The Tribune, Chandigarh, India

Politician is the winner
Pannu ouster a signal to bureaucracy

The SAD government in Punjab realises the importance of education and that tough measures are needed to turn the system around given the charges of rampant corruption in the department. It, however, seems to lack the gumption required to stick to the righteous path. It is the second time during its two consecutive terms that after appointing as Director General, School Education, an officer recognised for his integrity and zeal, the government has removed him in controversial circumstances. After Krishan Kumar in 2011, it is Kahan Singh Pannu's turn to bite the dust following a fallout with the Education Minister over issues related to corruption.

In what had turned out to be a case of bureaucrat versus politician, the latter has won, again. It should not come as a surprise. Chief Minister Parkash Singh Badal is not known for ever having pulled off an unconventional feat in governance, but he has proven his instinct for political survival against heavy odds. His coming in support of Minister Sikander Singh Maluka - during whose period obvious irregularities have happened in procurements - may not go down well with the people, even if it is a political move aimed at keeping a senior party leader from his home turf in good humour. Image matters in politics, and here is a signal that the government will back officials against corruption only so far as it doesn't hurt the party 'untouchables'.

Pannu has won accolades in earlier appointments too, including as Chairman of the Punjab Pollution Control Board. However, he also has to accept the charge of seeking the limelight a little more than a bureaucrat should. That may also have something to do with the unfortunate assault on him during his 'rescue mission' in Uttarakhand recently, an incident that precipitated his ouster. An officer, however, is not what his post is. It is the person that gives a position meaning. Pannu's new assignment, Secretary, Agriculture, may not seem 'high profile', but in an agricultural state like Punjab there is no telling what a creative mind can do in that post.

Riches for poor badminton
IBL success to attract more talent

Badminton is very popular as a recreation in India, the country to which its roots can be traced, in the Pune of the 1860s. Badminton is played in every corner of India, but it is not a particularly glamourous sport. This could change with the advent of the Indian Badminton League (IBL), a franchise-based tournament that will be played in six cities next month. The six franchisees will, and must, promote the league and the sport. At the IBL player auction, Saina Nehwal was sold for $120,000 while the men's world No. 1 Lee Chong Wei went for $135,000. Younger players like P Kashyap and PV Sindhu were bought for $75,000 and $80,000, respectively. If successful, the IBL could attract more youngsters to the sport, for a more viable sporting career.

A sporting star being auctioned like cattle is an unsavoury thought for the traditionalist, but this has become the practice in India. After cricket's Indian Premier League auction, golf followed it with the Golf Premier League, and the IBL has embraced this system. Maybe it's more pragmatic to focus on the sport itself. In our country, most children who try to pursue sport meet resistance from their parents. This is because success in sport is uncertain and hard to attain; excessive focus on sport, at the cost of time given to education, means sportspersons are placing all their eggs in one basket. Failure in sport can lead to ruination - sport is filled with such stories.

Infusion of money into sport, thus, can only be a good thing. Business houses or individuals investing into sport are motivated by profits; but those buying IBL franchises know they're tied to a sport without an infallible revenue stream. The good part is that the money involved ($275,000 for player fees for each franchise, apart from operational costs) does not seem unsustainable. The best part is that IBL will be more sport than entertainment, with very minor rule tweaks, unlike the IPL.

Thought for the Day

An appeaser is one who feeds a crocodile, hoping it will eat him last. —Winston Churchill

ARTICLE

Army's pre-eminence intact
It influences Pakistan's Afghan policy
by Kuldip Nayar

IT is an open secret that the army in Pakistan is a peg or two higher than the civilian apparatus. But I saw chinks in its armoury when a commission report was leaked. That the Inter Intelligence Service (ISI) could be “a collaborator” in hiding Osama bin Laden, the Taliban's inspiration, was an insinuation which I thought the army would not pocket without demur. But that happened.

I was, however, reading too much into the leakage. Within a few days, Prime Minister Nawaz Sharif went to the ISI headquarters along with his Interior Minister, where Army Chief Parvez Kayani was present. It was officially stated that the discussion was on Afghanistan and the conditions obtaining in Pakistan.

