Chapter I: The Boy Who Endured (1)

Part 1 of 4: Because long blog-posts are not my thing.

Ladies and gentlemen, this is the first in a series of four blog-posts which will cover the first two chapters of my debut novel "The Steadfast Tin Soldier?", published by Leadstart Publishing and releasing in July 2013. Once you reach the end, do let me know what you think in the comments section. And if you enjoy what you read or if you just want to do your good-deed for the day, don't forget to share the post!

Underlining the most important points in my essay, I glanced up at the clock only to realize that there were only two more minutes left to tick away. After the fiasco that was the Mathematics exam, I knew it couldn’t get worse. But this was better than what I had bargained for! CBSE’s English board exam was proving to be a stroll in the park. A blind cat could top this exam, I thought to myself.

Nevertheless, one must never be overconfident, and I rechecked some answers in the Literature section. Soon, the only loose string left to tie up was the one which would ensure that my answer booklet didn’t fall apart. So, with great composure, I did precisely that. Then I deposited my booklet in the invigilator’s arms and walked out in gladiatorial fashion.

This great big flourish was precisely the boost I needed before my last board exam, Science, which was the only thing which now stood between me and a wonderfully languid vacation. I walked out of the examination centre with my chest puffed out and my head held high. There was a spring in my stride, a smile on my lips and a song in the air. I laughed at stupid things all the way home and as soon as I stepped through the doorway, I threw my bag to one corner of the room and stripped myself off my shirt. Throwing it lazily into the washing machine, I proceeded to turn on my computer and play round after round of ‘Counter-Strike’- a much needed post-exam stress buster.

The next day, my preparations for the last exam of the summer commenced. Everything went as planned and I familiarized myself with all aspects of the sciences. If I wasn’t this modest, I’d say that I was bloody good at it. So, as expected, I was in high spirits on examination day.

Whistling a tune I know not from where, I pranced about the house slipping into my uniform. Mom stared at me as if I was a strange species from the Pacific depths and Dad gave me one of those looks which he normally reserves for the mentally unfortunate. None of this deterred me as I picked off my Idlis one after the other.

Checking my pockets for appropriate stationery – pen, pencil, eraser and all – I smiled a contented smile. A few more hours and I’d be free – as free as a frikkin’ bird!

I finished the routine check by opening the compartment of my bag where I normally kept the hall ticket. Not finding it there, I sedately walked up to my drawer and rummaged through its contents, careful not to hurt sheets of white which bore resemblance to the ticket. It wasn’t there either. Sensing a slight jolt in my diaphragm, I jogged to my bedroom and checked the study table. No hall ticket. Feeling faint, nauseated and numb, I collapsed on my bed. And then I ran around the house, tossing aside cushions and ransacking desks and tables. Still ‘no’… Bloody hell, I thought, this is the end.

I did what any normal fellow would do under such dire circumstances – I told my parents. And then I did what routine guys did, again – I regretted telling them. It was quite apparent that they couldn’t help me in any way whatsoever, apart from rummaging spaces I had already rummaged and running about flustered as I was myself. But the worst part: the questions – “WHERE DID YOU KEEP IT?” they asked, as though I had hidden it somewhere and had challenged them to a scavenger hunt.

My head was swimming the way unfortunate ants swim in your tea as I sat beside dad while he negotiated the Chennai roads. We said nothing to each other and I was choking on the silence. At every traffic signal, he’d look at his cell-phone one more time as if it would tell him something. My head was entirely blank. Even if I wrote the exam, I wondered if much good would come off it!

As I alighted from the car, I told dad that he needn’t join me on my way to the exam-hall. Nothing good can come off it, I thought. But parents seldom listen to logic, do they? So, ignoring my rationale, Dad got out of the car and walked me towards the open ground where we were supposed to gather. The closer we moved to the crowd, the more wary I became – I didn’t want dad having to explain how and why I lost my hall-ticket! So, begging him to stay where he was, I proceeded to attempt solving the problem myself.

He wished me luck as I walked away and told me to do well in the exam, even though I knew he was actually hoping that I get to write it in the first place!

The crowd was getting itself into order, in the form of sections and lines, as I approached them trying to look as unfazed as possible. “Breathe deeply,” I said to myself. I joined the assembly of students in the ground; friends waved and I waved back as if nothing was wrong. I decided to confront my teachers at the first opportunity possible and tell them the entire story.

