The vicarious pleasure of being a one-man selection committee

Raju Korti
Selecting the best playing eleven is the most thankless job. Ask the cricket selection committee members, they will tell you they have more brickbats coming their way than bouquets. In a country where cricket is a logo for nationalism, the game becomes a strange mix of binding as well as divisive force. Just about everyone who believes he knows the game is an expert commentator and has his two cents to offer on the teams selected.

I suspect even players in the reckoning are disgruntled when they are left out of the playing eleven or for an overseas tour. Expediency keeps their mouth shut but occasionally, some do let their angst out like Mohinder Amarnath did when he called the selection committee as "bunch of jokers" after he was sidelined in 1989. Amarnath probably drew his guts following his reputation as the best player of fast bowling at his peak. That didn't change matters. Neither the selectors budged nor Amarnath had any regrets.

Since then on, selector bashing has become a norm. Farookh Engineer poked fun at the selectors calling them "Mickey Mouse Committee." In his righteous indignation, Yuvraj also called "their thinking  in terms of modern day cricket not up to the mark." The story in other playing nations is not much different. Remember Shoaib Akhtar who took a dig at the selectors saying "players in Pakistan are chosen on the basis of their connections." The relations between the players and the selection committee are forever on the tenterhooks, the prime example being the never-any-love-lost between West Indies cricket board and its players.  

If the role of the respective cricketing boards have come under constant scrutiny, a new fad has emerged in recent times where players and cricket lovers give their fantasy a fight to come out with their own All Time Eleven. It has, of course, academic interest but it nevertheless generates a fierce debate on the choices. Every now and then past greats come out with their best playing eleven of the world. Since they are subjective and based on their individual perceptions, they become contentious. The controversy makes a great cud to chew on.

Apparently made on "merit", the pitch is queered when the selections are neither subjective nor perceptive but made with patriotism in mind. Some time ago, Australia's Michael Clark's All Time Best Playing Eleven had as many as six Aussie players. Yesterday, the mercurial Shahid Afridi named five Pakistani players in his All Time Best. These have Gavaskar or a Tendulkar or a Viv Richards as apologies thrown in because it would be too much to have only one nation representing the world. If it has to be an Indian, you might find at least six to seven Indian players -- no prizes for guessing who and why. That goes for individual players as well. You just have to say that Virat is the best, and there will be people pouncing on you with the names of Babar Azam, Steve Smith, Joe Root or even Kane Williamson.  

I recall Khalid Ansari, the Editor of Sportsweek while taking a jibe at the national selectors told me "the selection committee is not happy until ten players are from (then) Bombay and the eleventh is Venkataraghavan. Regionalism, nationalism make short work of merit when you known state associations pitch for their own players in the side on the pretext of quota. Dissensions and bickering are to be expected when the team becomes a collection of assorted players who are in the team more because of the state they belong to than to the country.

One must give it to those who opt to become selectors for all the flak they get all the time. People engaged with the game studiously keep away from the hot seat to avoid criticism that is anyhow inevitable. Who wants to be at the receiving end of public criticism? Besides, keeping away from the hot seat gives them the licence to criticize at will. It is easy to make selections without being an official selector. So pick your players and announce them. They will question your judgement but you will be spared of the joker tag not discounting the vicarious pleasure of ruffling feathers for fun. 

By the way, I have been exercising my brains since yesterday over my World's Best All Time Eleven. It is likely that at the end of the names, I may have to write Jai Hind!      

Memories of an encounter with Javed Miandad

Raju Korti
Yesterday was Javed Miandad's birthday. There is, of course, little to write about the man as his exploits on and off the field are well documented to bear any repetition but the temptation to revisit this man, barely two months older than me, stirred some memories that stem from my meeting with him in 1983-84 when the Pakistanis had come to India. At the peak of his cricketing career, just a year earlier, he had made life miserable for the Indians in that epic 451 run partnership with Mudassar Nazar in Hyderabad (Sindh).

