ADDA INFINITUM

The new academic session for my son’s school had commenced. I was required to deposit his fees in a nearby branch of a Bank. Accordingly after dropping him to school and before going to my office, I proceeded to the designated branch for the purpose. I was directed to a dedicated counter receiving the payment. A young man sitting across the counter was in the midst of an animated discussion with a colleague sitting in the adjacent counter as others looked on. The bits of the conversation are reproduced below:

“Where were you yesterday morning?

The guy across my counter replied: “I had gone for a haircut.”

“During office hours?”

“Of course! My appointment letter says that whatever you do, do it during the office hours!’ 

While the other guy, who appeared to be quite amused at this argument and was in the middle of his next query to take it to a logical finish, I addressed my handler: “Dada I am in a hurry. Will you please…” Even before I could complete my request, he glared at me and disapproving this interjection raised his voice: “Dekhchhen na katha bolchhi? (Can’t you see I am in a conversation?).

Snubbed and browbeaten, I realized how intensely my friend across the counter missed an Adda compelling him to recreate one during the business hours on a working day in office. As Mathew Arnold, an English poet in his famous poem ‘Scholar Gypsy’ would say “This strange disease of modern life/ With its sick hurry, its divided aims” made it impossible for him to take a siesta, have a bath, wear a kurta- pyjama , slip on a hawai chappal and walk over to join his regular adda group in the afternoon. I later realized that my appropriate reaction to this dialogue should not have been one of anger or dismay but of compassion and empathy for his loss of a treasured activity.

It is exactly 411 meters radius of a walkway in this small park nestled in thick foliage and shaded by trees where I take my morning walk. The park is beautified and maintained by an adjacent nursing home.  In the midst is a natural water body inset with fountains that spring to life exactly at 6 in the morning. A lot of men and women of various sizes and shapes walk here - clockwise or anticlockwise. Some like me walk alone, some walk in groups of two or more, while some others, particularly ladies in a group would want to walk in a single file, occupying the entire narrow road width. Many of them walk briskly and others at a languid pace. Some others are propelled by a trail of posterior emissions that they blaze across the park trying to settle a score with the Mother Nature. Yet some others in violation of permissible decibel limits discuss the share-market and the economic policies of the Modi government scaring the chirping birds into silence. All told, this seems to me the mobile version of the fabled Adda. But wait.

On one of the corners of the park there is an elevated platform with a huge tree covering it. As the hour strikes 6, a young man appears regularly from nowhere with a stack of chairs that are set on this elevated platform in a circle. Not content with the mobile adda, a group of morning walkers then parks itself on these chairs and the real adda commences. The animated discussions, arguments, loud laughter and combined cacophony tend to disturb the ecological balance and threaten to drive the morning quiet and serenity out of the park.

Amartya Sen has found all Indians to be argumentative. After all, India is the largest and most vocal democracy in the world. Democracy is just another word for argument. Our parliamentarians will vouch for it.  As one writer has observed: 'Perhaps Shakespeare’s Hamlet was a Kolkatan as his famous self-argument shows: To vhi or not to vhi, / That eej thee kweschon….'

Argument is the essence of adda, its life line and its oxygen. If two, or more, people agree to the same viewpoint, there cannot be an adda. But if they see the same thing in two, or several different angles, there is the right opening to an adda based on the n^th scientific principle that every argument must have an equal and opposite argument.

Even before you could say Siraj ud Daula, Clive had won the battle of Plassey and laid the foundation for 200 years of British rule while they were busy arguing. After 34 years in power, the Marxists got themselves so embroiled in internal argument as to whether they were still communists or capitalist property brokers that they wouldn’t know when the tables turned on them. Adda, like history repeats itself.  