Having said the prayer and sung the National Anthem- as was the routine before every exam -- I walked up to my Principal. I had an elaborate speech prepared, but watching my classmates disappear into the exam halls, all I could manage was – “Help.”

They made me relate the story to them, again and again – first to my principal, then to my teachers, then to the principal of the school where the examination was being held and then to some CBSE authority who couldn’t care less. Feeling like a convict whose story wasn’t being believed, I heard them discuss the various nuances of educational laws and ethics – the CBSE is apparently very thorough.

“How can we be sure he’s the boy he claims he is?” asked one elderly man.

“It’s not ethical to allow him write an exam like this… It will set a precedent,” said a rather fat lady with a mole on her nose.

More people joined the discussion, even as the preliminary bell rang, which meant the exam would commence in less than five minutes. And here I was, in the school ground, staring at a group of teachers who seemed to be in a team-huddle. All the time, I saw dad standing a fair distance away nibbling away at his nails.

A few long minutes (and what seemed like two-thirds majority) later, a teacher walked towards me and threw me a smile of pity. “It’s all right,” she said. “We will permit it this one time, if you promise not to do it again.”

“I promise,” I said, feeling rather foolish.

“What we’re doing today might well be against the law,” she said conspiratorially. “But anyway, we have decided to allow you this time. Off you go!”

I didn’t understand why someone would want to impersonate me during something as trivial as a board exam, but there’s no point pondering about these things. I waved at dad and ran like hell.

The exam was relatively easy; the most difficult question I faced was when I was asked my hall-ticket number. I managed to pull out the digits from the crevasses of my memory. Throughout the exam, I prayed the exam would never get over, as I didn’t want to face the firing squad once this was over. I didn’t want the holidays to begin. What an anticlimax, I thought.

Alas, the exam did end. And I was left to face the music. Dad blasted me for an hour-and-a-half and said that he hadn’t seen a lad as irresponsible as I in his entire life! Mom didn’t talk to me properly for a day; when she did, she blamed herself for bringing me up the way she did. If that wasn’t all, my grandparents forced me to go to the temple and wash away some evil-eyes. If my brother, Abhinav, was at home I’d have got a few mouthfuls from him as well.

I tried defending myself, of course: I told them that someone ought to have flicked it from my bag on my way home in a crowded bus. Unfortunately, since nothing else was missing- What kind thief opens your bag, flicks your hall-ticket and leaves everything else, they asked me.

And then it got worse, thanks to grandma. While folding my shirt, she discovered a rather fibrous lump in my pocket – one which broke even as she tried unrolling it. The fragments would have been dismissed as unimportant scrap had it not been for a portion of a very familiar seal which was still visible. And only then did it strike me.

I hoped no one else identified the seal, but alas, more evidence came into existence. A rather soiled passport-sized photograph of mine was discovered, and with it was signed my death warrant. Nothing can be more blasphemous than tossing your hall-ticket into the washing machine.

As the book is finally running its final lap on its own in the offices of my publisher in Bandra, I am unable to provide you the links to the book immediately. It shall be put up as soon as it is made available to me, as a late edit (in this space) and in subsequent posts. Stay tuned!

Coming Up Next!

The arduous climb - that is publishing of a novel - is nearing completion, and I'm afraid of heaving too great a sigh of relief, lest the hard-work done so far comes apart in unforeseen ways. But barring Acts of God or a complete collapse of human society, "The Steadfast Tin Soldier?" should be up for grabs very soon, both in bookstores and online.

It is with great delight that I tell you folks that I will soon be putting up a few chapters of my novel on this very blog. Do stick around and be among the first people to read the story of the steadfast tin soldier.

To stay updated, you can subscribe for updates from this blog (which, I assure you, will not spam) or like my Facebook page. Actually, you can do both!

Thanks a lot for your support folks. Hope you enjoy the novel as much as I enjoyed penning it. Cheers!

Collapse of an Arabic Dream

"We envision a great empire extending from Morocco in the west to Pakistan in the East, from Turkey in the North to Zanzibar in the South, encompassing of the Mediterranean, the Arab peninsula and even Persia among other lands. Together, we will form a power-block which will change the world," said an Arab friend a few months ago, sending chills down my spine.