This only confirms that there is nothing to substantiate that the army has confined itself to the defence of the country. In fact, the pre-eminence of the Army Chief was emphasised when his car and his entourage were allowed first and then Nawaz Sharif's at the ceremony where he took the oath of office for Prime ministership.

The case of treason against former military chief Parvez Musharraf to asses the reaction is crucial. That he has been given comfortable house arrest and not kept in jail itself shows the difference meted out to persons charged with a heinous crime. The police refused to register a case against him despite the court order. It sounds credible that Musharraf has been assured that no harm would come to him and charges against him would be dropped if he were to leave Pakistan on the promise that he would not return. So far he has preferred to face the trial which is punishable with death penalty or life imprisonment.

My suspicion is that he must have sounded the army before coming to Pakistan and would have got an assurance that he would not be sent to jail or punished otherwise. Therefore, how the army takes the verdict, if there is even a verdict, if and when Musharraf is held guilty will tell how far democracy has taken roots in Pakistan. I am no expert on Islamic affairs. But I am told by my Muslim friends that Islam does not entertain democracy. I would like to tell my friends that the arbiter is the ballot box. The Arab Spring, which has startled the world, was popular resentment against the rulers. A stable, peaceful democratic polity takes long to emerge. The Arab Spring, although dominated by the fundamentalists, has embers of revolt still burning.

Another undemocratic thing in the making is the assertion of identities. Not only Muslims but also Hindus in India and Christians in Europe are violating the democratic norms to pronounce their identity. I am aghast to find hijab-wearing women and men sporting beard at Aligarh Muslim University and the liberal Jamia Millia in Delhi, to the delight of extremist Hindus. The BJP, the mouthpiece of the RSS, is increasingly adopting Gujarat Chief Minister Narender Modi, who is pushing the thesis of Hindutva. In his interview to a foreign agency, Modi had compared the victims of Gujarat riots in 2002 riots to puppies that came under the car driven by him or someone else.

Modi and the BJP are pushing into the background the tradition of togetherness. On the other hand, more and more Christians are flocking to churches where poisonous lectures are often delivered from the pulpit. I am told by some Muslim friends that in the atmosphere of globalisation, the identity factor comes to the fore to save a community. But it has little to do with religion. I do not think that the defence is correct. The case for identity is born out of religious and parochial leanings.

Pakistan, no doubt a Muslim state, was secular in its initial years. The country's founder, Mohammad Ali Jinnah, said in his first speech after the formation of Pakistan that religion would not be mixed with the state or politics. But that is all forgotten. Today even Shias in Pakistan are sought to be declared non-Muslims. Not long ago, the Ahmedis were officially pronounced as non-Muslims. Even their mosques have been attacked.

The only plus point Musharraf has is his belated assault on the extremists. The attack on Lal Masjid, although it proved to be his undoing, was meant to tell the extremists that he would not tolerate fundamentalism within the state. The confrontation by the army with the Taliban in Waziristan was also Musharraf's doing. Alas, he trampled upon the democratic institutions, including the judiciary. He also attacked the Bugti tribe chief because of his personal vendetta. Still he initiated action against the Taliban who, despite his action, are today stronger than before and can strike at any place in Pakistan at any time.

This is a big challenge for Nawaz Sharif. He has extremists in his ranks and most of them are Taliban in their thinking. Otherwise, it is difficult to understand why he has contributed Rs 30 crore to the coffers of Jammiat-e-Dawa? The biggest challenge in the region for him will be when the American and European forces withdraw from Afghanistan next year.

India faces a big danger. All its work like building hospitals and schools

in Afghanistan will be destroyed by the Taliban. I wish Afghanistan President Hamid Karzai's armed forces had the strength to confront the Taliban. Strange, New Delhi has never considered Islamabad's proposal to fight the Taliban jointly or at least share the intelligence on them. India has not given even non-lethal weapons to Afghanistan for use in its fight against the Taliban.