Adda, a term roughly translating to community chat sessions is a form of brain storming. The adda releases the thoughts of individuals that lie dormant. As an active participant of an adda one always has something to say. Whether or not he has solutions to problems, he always has an opinion. Topics for the adda are wide-ranging: from religion to politics, from football to mangalyaan, from Che Guevara to Albert Camus, from Ritwik Ghatak to Satyajit Ray, the list is unending. At times, some local adda can revolve around idle gossip about some local happenings or  a certain celebrity's   romantic escapades. 

As can be noted, the venue of the adda could vary depending on the context and milieu: that roadside shop next door selling tea, samosa and jalebi, the office or college canteen, some one’s residence or a  park or late at night on a pavement, around the carom board with a light bulb hanging overhead, powered by the street lamp-post.

In Kolkata, ‘Coffee House’ located on the College Street, has a great reputation of being the next level venue of adda for poets, writers, journalists, artists, philosophers, theatre  persons etc. who frequent it to have stimulating conversations, discussions and arguments over several cups of coffee. Sadly, however, it appears that it has somewhat lost its folklore glory of the past; it is not the same now. This has led to Late Manna Dey’s popular lament: Coffee-house e shei adda ta aaj aar nei…

Premendra Mitra was a renowned Bengali poet, novelist, short story and thrillers writer and film director. He was the creator of the famous fictional character Ghanada, who is the central attraction of all the addas.  Even after 40 years of its release who can forget Soorma Bhopali of Sholay and his tall stories keeping his audience mesmerized. The character played by Robi Ghosh in Satyajit Ray's "Agantuk" asks a pertinent question: ‘Rabindranath ki adda diten?’ (Did Tagore ever engage in adda?).

Many believe that the concept of adda is as alive as ever notwithstanding the phenomenal advances in electronics and communication technology. Others feel that it is gradually dying. Yet some others see a steady decline in the laid-back community gatherings and frequent meetings as Face book, Twitter, chat rooms and text messaging take their place. kothay hariye gelo shonali bikel gulo shei aaj aar nei (where have we lost those golden afternoons?)…

And will there be a final word in this never-ending argument? Doesn’t seem like so. For there can be no end to an argument. Which leads to a further argument that if there’s no end to the argument, then where does the argument end? Is that an end to the argument? Will there be any final word to an argument?  An arguable point indeed. We shall argue over it during our next adda…

THE MODUS OPERANDI

A friend of mine, a former professor of Applied Behavioral Sciences at one of the Indian Institute of Management recounted this incident to me. It was a cloudy day with intermittent

drizzle when he decided to go to this distant relative’s house to condole a death in the family. After a few minutes’ wait, he was received in the sitting room by the grieving wife of the deceased. There was an uncomfortable silence. This is one occasion when words fail you and many a times you are found fumbling to make the right statement. However trying to make an earnest effort to express his grief he was about to speak to her when she suddenly interrupted him and said, ‘Look it has started to rain again! How many times shall I go and spread the clothes outside to dry and again rush to gather them lest these get wet again. I am tired of this exercise.’

Many a times when we have nothing to talk about, we try to break the monotony by discussing the weather. Be it  meeting someone for the first time, filling an awkward silence or breaking the ice, what’s going on in the sky can always kindle or revive a conversation. Ask a British. He will vouch for it though the professor didn’t in the current context.

Applied Behavioral Sciences, the professor had explained to me once, is in simple terms the study of the behaviour of humans. We can look at what people do or make assumptions about the way a person appears or behaves from the point of view of the study of society and the activities and relationships of individuals and groups within society.

So the professor was a little taken aback by the out of context and sudden outburst of this lady’s annoyance at this intermittance of the rain and how she was being bothered about it. He stopped in the middle of the sentence and looked hard at her. After a minute’s silence he spoke, “Many people must be coming to sympathize with you over this irreparable personal loss. Isn’t it? And every time you must be getting up to receive them and be there to accept their condolences? This continuous process must be quite exhausting. Perhaps you would want to be left alone.” The bereaved lady was too shocked to react and before she could say anything he begged leave of her and came away.