Into my fifth year as a professional journalist, I remember nursing an intense desire to become a sports writer then. Javed Miandad had been on my radar for reasons more than the one I just mentioned. Among them was the way he stood, chin drawn forward, to confront Denniss Lillee in what appeared to be a certain physical fight since both were abrasive cricketers. That did not happen as saner counsel prevailed, but it would have been interesting to see how Javed would have stood up to the stronger Lillee.

From the very day he stepped on to the crease first he had made it clear with his demeanor and body language that he was self-styled and would not be dictated by anybody including the captains he played under; with the possible exception of Imran. But I suspect, Imran, self-styled himself, was wary of Javed's ways. Javed was never the one to take anybody's instructions and if you look at the cold war between them post their retirement, the maverick cricketer must have really restrained himself from over-riding his World Cup winning captain.

My two meetings with him during the 1983-84 series vindicated my view that Javed made for an interesting case study as a person that so seamlessly merged in the cricketer within him. Vedam Jaishankar, who covered cricket for Indian Express during my time wrote a scathing piece in "firstpost" that "Imran the captain was a megalomaniac who ran Pakistan team as his fiefdom. He believed he could rewrite the rules to suit the moment. He had scant regard for tournament rules, opponents, television channels, or even his own cricketing Board. He was a law unto himself, at least where Pakistan cricket was concerned. While he cultivated an apparently aloof image for himself, he strategically let loose the perky and extremely obnoxious Javed (Miandad) to get under the opponents' skin and unsettle them." 

The only difference was Imran carried the charisma of his Oxford background -- for whatever its worth -- while Javed was crude. You could call him the tenth xerox of Imran Khan. In the face, annoying and ever ready to rub people the wrong way! However, like Imran, he reveled in holding Indians in disdain despite all the adulation both got in India. While the media and spectators viewed them as ace sportsmen, the two derived sadistic pleasure in running down Indians. Imran never made a secret of his  rabid hatred of the Indians but Javed, I believed, did it just to needle the opponents and spectators.  The Pakistani team had many heavyweights and almost every player acted like a parallel captain. Little wonder, many players revolted against Javed's aristocratic functioning that consequently catapulted Imran to the captaincy. Materially, it did not matter as the only difference between them was one appeared sophisticated and the other couldn't care less if he was being crass.    

Javed loved the attention he got in India because of his theatrics and he got away with most of them. I was not sure how he would respond to my questions given the dubious reputation he had made for himself, but the man, off field, was another revelation. As soon as he saw me, he had that customary smirk on his face which, if you thought otherwise, also looked partly like a genuine smile. I had been tipped off by a senior cricket writer that the Pakistanis loved to be addressed as "mia" or "bhai." He was thrilled to bits being called as Javedmia or Javedbhai.

To ease the stiffness of the first meeting, I began the conversation by saying I was born in the same year (1957) as he was with him being just two months older. That worked. He immediately put a friendly arm around me and replied with his characteristic bluster that "1957 had a history attached to it. I was born that year. You will become famous too." I laughed at that cosmetic observation because as of today, he still corners attention and controversies and me nowhere close to courting history of any kind.

Javed didn't have much to speak about Indian cricketers but he was certainly in the awe of Sunil Gavaskar whom he kept calling as Govaskar. His broken English and carelessly cobbled words did not in the least make him conscious. He made no bones that he loved rattling and unsettling rivals, the pick of whom were Indians. He recalled how "this guy Dilip Doshi was quiet and concentrated on his line and length but I upset him by my banter. It even tickled Govaskar."

"What is with you that you appeal for a leg before decision from extra covers or deep fine leg?" He burst out laughing. "You can never under-estimate the potential of a chorus appeal in high-tension matches, especially against India. Forget being on the ground, I wouldn't have hesitated to appeal for LBWs even I am in the players' dug out. The idea is to pull out all the stops. Everything is fair in cricket against India because it is no less a war. For most people, cricket is a sport but for me, its a bigger deal. I am on the field for a mission. As far as I am concerned, cricket is a war and I am at war when playing." He later put this in black and white in his autobiography "Cutting Edge My Autobiography" where he describes his encounters against India in a chapter 'Wars Against India.'