Karzai is justified in his vehement attack on America, which has begun talks with the Taliban. But then America has hardly been bothered beyond what it considered in its self-interest. New Delhi has to evolve a policy in consultation with Pakistan and Afghanistan. This should be the priority to fight against the Taliban. Unfortunately, the Taliban have penetrated the army and have a strong base. Too bad that Islamabad's action will be decided by the army headquarters.

MIDDLE

An ode to the old man
by Col P. S. Sangha, Vir Chakra, (retd)

Every Army battalion/ regiment and formation has an old man within the officer fraternity. In the case of battalions/ regiments this old man has a starting age of 37 years these days. When I joined the Army in 1965 the old man was about 38 at the start of his innings. Now, 37 or 38 can hardly be considered old age, especially in the Army where the officers are at the prime of their careers at this age. So, why this odd nomenclature?

The old man is the commanding officer of the unit or the formation. He may not be the oldest guy of the unit age wise but nevertheless he is the old man because he is the top gun of the outfit. My thoughts go back to the first old man of my military career which started in June 1965. I was posted to a Mountain Pack Artillery Regiment located in North Bengal amidst sprawling tea gardens. In this unit, the guns were carried on mules after dismantling them. It had twice the manpower of a vehicle based artillery regiment. To put it succinctly, it was a tough outfit to start your career in. But that is not the subject of this piece. It is the old man of my first regiment.

The old man, whom I was taken to meet on the first day of my regimental life, was an impressive personality. He stood well over 6 feet in his socks. He was a handsome man with a fair complexion and a terrific military bearing. His professional credentials were impressive too. He was from the first JSW course at the IMA, Dehradun, where he graduated with the sword of honour. In his 'Young Officers'(YO's) Course' he got the coveted silver gun. Later, he qualified as an 'Instructor Gunnery' on the completion of the Long Gunnery Staff course. He raised the regiment in May 1964 with a bunch of officers who came in from various other units. He was also given a whole batch of young officers from the School of Artillery. These young officers were all from various emergency commissioned courses who had had just six months of military training followed by the YO's course. To put it mildly, it was a real tough job.

The old man put the regiment through a real grind. From physical training in the morning to the grooming parade, followed by a gun drill, a short-lunch break, with a gunnery class in the afternoon, a games parade, an officers class in the officers' mess, the dinner night ending with listening to K L Saigal and C H Atma, the day was a never-ending period.

Was that not a tough life? We used to call our regiment "OTA Bagrakote". The OTA stands for 'Officers Training Academy' and Bagrakote was the name of the place where we were located. The old man raised the regiment with an iron hand and then proceeded on posting. He was followed by a string of other old men who commanded the regiment with me being the ninth old man of the regiment. We all got the benefit of the strong base that the first old man set up.

A few years later, I happened to be posted in the same station as the old man. As is the custom, I went to call on him and his lady in the evening. I stayed much beyond the normal time that evening. The old man told me about the travails of raising a regiment. He also told me about the help he gave to the emergency commissioned officers in their resettlement in the civvy street. I left with a much-changed impression of the old man.

In 1971 I took part in the Indo-Pak war and was awarded a gallantry award. The first DO letter that I got was from the old man. His opening sentence was "I would not have expected anything less from you". He said a lot of other nice things but for me it was enough that I had made the grade in his books. Later on after leaving the Army I met him a few times in Lucknow and at regimental functions. Now in his sunset days, the lion is in his den while we, who were his cubs, remember him with respect and affection.

The old man was Lt Col (later Brigadier) B. P. Bhalla, who is now in his 80s.

OPED Diaspora

The colour of travel, a global story
Due diligence at the time of issuing travel documents can prevent harassment on arrival
Meera Dewan

ELEVEN-year-old Saagari played with her red-ribboned plaits as the Judge waited for her response. Being with Daddy means living in the house with the swings, weekends swimming, long drives and pizza dinners. Mummy is stricter with both homework and play time; her car is only good for short city runs and it would be dal-roti-sabzi with Naani most days. Must she choose between living with one of them?