As a probationer at the National Police Academy, my instructor on law and order and crowd control was a very senior officer of West Bengal Cadre who rose to become the DGP of the State and later Governor of a north-east State briefly. While dealing with the subject of crowd behaviour and the behaviour of individuals in a crowd and various theories pertaining to it, he pointed out that besides the rains-the god’s own policeman, music is a great behaviour modifier and helps divert the attention of individuals and can be used as an instrument for crowd dispersal.

One cold evening in Darjeeling following a visiting Prime Minister’s refusal to concede any of the demand for a separate State, hell broke loose in the town. There were several incidents relating to law and order all over. I was stationed not very far from the Raj Bhawan and my brief was to ensure a smooth VIP movement to the Governor House that evening where the

Governor had hosted a reception for the Prime Minister. As the news spread, a large crowd including women in big numbers collected at this point, agitating  and in the process, obstructing the passage of invitees and if provoked further, to storm the Raj Bhawan. Darkness had already descended and the situation was turning so serious that I and my officers and men saw no hope of holding them back or dispersing the crowds without using force. There were strict instructions not to do so as it was a very sensitive issue being agitated by the locals. Suddenly I noticed that the slogan shouting, anger and frayed tempers gave way to laughter and giggles. Everyone was looking across the road to a slope on which was perched a drunken man with a khukri in his hand and dancing wildly. In any hill station on a wintry night Bacchus has to have a field day. As it turned out he appeared to be known person to most them. Now the crowds started cheering him on and some amongst them even suggesting dance moves. The drunken man had found a captive audience and started moving with added vigour, perched dangerously on the slope. No one tried to bring him down either. This was a window I thought god had given me to see that most of the cars carrying VIPs crossed over. The reception was to give over around 10 pm.  Seeing that there purpose was not being served and 10’o clock being almost midnight in hills, they dispersed slowly and slowly to our great relief!

Based on human behavioral patterns, the British pioneered a system of classifying a lot of communities as ‘criminal’ and notifying them. By consulting the history of old recorded crimes, cops in the field could arrive at some findings based on the behaviour pattern of criminals, particularly in property crimes because every particular offender or a criminal group had a signature modus operandi that could help in their identification, apprehension, or detection, and could also be used to determine links between crimes. For example a lot of them eat food at the crime scene, offenders from a now de-notified criminal tribe invariably defecated at the scene of crime before leaving and some others will dig holes in the walls to affect entry and so on.

Human behaviour is indeed unpredictable owing to the enhanced creative capacities of human brains but the behavioral scientists are continuously at work to unravel its mysteries and they indeed are of great help in understanding the mind even that of a criminal through his interrogation and also by way of studying his modus operandi. No matter how surprising, outlandish, or even impossible it may seem, the professor agrees that one of the next challenges of modern Applied Behavioral Sciences could be the modelling of human behaviours.

One day, a man ran into Judge Molla Nasrudin’s court-room and said, “I was just robbed at the border of this village! It must have been someone from here, and I demand justice! The robber took everything from me—my shoes, my pants, my shirt, my coat, my necklace, and even my socks…he took everything, I tell you. I demand justice.”

“Well now,” Nasrudin replied, “I see that you are still wearing you underwear—so the robber didn’t take that, did he?”

“No,” replied the man.

Nasrudin responded, “Then I am sure he was not from here, and thus I cannot investigate your case.”

“How can you be so sure?” the man asked.

“Because if he were from here, he would have taken your underwear as well. After all, we do things thoroughly around here! “

Professor, you are in exalted company !

RUBIK'S CUBE

River Ichhamati flows through India and Bangladesh and at some places forms the boundary between the two countries. Situated on the southern bank of Ichhamati is Bongaon, a border sub-divisional headquarter town in the district of now North 24 Parganas. I had my very first posting as the sub-divisional police officer here.