With the saturation of American power, owing to their reluctance to intervene and over-commit their resources, and with the rise of the Chinese, the reinvention of the erstwhile caliphate, only more powerful than before, could well expedite World War III, I thought at the time. But it was clear what this idea, preached from the towers of several masjids, meant to many residents of the Arab states - safety, strength and power.

Too many times have the forces of from all over the world taken middle east Asia and Africa for granted owing to their relatively weak status on the international front. And so, it is true that a block comprising of so many nations might finally accomplish something the GCC is still failing at - having a voice. But what such a block might actually do is a complicated question with possibly dangerous answers.

It is, however, becoming increasingly difficult, day-after-day, to realize such an ambitious dream. The flight of fancy crashes and burns even before taking-off, even as the world looks on in awe and moderate amusement. Everyone turns towards the US of A and Europe with questions, suspecting that they have played a sneaky hand in the collapse of several nations in the region, but with no tangible proof available, answers are not a guarantee.

It is rather stunning how the political scenario has changed in this region over the last two decades, with almost every country undergoing incredible change in viewpoints, government and policy. And no change has really cemented relationships and gone too far in realizing the dream of a pan-Arab block.

Iraq

Everyone says that the US of A blundered as usual when they supplied the "defender of Arabia" with information, technology and weapons during his war with Iran, although they were only doing what they do best to protect themselves and their allies - to destabilize a rising enemy. They didn't gain much from the campaign, of course, which only helped create a far more dangerous enemy and reunite the Arab Peninsula with Iraq.

But what was a direct consequence of the campaign was an intensification of a then simmering hatred between the Shias and the Sunnis. This has, over the past decades, corrupted the fabric of society north of the Arabian peninsula. In fact, a few days ago, I was shocked to hear a devout muslim say, "I'm a Shia first, and then a Muslim!"

Egypt

Gamal Abdel Nassar was one of the first people to dream of such a great union of states. With the union of Syria and Egypt, the idea of Arab nationalism rose powerfully in the hearts of the Egyptians, rivaling the rampant rise of Zionism in Al Misr's northern neighbour. The pan-Arab dream faced a setback when Egypt was defeated by Israel in 1967. The Egyptians who saw themselves as culturally distinct and superior to their Arab brethren grew in number and in stature.

And it stayed this way until very recently. Hosni Mubarak positioned himself as a diplomat who was willing to converse with Israel and who was even welcoming to America. By embracing a rather secular approach, he distanced himself from Islamic fundamentalism, much to the dismay of several Arab states. Egypt couldn't have been any further from Nassar's dream when Tahrir Square happened. Egyptians wanted a country with more transparency, lesser corruption and more distanced from Israel.

Two years since then, the shape that the movement has taken has rendered it farcical. Mubarak keeps getting tried every now and again, with Egyptians wishing for his blood, but the man with declining health manages to live to die another day. Meanwhile, in Cairo, power has been handed to Mohammed Morsi who, in the opposition's words, is Egypt's new pharaoh - much like his predecessor. The post-Mubarak constitution hangs ineffectually in the air, warlords continue to thrive in upper Egypt and the country is far too busy in setting itself straight to even think about a pan-Arab goal.

Libya-Tunisia

It was in Tunisia where everything started. Bradley Manning, charged by the United states for aiding the enemy among other 'crimes', gave proof to the peoples' latent suspicions that Ben Ali was, in fact, corrupt. Ben Ali stepped down soon, bolstering the Arab spring, and fled to Saudi Arabia. For the first time in history, Islamic parties in Tunisia would not be illegal. But what has ensued is a period of perpetual confusion and turmoil.

In stark contrast to Tunisia which voted against a corrupt but liberal 'dictator', neighbouring Libya fought for the downfall of Islamist, pan-Africanist and pan-Arabist leader Muammar Gaddafi. While he fought the opposition, much like Bashar al-Assad, his forces eventually caved and he was killed in the most morbid manner. The only thing that seems to have come out of this revolution, however, is the public display of his corpse in a Libyan marketplace for one and all to see. And referendum, of course.

