees and dedicated to Dharamnath, the 15^th Jain tirthankar (apostle). Built in white marble, which is now greying, it has a paved courtyard surrounded by an imposing row of cloisters containing 52 shrines, profusely decorated with rich carvings. The temple is a two-storied structure with elaborate porches on three sides and front porch crowned by a large dome.

Hathesing Temple

Temple Carvings 

My final stop was the Sabarmati Ashram, established by Mahatma Gandhi as his home in 1915. It is here that he perfected his art of ‘satyagraha’ and led many successful campaigns in India’s freedom struggle. The most famous was the Salt March of 1930, in which Gandhiji walked about 250 km to Dandi on the coast of the Arabian Sea to make salt and break the Salt Law of the British Empire. The beautiful ashram complex, on the west bank of the Sabarmati River, with its shady trees offers a refuge from the noise of the city. There is a nice museum, library and bookshop inside the Ashram complex. The simplicity and peace of this place is amazing.

Statue of Mahatma Gandhi on the grounds of Sabarmati Ashram 

Gandhiji's house at Sabarmati Ashram

Gandhiji's room

It is time to head back to catch my flight to Delhi and reflect on a day spent well.

On my Father's Death

My father passed away on August 28, 2011.

While he was quite sick for the past six years with chronic lung disease brought on by years of smoking, the last month was especially tough on all of us. He persevered and we stood by him. He never complained, so how could we? My mother, his companion of 55 years, knew very well that the endgame was on. But she was the epitome of patience and strength, telling us to also take care of ourselves while caring for him. Many lessons my parents taught me in my formative years were tested in those days.

My early years were spent not knowing my parents. They went for higher studies to USA when I was very young, leaving me in the care of maternal grandparents. It was very late at night sometime in the summer of 1962 that I first saw them - two good-looking strangers who showered much affection and brought me many gifts. The next few weeks went by figuring all this out. The ice was finally broken when on the train to Bombay to collect their shipped luggage the window fell on my hand and took a few nails with it. We were friends after that.

Abbu (as we called him affectionately) taught me the value of hard work and developed my interest in science. He was always surrounded by students, was hardly at home and the best place to meet him was in his laboratory. I was too young in the 1960s to understand that he was setting up a new Biochemistry program at the Aligarh Muslim University (AMU), but figured he must be someone important. I should become like him, I thought.

I enjoyed going to Abbu’s laboratory in one corner of the Chemistry Department, opposite the C-2 lecture theatre in which, many years later, I also attended my first Chemistry class at AMU. My first experiments were done in his lab. For a 6- or 7-year old it was pure magic to see the sudden appearance or disappearance of dark pink color (phenolphthalein) when two colorless liquids (acid and base) were mixed. Years later, when in High School, he encouraged my friends and me to take the National Science Talent examination. Two of us did the project part in his lab. We studied the physicochemical properties of various edible oils to detect adulteration and developed a simple method to estimate the water content of milk. Our research taught us the value of repeat measurements, variation, statistical significance and proper controls.

Abbu nurtured my interest in science and celebrated every success in his own subdued and easy-going manner. I was made to feel good, but not important, and encouraged to do better next time. Importantly, I was allowed to make my own choices. When I gave up the option to study medicine and opted for Chemistry instead, he supported me. By the time I was ready for my Masters degree, Abbu was Head of Biochemistry at AMU. While I liked the subject, the desire to be my own person made me declare that a Masters in Biochemistry from his Department would be my last choice. I never asked him whether my belligerence hurt him and Abbu was too much of a gentleman to raise it. He advised me to go to the Indian Institute of Technology-Kanpur to get my Masters in Chemistry, reasoning that it was the best Chemistry Department in the country, and with a strong background in Chemistry I could easily switch to Biochemistry. I saw the value of that advice many years later.

By letting me take my own decisions and learn from my mistakes, my parents took the fear of the unknown out of me. That confidence has been critical for me as a person and as a professional. Those who play it safe are rarely original. I was allowed early in my life to take risks with the knowledge that my parents trusted me and I would not be alone if I messed up. That is the best gift my parents have given me. I hope I can instill the same confidence in my own children.

Abbu nurtured my other interests as well. There were hunting trips during winter, an activity in which he participated enthusiastically, much to my mother’s dismay. While he himself did not play any sports, he never objected to my three-hour cricket sessions after school or the daily lawn tennis practice in university. He knew I had an academic focus that would not be compromised and trusted my judgment. That confidence allowed me to walk away from AMU in the year I was going to captain the university lawn tennis team, because I had the chance to study at IIT-Kanpur. Those aware of the AMU student culture will find this an uncommon action.