For many travellers to the West, being detained at the immigration counter can be a harrowing experience. Photo: Thinkstock

Years ago, Saagari was one of the protagonists of a film I made on single parenting. Today, I was to become her fellow traveller — of sorts. “I love Canada — its sense of organisation, wide-angled spaces and long silences. I love its oceans and lakesides, its Inuit art. Riding a Toronto subway is being a daily witness to the marvel of diversity among people on our planet..” I found myself mumbling to a Canadian Immigration Office, as if in an imagined confession box. She was unimposing and warm in a typically Canadian way. I was meeting her in order to give up my Canadian residency. Mine was an uncommon request, trading a permanent residence permit with a visitor’s visa. Hugging close my Canadian memories I said sadly, over Canada's shoulder, “Now I will return to live in India.” Like Saagari, I too am happiest with the birthing parent, choose if I must.

A.P.J. Abdul Kalam

Rituparna Sengupta

Kirti Azad

This senior officer, a trainer of those manning the gates of her country, was generous. Canada wants immigrants like me, she said, and was sorry I had made the choice to leave. She waited indulgently while I made minor adjustments on the waiver form, before signing it off. I struck out “I have failed to comply with” and replaced it with a handwritten “I did not comply with”. Regaining confidence, I suggested one cannot assume it's an issue of non-compliance when certain residents opt for their poorer relations, their country of origin.

She assured me I will continue to receive the next best option for travel to Canada — a 10-year multiple entry visa. She threw in a cup of tea and a suggestion that in case I changed my mind, I could reapply for my residence status at any time.

These open doors resulted in mutual enrichment — a win-win for both countries. Over the years, Indian and Canadian professional colleagues and strangers were connected, productive partnerships formed, collaborative film ventures became possible.

October 2, 2012. The birthday of India's founding father, who had made non-violence and peace his unlikely anti-colonial weapon. As good a day as any to arrive at Lester Pearson Airport in Toronto, named after the Canadian Prime Minister who was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 1957.

“Step aside”, said the young South Asian Immigration officer, handing me back my passport. I smiled at this look-alike of my son and followed the direction of his pointed arm. It led to a small hall, with a long-winding single file mostly of South and South-East Asians. There was diversity in their ages, though — elderly men clearly lost in the language of the English-speaking, harassed moms with tired young children in tow, young hopefuls masking the anxiety on their faces. “Why am I here? I have a valid multiple-entry visa”, I ask the officer watching over us. His short answer: “Ask Ottawa.”

This No Man's Land wasn't large enough to hold its startled visitors. There were 15 counters, though just two were manned. Time moved even slower. After their pan-Asian, trans-Atlantic journeys, children were cranky, perhaps hungry and thirsty. Elders were propping themselves up against the railing that kept us in the straight and narrow. I dared to squat on my haunches in a near-yogic posture. A water fountain and a couple of couches might have eased the unwelcome.

By now, the air was stale and claustrophobic, especially for heart attack survivors. The thumping organ had to be hardened, watching the family of Chinese origin right ahead being escorted into a chamber before the exit. Months later, on July 4, 2013, perhaps this was where the talented actor Rituparna Sengupta was to spend many hours Just days later, across the Atlantic, MP Kirti Azad was asked to strip at London airport, despite his diplomatic passport. The sentiment in newly independent India that led many patriots to adopt the name “Freedom”, was lost on Britain.

Being on USA's list of the 500 most influential Muslims worldwide, did not deter Homeland Security from detaining a Khan, in 2009 and 2012. Former President Dr. APJ Abdul Kalam was frisked in USA on two occasions in 2009 and 2011, once after he was aboard, just before take-off. His shoes and jacket had to be removed as they needed to be re-examined again. A few years before, another President had discreetly dropped his middle name in that very country.

Back in Toronto, neither politician, nor star, I had made it to Counter 11. The only other “manned” counter was Number 3, but the girl behind it was bent over a pile of papers. Before the young man could open my stack of passports, his questions flew at me: “Why have I come to Canada? How long will I stay? What are my plans over the three weeks in Canada?” My answers darted back, peppered with barely controlled angry questions of my own: “Why am I in no-man's zone? Does a valid travel document issued by your own overseas office carry no weight? Why is there no air circulation in this room? How about a few chairs for the elders?”