Bibhutibhushan Bandopadhyay’s childhood home was in Bongaon. Many of his novels, including Pather Panchali, Adarsha Hindu Hotel, Ichhamati and Bipiner Sansar are set in this town. Pather Panchali and its sequel Aparajito were made in to films by Satyajit Roy and together with Apur Sansar, formed a highly successful Apu Trilogy. Rakhaldas Bandyopadhyay, historian and a pioneer in the fields of Indian archaeology, epigraphy and paleography known as the discoverer of Mohenjo-daro, the principal site of the Harappa culture had his roots in Bongaon. Dinabandhu Mitra known for his play Nil-Darpan about the plight of indigo farmers was also born in this sub-division. This play has been  compared to Uncle Tom’s Cabin for its role in arousing people’s awareness of the indigo plantations.

I was both nervous and excited as I travelled to Bongaon to assume the very first independent charge. On arrival I was received by my forever pan chewing, loud and effusive

circle inspector. This was the time when I was still struggling 

with the spoken Bengali language. Not only that he initially advised me in discharge of my duties but he also encouraged me to learn the language as fast as I could. His sincere efforts in settling me down were quite successful and soon I began functioning independently.

The winters had set in, and it was the season for Jatra, theatre and musical performances. A lot of police permissions were being sought by various organizers for hosting Jatra in the country-side. One day he asked me if I would like to witness a Jatra. It would be a way of supervision of a law and order duty as there was a small police arrangement in place and may perhaps also help me understand the language better through live dialogues and accompanying gestures and actions.

Jatra, a popular folk musical form, is traditionally credited to the rise of Sri Chaitany's Bhakti movement, wherein Chaitanya himself played Rukmini in the performance of Rukmini Haran, a first definite presentation of this theatrical spectacle. Jatra performances can be likened to other folk theatre forms like the  Nautanki of Uttar Pradesh, the Tamasha of Maharashtra and Bhavai of Gujarat. Though the Jatra originated in the religious landscape yet by the end of the 19th century it included morally didactic content, and eventually became secular, social and also political when it gained entry into urban proscenium theatres.  The survival of the form over such a vast period of rapidly changing social milieu has been credited to its innate malleability and ways of adapting to changing social dynamics.  Surrounded by people on all sides, open-air stages became the mainstay of these performances. As it evolved, it absorbed all the prevalent folk traditions of music, dance and singing, to create a new template for folk theatre.

So on a cool and pleasant early winter night, the young newly married SDPO with his wife and accompanied by the circle inspector arrived at the Jatra venue in this village some distance away from the town. It would begin around 10 pm or thereabouts and will be at least a three hour show, if not more. Obviously people would come after finishing their dinner. There was a massive gathering of excited people from nearby villages and they were seated on ground all round the elevated stage. There was a ramp on one side which was entry and exit route for the actors. Spectators were sitting on the either sides of the ramp as well. The stage had no furniture or props. I realized that it was a neutral space, free to be given a meaning befitting the scene. Of course there will be a musical concert like an Italian opera, prior to the main show, basically to get the crowds in and let them settle down. So there were musicians sitting on a side of the stage, carrying musical instruments like dholak, pakhawaj harmonium, tabla, flute, cymbals, trumpets, behala (violin) and clarinet etc. And as the jatra proceeded, the music will be played to heighten the overall effect of melodramatic performances with highly stylized delivery and exaggerated gestures and orations. Most of the singing would be done by the actors themselves.

Seeing the more familiar face of the circle Inspector, the organizers went scurrying to find us a prime spot on one of the sides for the best viewing of the Jatra. It was a first for both me and my wife. I remember the Jatra was ‘Nati Binodini’.

Huge gatherings such as these also provided avenues for hawkers to do a brisk business. You can never miss them in large public functions or gatherings or trains or public transport. Their products largely comprise of eatables like jhaal-muri, chana-chur, cheena badam, wafer-chips and sweets like gulab-jamun, rasgolla, chamcham and that ubiquitous piece of candy called ‘lojen’ (lozenge), things they could carry on their person and be mobile at the same time, wading through the teeming crowds.