Discretion never on his mind, Javed wasn't bothered if he did not make sense. Obviously, he lacked -- and still lacks --the polish that comes from education. His comments on Kashmir, on a different trajectory, vis a vis PM Imran shows he continues to be prone to needless bluster. My interaction revealed the street fighter that he was and his chirpy behaviour showed he not only fought with the bat, he wouldn't blink before throwing his verbal volleys.

I am least surprised he has married his son off to India's most wanted fugitive Dawood Ibrahim's daughter. Knowing him you can perfectly believe that the one thought in his head in forging this alliance was to cock a snook at the Indians. It is so patently Javedian. And to think of it, Dawood was very much in Mumbai moving into the bigger netherworld of crime when Javed played against India at the Wankhede stadium. Dawood fled to Dubai in 1986, the same year Javed broke Indian hearts with that last ball six off Chetan Sharma. May be their alliance was destined.

Accept you are not accepted. Life becomes easier, but does it?

Raju Korti
If my memory serves me right, I read Ayn Rand's much celebrated "The Fountainhead" and "Atlas Shrugged" sometime in 1979 when I had little understanding of Objectivism, Egotism, Self Respect and Self Esteem as philosophical concepts. I could understand precious little from the bulky intellect that both the books had to offer beyond the lofty and pompous speech of Howard Roark, the brilliant young architect painted in "The Fountainhead." I suspect, it was more out of the literary flourish than the philosophy that it sought to illustrate with painstaking emphasis.

One particular extract of Roark's magnificent courtroom speech caught my imagination: "Nothing is given to man on earth. Everything he needs has to be produced. And here man faces his basic alternative: he can survive in only one of two ways -- by the independent work of his own or as a parasite fed by the minds of others."   

Rand's theories became clearer from her profile, the pivotal point of which was she was witness to the tumultuous Bolshevik revolution of the 1917 when its leader Vladimir Lenin launched a near bloodless coup d'etat against the ineffectual Dumas government. The author emigrated to the United States hating the Soviet system despite having had a grinding in Marxism-Leninism.

Rand's ideas and the way she buttresses her philosophies make her a cult figure with many non-academics but the academics do not seem very impressed. Occasionally, she did elaborate on her views in response to the readers but she hardly took the time to defend them against possible objections or to reconcile them with the views that she so fiercely expressed in her novels.

In due course, her profound discernment notwithstanding,I found her philosophical essays wanting in the self-critical, detailed style of analytic philosophy, or any serious attempt to consider possible objections to her views. My view was strengthened by her polemical style, contemptuous tone, dogmatism and cult-like behaviour of her fans. Her concept of Objectivism holds that there is no greater moral goal than achieving one's happiness, something that she postulates in "The Virtue of Selfishness" through moral integrity and the respect for the right of others.

I have little to say about her advocacy of laissez-fare Capitalism but her view point that subtly distinguishes Egoism and Egotism often diverted me to ideas about Self-worth and Self-esteem. Self-worth is how one perceives through other people's eyes while Self-esteem is how confident and worthy one feels about himself/herself. It also has a tangential reference to Acceptance that is big deal with majority people in their mundane existence.

One's self-esteem is crushed when one is around people that do not recognize one's worth. Long years of low self-worth makes one feel like a loser who doesn't deserve good things in life and working hard at developing worth and esteem is often defeated by Ego. One has to build up the right matrix to build and nurture all three. Acceptance is the third unknown in this differential equation.