I presented my Canada-worthy credentials — the voluntarily returned residency, the invitations, Canadian media coverage of my work — all to my own disgust. As if to say, I have a life back home. He remained deep into the recesses of his computer-generated information on insignificant me, but bore up patiently with my defence statements.

In my last-ditch effort to convince the officer, I was neither an illegal, nor was I planning to disappear into the picturesque landscapes of his country, I reduced myself to flashing an invitation from a Canadian of eminence, waving it at him as one might a national flag. He gave in.

I passed towards the exit, stopping briefly to peek into the chamber with the Chinese-origin family. More arms waving, more officers, more panic — no audio, only fuzzy video, through the frosted glass. There was still no water fountain in sight. That didn't deter me from swallowing a whole pill of Carca, strength 3.125 mg. It stabilises erratic heartbeats.

It's not that I'm naïve about illegal immigration from the Eastern world to the West. I owe it to my years in Canada that introduced me to this whole new world. Living there, making a film with these, My people, for a Canadian organisation, I learnt my own mother tongue, Punjabi. Their desperation, hard work and daredevilry in exploring unique ways to find a new life abroad was one of the reasons that intrigued me back to India, to learn about their roots in Punjab and locate new stories for my films.

I had been at a loss for emotions, when parents in rural Punjab expressed their willingness (and “wanting-ness”) to sell that last acre of farmland to pay agents help smuggle their sons to Europe, Russia and Canada. “Even Japan will do”, said an aged unlettered mother, with the confidence of an informed traveller. Two young men spoke before the camera of their experiences of Christmas day, 1996. On that holy night, they survived the Malta Boat tragedy, where 283 South Asians who paid to traffic themselves to Italy, were drowned in an overcrowded boat off the shores of Malta. They were deported back home, after serving prison sentences in Greece and Italy. Neither the harrowing memories nor the wasted lakhs of rupees deterred them from attempting to escape once again to a life hard and hidden labour. I thanked my stars that I was in a position to send my son legally to a University in the West. As long as their cheap labour is valued in the West, there will continue to be illegal travellers to the West. There are legal ones as well.

Five months after my first brush with Canadian immigration, an invitation tempted me back to Canada for a fortnight. I reassured myself an unpleasant entry would not greet me this time, given the outliers way of probability calculations. I have had many pleasant landings in the West, smiling past the winning posts of immigration.

Still, as the trans-Atlantic flight took off from Zurich in March 2013, my stomach was in knots and it wasn't air sickness. A similar exclusion awaited me at Toronto airport. This time round, I was armed with the benefit of experience. I informed the Immigration officer on Counter 7 of No Man's Land, “I have passed through this route just months ago and I think I can save your time and tell you why I've been dispatched here. I surrendered my Canadian residency. Is that so unrealistic an act that it borders on criminality?” Her sympathetic reply: “Write to Ottawa”, waving me off, but not before checking out a shorter version of me on her database.

I felt the familiar anguish return when I read of the talented actress Rituparna Sengupta being denied entry into Toronto, despite her valid visa. There was minor confusion over a second visa, erroneously applied for — understandable for a frequent traveller.

It is not the West I have known and experienced since the 1970s that would threaten to deport Rituparna, deny her the right to speak with family or lawyer, (an illegal act in itself), intimidate her with a possible stay in a mental home on reducing her to tears, confiscate her cell phone, quiz her on why she is carrying her Indian chequebook. She was Canada's honoured guest, invited by the North American Bengali Association Conference. She was there to support Canada celebrate its diversity, with a premiere of her film, ironically titled Mukti.

Luckily for her, the Indian Ministry of External Affairs intervened and issued a demarche. Lesser travellers such as I might follow through on the advice of the Counter 7 officer. “Tell Ottawa”. Tell London. Tell Washington.

Honourably forfeiting an adoptive country's residence is not an incredulous act. It does not transform a friend into a foe. All that is asked for is discretion, not discrimination. Recognise your enemies and remember your friends.

The writer is an internationally awarded filmmaker, who has made a series of films on migration in India and Canada