While the Jatra performance was under way, my circle inspector spotted a ‘lojen’ seller carrying his multi-coloured stock in a transparent glass-ware. He called out for this vendor, a young lad and after ascertaining the price asked him to give one each to me and my wife, perhaps by way of a post-dinner treat feeling responsible for our comprehensive and ‘wholesome’ entertainment.  The boy brought out small square pieces of an old news-paper from a wad kept in his shirt pocket and dipping his hand into the jar, picked out three irregular shaped pieces of ‘lojen’ giving one each to both of us and one to the circle inspector who was closely observing this entire operation. Both I and my wife squirmed a little and almost simultaneously felt that the ‘lojen’ could be unhygienic or made in unclean conditions in some village home. The disastrous consequence of partaking of the ‘lojen’ by way of food poisoning, vomiting or diarrhea crossed my mind. However not to hurt the circle inspector, we both took it and were holding it in our hands with the Hamlet like dilemma- to eat or not to eat’. He was quick to realize our consternation and giving a stern look to the vendor said ‘Tomar kachhe ye nei?” (You don’t have that?)  The vendor sheepishly nodded his head from side to side and quickly moved away.

Now for me, ‘ye’ is the Rubik’s Cube in many ways. You can move it in any direction you

want. Full of loaded expression, it is capable of conveying several feelings, emotions, objects and things particularly when you are fumbling for an appropriate word or expression. I felt very ‘ye’. I missed ‘ye’. I have got a ‘ye’ in my mind. I can’t walk because I have a ‘ye’ on my foot. In a hurry I forgot to carry ‘ye’. Where is my ‘ye’? Last night I had too much of ‘ye’. Tumi na khoob ye!  The list is unending. I recall one of my Dy SP many years ago, who would always call out for his office orderly ‘Arre ye?’ And how did the office orderly respond! The best part of ‘ye’ is that both the sides understand the purport of the term in any language when used with reference to whatever be the context.

So when my inspector said “Tomar kachhe ye nei?” we realized that he was inquiring about a spoon. In fact by this loud inquiry he wanted to dispel our apprehensions and convey a message to us that  there was nothing unhygienic per se about that country-made ‘lojen’; it could be rendered thus because the vendor used his hand instead of a spoon!

That we didn’t experience any after-effects affirmed his pride and faith in the ‘lojen’ available in a remote countryside and as his modest contribution to the rural handicrafts and the rural economy!

THE WORKING LUNCH

Following the demolition of the Babri Mosque on 6^th December 1992, there was an all-round outrage provoking a few incidents in the city. I had joined the city police only a month before this incident.  Around mid-day, I was directed by the Police Control Room, to proceed to a particular area where there were reports of apprehension of breach of peace as some agitated people were gathering and grouping there. I was absolutely new to the city police and it was too early in the day to know any of the local people or the officers and men whom I was to lead on the spot.

As I arrived, I found the Divisional Deputy Commissioner already present there with a contingent of a Para-military force along with our city police officers and men, wedged between two agitating groups at the crossing of one of the main arterial roads. It would be around mid-day.  There was palpable tension in the air. The street and surroundings were already a picture of a bandh like situation, with all the shopping establishments shut and no vehicles plying. Even before we could initiate quick measures to diffuse the tension, like talking to the local people around or the leaders of the mobs or roping in the political people present on the spot or making strategic deployment, a fusillade of brick-batting towatds us began. In the process a few of us received injuries and some vehicles were damaged.  The window panes of my official car were smashed by the flying bricks and stones and I recall that for many hours after this I was

patrolling in several adjoining police station areas in this car with open windows, on a cold December night with icy winds biting my face and freezing my bones. 