As a Facebook friend Sharika Kaul puts it succinctly: You will never be good enough for some people even if you are more loving, more talented, more knowledgeable, more courageous, more this or that. You will never get that open acceptance or acknowledgement of your worth. And when that realization dawns on you, you must begin to delink emotionally from that relationship -- personal or professional. The lack of acceptance must not be allowed to define your self-worth because somewhere you will find that you will be accepted for exactly who you are and you will be celebrated too. Till then, you must continue to push through and continue your path of self-discovery. And even if you find there is no one who toots your horn or claps for you, you must do that for yourself brazenly and without fear." 

For too long, I have believed that it is finally your life, your self-worth, your self-respect and your ego. If that is so why should acceptance gain so much importance for an individual? The answer is acceptance is as brittle a human characteristic as the others I have tried to understand in my limited understanding.

You celebrate them, lament them and hanker after them. Its human frailty. The buck stops there. If Howard Roark were to come out of the book from his larger-than-life character, he would have been me and you.  

चक्रीवादळांच्या निमित्ताने हवामान भौतिकशास्त्र

राजू कोरती

मागील वर्षी आलेली एका पाठोपाठ दोन उष्णकटिबंधीय चक्रीवादळे अम्फान व निसर्ग आणि इतक्यातच येऊन गेलेल्या ताउक्ते व येऊ घातलेल्या यासच्या निमित्ताने काही आठवणी उजागर झाल्या. शाळेत भौतिकशास्त्र हा माझा लाडका विषय होता पण त्याचा संबंध हवामानाशी असू शकतो असे खिजगणतीत सुद्धा नव्हते.

पुढे वर्तमानपत्रात काम करताना हवामान विषयिक बऱ्याच बातम्या व लेख लिहिण्याचे प्रसंग आले. त्याचे विश्लेषण करताना जाणवले की हे विज्ञान भौतिकशास्त्राचाच अविभाज्य अंग आहे. त्या कुतूहलात भर पाड़ली ते माझ्या हाती अकस्मात् पडलेल्या Climate Physics ह्या पुस्तकाने.

जवळ जवळ ६०० पानी असलेल्या ह्या पुस्तकाने बऱ्याच मूलभूत व  एकमेकांशी संलग्न असलेल्या गोष्टींचा उलगडा झाला. हे विज्ञान हवेचे तापमान, वातावरणातील दाब, वाऱ्याची गती व दिशा यांच्या परस्परसंबंधातून निर्माण होणारी वादळे, ढग,पाऊस , विजांचा कडकडाट आदी घटनांची कालमानानुसार बदलणाऱ्या वागणुकीचा अभ्यासच नव्हे तर त्याही पलीकडचे आहे. माझ्या मते त्यावरील संशोधनास केवळ meteorology म्हणण्यापेक्षा हवामान भौतिकशास्त्र म्हणून संबोधणे जास्त संयुक्तिक ठरेल.

माझ्या मताला एक शास्त्रीय आणि तार्किक मीमांसा आहे. हवामानशास्त्र हा "उल्का" चा अभ्यास नाही. त्याचा अभ्यास आहे metéōros, "हवेतील गोष्टींसाठी" ग्रीक या "गोष्टी" मध्ये वातावरणास बंधनकारक घटनांचा समावेश आहे: तापमान, हवेचा दाब, पाण्याची वाफ, तसेच ते सर्व कसे संवाद साधतात आणि कालांतराने बदलतात - ज्याला आपण एकत्रितपणे "हवामान" म्हणतो. हवामानशास्त्र केवळ वातावरण कसे वागते याकडेच पाहत नाही तर ते वातावरणातील रसायनशास्त्र (त्यातील वायू आणि कण), वातावरणाचे भौतिकशास्त्र (त्याची द्रव गती आणि त्यावर कार्य करणारी शक्ती) आणि हवामानाचा अंदाज देखील पाहात असते. 