My extracurricular interests also benefitted directly from Abbu’s research activities. My air gun came from Germany and my first aluminum tennis racket from somewhere else he had gone to attend Biochemistry conferences. I became interested in photography very early because I had full access to his Carl Zeiss Contaflex SLR camera, which is still a prized possession. A few cameras and many years later, I am still excited at the prospect of shooting landscapes, people and monuments. There is no better way to spend an entire Sunday in Delhi. My camera also remains my most trusted companion on trips elsewhere.

He was a simple person, had no attitude despite being successful at almost everything he did and remained child-like in his enthusiasm to learn new things. Abbu taught himself computers when these were uncommon and became a vocal advocate for computer-aided learning. Biochemistry was one of the first departments at AMU to give students access to computers. Had he been well the past few years, I am sure Abbu would have been a rage on Facebook.

My parents had superb chemistry. They understood and complemented each other beautifully, and treated each other’s family as their own. My mother cared for my paternal grandmother through her 7-year bed-ridden state following a stroke. She also stood by Abbu as he educated and settled his younger siblings. Abbu on the other hand took care of my maternal grandmother in her later years. He commented on her death that he was now an orphan. The love and care they have provided their other son and my younger brother, who is intellectually challenged, is truly inspirational.

Abbu had been struggling in the ICU in a Delhi hospital since July 26, mostly unconscious and on a ventilator. The pneumonia was severe and had led to septicemia. My mother could not come and relied only on my twice-daily updates. We both knew it was a losing battle. She finally managed to come to Delhi on August 28. We left the hospital at 5:30 pm. Abbu died at 8 pm. The 55-year relationship had hung on for that last meeting.

Farewell Abbu. You were always my hero. Your life will continue to guide and inspire me till I meet my Creator just like you did that evening.

Abbu and Me (Year : 1957)

Anna Hazare aur anne hazaron (Anna Hazare and the other thousands) – A Photo Essay

The past week saw dramatic developments in India. Tired of rampant corruption in public life, one man stood up and India responded with vigour.

Anna Hazare, 72, is a social activist and a self-acclaimed Gandhian, who has stood up many times for local issues. The issue at hand now was the Lokpal (Ombudsman) Bill in the Indian Parliament. This legislation has been in abeyance for 42 years with successive governments of all political dispensations avoiding it. The civil society demand was for the Government of India to formulate a drafting committee for the Lokpal Bill with equal representation of Ministers (politicians) and private citizens. The GoI said it was not possible. Anna Hazare said he will fast himself to death until that happens.

Blackmail or force of conviction? Every protest is a form of blackmail. Indians everywhere responded in huge numbers. Thousands thronged to Jantar Mantar in New Delhi, the site of the fast. Thousands also gathered at India Gate, the symbol of our nationhood, every evening for peaceful protests, street theatre, candle light vigils and marches.

The issue was serious but the mood remained festive. People of all ages, religions, urban and rural, rich and poor, came to show support. The crowds were large but orderly. People helped each other, shared views and sang together. They stood by each other because corruption affects everyone.

Was it media managed? Yes, but why should it not be? Why should a powerful medium not be used for a good cause? The voice of the people had to be carried. There were also an estimated 4.4 million tweets in 3 days.

After 4 days the government relented and agreed to the demands. Now begins the hard work of drafting a tough bill that will make sure the corrupt get punished and that it happens with complete transparency and with speed. Only then will India’s real potential be unshackled.

It happened so quickly because the government listened to popular sentiment. A big reason is also the personal integrity of our Prime Minister, Dr. Manmohan Singh. He is probably very deeply affected by the scams faced by his government.

Dr. Singh, rise to the occasion and follow your heart. You have nothing to lose and everything to gain.

Anna, you have shown us the way. Continue to lead but beware of the opportunists in your ranks.

Here are some pictures from my trip to Jantar Mantar and India Gate on Friday, April 8, 2011. Feel the moment.

Jantar Mantar

The crowds descended at Jantar Mantar

It included the young, ....

.... the very young, .....

..... and the old.

They sang, .....

..... helped each other,

.... and made sure their focus was on corruption (not on kulfi-falooda, gulab jamun, etc.

They packed the protest site ......

to listen to this man (not the one with the microphone, but the one in white). Anna Hazare.

They signed banners. I signed the banner. Can you spot my signature?

They hung corrupt politicians, ....

.... but also remembered martyrs in the fight against corruption.

 India Gate

The tricolour was proudly displayed

Handicap was no handicap

Candles were in full display, ...

.... and so were the hands that held them

They also brought other agendas to protest against

In the end, India Gate took everyone in its fold 

Light a candle. Remove the darkness of corruption.