Well, amidst, a lot of shouting and crying, jostling and pushing, the injured including some civilians being quickly moved away, we saw a sergeant bleeding profusely having been slashed with some sharp weapon. Red blood on his white uniform presented a gory picture. Now, it is extremely difficult even for a disciplined force to stay calm and keep emotions under control at a sight such as this. He was immediately removed from the scene and taken to a hospital.  The officers and men were getting increasingly agitated and rearing to charge and holding them back was also proving to be a tough ask in the wake of brick-batting. In the midst of that chaos, confusion and tension, I heard someone calling me from behind: Saar, Ami ki khete jabo? (Can I go to eat my food?)

The famine of 1943 struck the Bengal  of  British India (present-day West Bengal, Odisha, Bihar and Bangladesh) during World War II,  following the Japanese occupation of Burma, the

world's largest exporter of rice in the inter-war period. Calcutta was normally supplied by Burma. After the Japanese occupation of Burma in March 1942, Bengal and the other parts of India had to find food elsewhere. This, however, was not the only reason. There were several other factors including the administrative and policy failures of the British Government that contributed to the famine that caused major economic and social disruption, ruining millions of families.

 That event has been captured vividly in several plays, novels, poems articles, editorials. Nabanna a Bengali play about the famine written by Bijon Bhattacharya was staged by Indian People's Theatre Association (IPTA) in 1944 under the direction of Sombhu Mitra and later in 1948, by Bohurupee under the direction of Kumar Roy. We now have a building with the same name housing the State Government Secretariat.

Asani Sanket by Bibhutibhushan Bandopadhyay was adapted into a film of the same name by Satyajit Ray . The other famous novels on the subject are: So Many Hungers!  by Bhabani Bhattacharya, and Aakaaler Sandhane by Amalendu Chakraborty ,cinematised  by  Mrinal Sen. Two editorials were published on the famine, on 14 and 16 October 1943, by Ian Stephens, the editor of The Statesman. He gave graphic accounts of the famine, and delivered a stinging critique of the inaction of the administration.  Ian Stephens also published a memoir about the Bengal famine, Monsoon Morning.

Food in Bengali culture has always been most evident either in the immediate present or savoured as a memory or anticipated as a future pleasure.  It is the medium for depicting the

emotional, ceremonial and ritual universe of a people. Through their festivals and rituals it displays a delightful engagement and not any more a reminder of a calamity. If you are ignorant of the order in which the food is eaten, you have not been initiated in the food etiquette. You would be educated in the correct order right away. Men pride themselves in knowing the exact ingredients of a dish by merely tasting a morsel of the food. It is not a feminine talent, rather the quality of a connoisseur. The previous night’s biyerbari (Wedding) dinner could be a subject matter of an elaborate and animated discussion across the table during office hours. Mother’s love is evaluated in terms of how many dishes she cooks for her children, and how tasty.

A trip to the morning market is considered no less than a pilgrimage by the true blue Bengalis. They know their vegetables, fishes, meat, sweets, doi etc. at a glance and know the subtle techniques of testing the goodness of various items. The brinjals (aubergine) have to feel buttery smooth to touch; the tails of the ladies fingers should break sharply for them to be fresh and juicy. Fishes with eggs are not tasty, mutton should be washed well before dicing it into small pieces, and never after it has been diced, the blackish prawns and tilapia (cichlid fish) are tastier than the red or white ones. You need to check the gills of the fish for the right buy.

Potato in machher jhol (fish curry) is wedged, in mutton curry is halved, in aloor dom small in size, in the potato curry for breakfast with luchi it should be cut inch long in to square dices.. Potatoes should be thoroughly peeled, but potols (pointed gourd) should be left roughly peeled. A true Bengali can actually eat fish as neatly as though the bones have been dried and bleached!