Arab Peninsula

The leaders of prosperous lands of oil were under threat, albeit temporarily, by the Arab Spring which panned across several nations in Asia and Africa. The repercussions are still being felt across nations in the region, as the sheikhs are aware about the mortality of their positions in society. 'Democracy' seemed to be the buzz-word in different parts of the Gulf; although what the people, who have never experienced it, understand from the term is questionable. 'Do they really need democracy?' people asked, citing examples of Qatar, United Arab Emirates, Kuwait and other prosperous Arab states.

The Arab Spring no longer exists. The revolution was nipped at the bud, but what about the idea? Does it still exist? Only time will tell.

Syria-Lebanon-Jordan-Palestine

The League of Nations, the British and the French will be in wonder as to how their policies of divisive politics still thrive in the region and continue to call the shots. The last time these states were together was during the Ottoman rule. But with the fall of the Turks, the Europeans seized their opportunity to irrevocably divide the people and confuse the region.

The only thing that holds these nations together is their culture and more significantly, their common hatred and fear of despotic Israel. The yearning for a greater Syria, which aims for the consolidation of these states and Iraq, is still alive in some believers. But that's what it will remain - a yearning.

Bashar Assad, with his reckless politics, has thrown Syria into an insane civil war which seems to have no end. If the rebels had won quickly, as in Libya, there might have been some justification for so many deaths, but now, it is a pointless war that rages on in Damascus, Aleppo, Homs and Qusair. By not losing the war, the Government thinks it is winning. And the rebels no longer know if they are fighting Bashar Assad or Shia Islam.

Iran further complicated the issue by supplying the government with more armaments, and the Lebanese  outfit, the Hezbollah, has joined a war which isn't its own. The Arab countries, vanguards of sunniism didn't want to be left behind as they promptly began supporting a motley collection of shooting men calling themselves the Free Syrian Army.

The Syrian war could well be the culmination of decades of festering hatred between Shias and Sunnis, and this is being proven by the fact that men from East Africa are being sent to fight the war against Bashar al-Assad!

And recently an Imam of an Arab state issued the following decree - "Women of our states must be sent to Syria to entertain and boost the morale of the dying soldiers."

Strangely enough, this was not decried as inhuman and obscene. Instead, men sent their daughters and even divorced their wives so that they could enter this newest holy war. It might be prudent to question who the bigger enemy is - Israel or the Syrian Government? Because as the war rages on, Israel is the only winner, crushing the hapless Palestines further, as the world laments gross human rights violations.

Iran

Iran, the perpetual on-the-brink-nuclear power, is a threat to itself more than it is to the world. The only reason I include them in the pan-Arab dream is because several Arabs still think that Iran can be bullied into accepting their ways. They have failed for many centuries and there is no reason they should succeed now.

It is strange how their differences range from petty squabbles (should it be called 'Persian Gulf' or 'Arabian Gulf') to major international disputes (Iran-Iraq War of Saddam Hussein). Persians are a proud people who will not give in to their western neighbours. This fact is being exploited by certain despotic leaders who say that 'suicide is a route to heaven'. But with the major chunk of fighting happening further west, in Iraq, Iran seems to have found other troubles in the region.

The narrow stretch of sea between Qatar and Iran has the largest reservoir of natural gas in the world; South Pars-North Dome holds 50 billion barrels of natural gas condensates and 51 trillion cubic metres of gas. Add to this the fact that Qatar aided and abetted Saddam in his war with the Persians.

Turkey

Taksim became Tahrir a few days ago, with people reeling with a sense of deja-vu. What started as a peaceful gathering of people who wanted to save a park in Istanbul rapidly accelerated into a pan-Turk movement, aiming for the ouster of Prime Minister Erdogan.

Incidentally, Erdogan is the first PM after a series of ministers who has leaned both ways - towards Europe and towards Arabia. Although a pro-Islamist, his secular and moderate government was being viewed as a template for several Arab states. His gradual integration with the Arab people was not being viewed favourably by some, but he could have gone a lot further had he not committed political suicide by attacking a peaceful gathering.

Although religious institutions were beginning to be viewed more favourably in an increasingly European Turkey, and even though symbols like the head-scarf were being brought back slowly and steadily, his latest move seems to be a setback to years of hard labour in Turkey's Islamic and Arab integration.

             In fact we are further away from the Arab dream today than we were in any period in the past few centuries. It will soon no longer be a dream, but a distant memory.