Many years ago, one late afternoon as a district officer while I was settling down for my lunch in office, one of my senior Deputy Superintendents, an elderly father figure to a young officer and soon to superannuate, rushed to my room and informed me about out-break of a serious trouble somewhere in my District, requiring my personal presence on the spot. I immediately pushed my food aside and was getting up to leave when with what looked like an authoritative wave of hand, he asked me to sit down. Taken aback, I sat down.

“Sir, whatever be the provocation, whatever the emergency, howsoever serious a situation might be, once you have sat down to eat your food, do not leave without finishing it. You never know when you will get your next meal.”

In the process of quickly stuffing my food in my mouth, I couldn't tell him that famine was history and that we no longer imported rice from Burma….

MIRROR MIRROR ON THE WALL...

On the 4^th day of August in the year of the Lord, 1974, I found myself seated on a window side in an ordinary II class compartment of Kamrup Express at Howrah station travelling to Cooch

Bihar, the northernmost district of West Bengal. I was going to join the district as a probationer under training. I had a steel trunk and a hold-all of good olden times as my accompaniments and a few rupees in my pocket. For me it was a journey into unknown. Being a northerner, I had never been to this part of the country and my acquaintance with Bengal was limited to my reading of Hindi translations of Sarat Chandra novels, a few Tagore poems and the picture of charming Bengali women in red bordered sarees with a bunch of keys tied to one end of the pallu a la Parineeta (1953) and Biraj Bahu (1954), Hindi films, both directed by Bimal Roy.

An old ramshackle Willys jeep was waiting for me at the New Cooch Bihar railway station. There was someone to receive me-can’t remember who. Immediately on arrival I was informed that I was to present myself before the Superintendent of Police (SP) soon after. Where shall I stay? There was no police guest house and the busy Circuit House having only four rooms couldn't be given on a long term basis. I will be put up in the earmarked house of the Additional SP for the time being as there was no one posted there for sometime past.

I quickly opened my steel trunk, took out my uniform and the leather toilet bag to shave my overnight stubble and take a quick shower to call on the District SP.  As I went to the bathroom, I discovered to my horror that it didn't have a mirror on the wash basin! I didn't carry a mirror either. Having been constantly reminded of OLQs (Officer Like Qualities) at the Academy, it certainly was not a good idea for an All India Service Officer to go out and seek help, wrapped only in a towel with a shaving brush in one hand and a razor in another.   And confounding the matters was another message from the SP that he was waiting to see me before he retired for lunch.

Douglas Adams was an English writer, humourist, and dramatist. Adams is best known as the author of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, which originated in 1978 as a BBC radio comedy before developing into a "trilogy" of five books that sold more than 15 million copies in his lifetime and generated a television series, several stage plays, comics, a computer game, and in 2005 a feature film. In his book ‘Mostly Harmless’ he observes: “A common mistake that people make when trying to design something completely foolproof is to underestimate the ingenuity of    complete fools.” 

Ingenuity (Ingenium) is the root Latin word for engineering. Ingenuity is the process of applying ideas to solve problems or meet challenges. Here I was ‘faced’ with a very serious never before problem - to shave without a mirror. With the minutes ticking by, my nervousness was increasing exponentially.

And then a fool’s ingenuity came to the forefront.

One of the uniform articles for a police officer is a leather belt. It has a rectangular shimmering

steel buckle with the IPS logo fastened with screws in the middle. The monogram can be unscrewed and removed for polishing purposes. The buckle is so well polished that you can see your image in it though a little distorted due to convex shape of this rectangle. I quickly unscrewed the attachment and kept it aside, took the belt to the bathroom, hung it on the towel grill with the buckle facing me and with disproportionate outlines of my face being visible, I shaved.  Needless to say it literally proved to be such a face saving device!

I had arrived in that district on the 5^th of the month and having paid all my dues as I left the Police Training College, Barrackpore, I was left with very little money to immediately buy a mirror. I had a whole month to survive. I thought to myself: now that I had discovered a way out, the mirror could wait.

Be that as it may, it being such an ‘earth shattering’ event on the very first day of the start of my professional career, I haven’t forgotten that I bought a mirror on receipt of my pay the following month for a royal sum of Rs.6. I prized it as one of my most precious possessions for several years until one day it was found mysteriously smashed to smithereens and lying in one corner of the house. No one confessed to this crime. I was devastated.  There lay shattered the romance of my early days’ financial hardships and a symbol of my coming ‘face to face’ nay almost qualifying for a BPL card. And in the hope that my sad tale shall become a part of my domestic folklore, I must have shared this episode with my children ad nauseum which I would start but never could conclude since they would excuse themselves midway and disappear.  I am still investigating who broke my mirror denying me the pleasure and pride of living in its ‘reflected’ glory.

In Greek mythology, the mathematician Archimedes invented giant mirrors that used the sun to set roman warships afire during an attack on Syracuse in 212 B.C. Narcissus, looking into the water, did not understand that he saw his own reflection, and fell in love with himself, Legend has it that the hero Perseus killed Medusa by using a mirrored shield. And also, the brothers Grimm’s story of Snow-white, in which the wicked queen consults a magic mirror to determine the identity of the most beautiful woman in the world....

Who invented the first mirror?  Our ancestors probably used pools of still water as mirrors for thousands of years. Later, mirrors of polished metal or obsidian (volcanic glass) gave wealthy preeners a more portable view of themselves. Obsidian mirrors from 6,200 BCE were discovered at Catal Huyuk, the ancient city near modern-day Konya, Turkey.  People in Iran used polished copper mirrors at least as early as 4,000 BCE. In the Bible, Isaiah scolds Israelite women who were "haughty and walk with necks outstretched, ogling and mincing as they go..."  He warns them that God will do away with all of their finery - and their brass mirrors!  

The first mirror-makers lived near the city of Sidon, Lebanon, some 2,400 years ago.  Since glass itself likely was invented in Lebanon, it's not too surprising that it was the site of the earliest modern mirrors. The Phoenicians were masters of the Mediterranean trade routes, so this wonderful new trade object quickly spread throughout the Mediterranean world and the Middle East. The Persian emperor Darius the Great, who ruled around 500 BCE, famously surrounded himself with mirrors in his throne room to reflect his glory. 

Ancient people buried their dead with mirrors, believing them to be receptacles for the soul. A richly ornate mirror was found in the tomb of Tutankhamen. It seems that the Indus Valley Civilization or Harappan settlements did not have glass. It was, however, in the three or four centuries before and after the Christian era that Indian glass industry began to gain momentum. Glass-tiles appeared to be in use in India even as early as the third century BC during the reign of Asoka.

Persian glass-makers brought their craftsmanship to India and were engaged in the production of glass dishes and dish covers, spittoons, flat-bottomed vessels, mirrors and other objects like tiles and ear reels. The artistic glass specimens of the Moghul period, when glass industry received royal patronage, show Persian influence.

The Cooch Bihar experience made me to realize that a mirror was such a valuable necessity in our lives. But for me, it was a luxury I couldn't afford for a while. I also learnt that even with a low salary or even when the salary went up manifold, one needed to follow the “Micawber Principle” in life.

Always in debt yet recklessly cheery and blindly optimistic, Mr Micawber is one of Dickens’s most lovable characters. Mr Micawber has given us the famous dictum now known as “The Micawber Principle”:

“My other piece of advice, Copperfield,” said Mr. Micawber, “you know. Annual income twenty pounds, annual expenditure nineteen six, result happiness. Annual income twenty pounds, annual expenditure twenty pounds ought and six, result misery. The blossom is blighted, the leaf is withered, the god of day goes down upon the dreary scene, and—and, in short, you are forever floored. As I am!”

Thank you Mr. Micawber, for showing us the ‘mirror’ to a way of life, life of financially secure happiness - at the end of the day.