चक्रीवादळे निसर्ग धर्माला अनुसरून असली तरीही गेल्या ५० वर्षात त्यांच्या संख्येत झपाट्याने वाढ झाली आहे. देशातील काही किनारी भाग जसे गुजरात, आंध्र प्रदेश, ओडिशा व तमिल नाडु यांना त्याचा सतत फटका बसत आलाय. त्याला कारणीभूत मुख्यतः मनुष्याने केलेली निसर्गाची केलेली परवड. त्या आधी निसर्ग हा बऱ्यापैकी शिस्तशीर होता. सगळी मोसम वेळेत जात व येत. हल्ली निसर्गाला कसला ही घरबंध नाही. असो. चक्रीवादळे ही निसर्गाने मनुष्याला केलेली व्याजासकटची परतफेड आहे. चक्रीवादळे नेमकी कशी तयार होतात, त्यांना नावे कशी मिळतात, भारताच्या पूर्व किनाऱ्यावरच सर्वाधिक चक्रीवादळे का निर्माण होतात, याचा वेध… 

समुद्रात एका कमी दाबाच्या प्रदेशाभोवती चोहोबाजूंनी येणाऱ्या वाऱ्यांमुळे वादळ तयार होते. वातावरणातील उष्ण व आर्द्र हवेचा सततचा पुरवठा हे चक्रीवादळाच्या निर्मितीचे प्रमुख कारण आहे. समुद्राचे तापमान हा चक्रीवादळाच्या निर्मितीचा मोठा घटक ठरतो. समुद्रात २६ डिग्री अंश सेल्सि अंश तापमान ६० मीटर खोलीपर्यंत असणे, हे त्यासाठी पोषक ठरते. चक्रीवादळात वाऱ्यांचा वेग त्याने केलेल्या विध्वंसाचे मुख्य कारण ठरते. या वाऱ्यांमध्ये असलेल्या बाष्पाच्या प्रमाणामुळे चक्रीवादळ जेथून प्रवास करते तेथे मुसळधार ते अतिमुसळधार पाऊस पडतो. त्यामुळे पूरही येऊ शकतो.

भारताच्या दोन्ही बाजूंनी समुद्र असूनही सर्वाधिक वादळे बंगालच्या उपसागरातूनच जन्माला येतात. याचे कारण लपले आहे दोन्ही समुद्रांच्या तापमानात. बंगालच्या उपसागराचे तापमान मान्सून आधी आणि मान्सूननंतर अरबी समुद्राच्या तुलनेत उबदार असते. त्यामुळे पावसाआधी किंवा नंतर खास करून ऑक्टोबर महिन्यात बंगालच्या उपसागरात चक्रीवादळे तयार होण्यासाठी पोषक वातावरण तयार होते. त्यातही वैशष्ट्यिपूर्ण बाब म्हणजे भौगोलकि रचना. बंगालच्या उपसागरातून येणाऱ्या वाऱ्याला पूर्व भारताजवळ तिन्ही बाजूंनी जमीन असल्याने वाऱ्यांना कमी जागा मिळते. त्यामुळेच ते अधिक विध्वंसक बनवतात. याच्या उलट अरबी समुद्रात येणाऱ्या चक्रीवादळाला आजूबाजूला केवळ समुद्र असल्याने ते लवकर विरते. बंगालच्या उपसागरात तयार होणारे चक्रीवादळ आणि अरबी समुद्रात तयार होणारे चक्रीवादळ यांतील गुणोत्तर ४ : १ आहे. 

हवामान संबंधातील बातम्या व लेख लिहिताना हे प्रकर्षाने जाणवले असे की त्या अनुषंगाने येणारे शास्त्रीय शब्द व त्यांच्या व्याकरणात्मक घटक तयार करणारे एक किंवा अधिक शब्दांची अभिव्यक्तीचे आकलन अतिशय आवश्यक आहे. जास्त खोलात न शिरता ही त्यातील भौतिकशास्त्राचा गाभा स्पष्ट होत होता.

हे सगळे सांगण्या मागचा खटाटोप एवढ्या साठीच की ह्या शास्त्राला आता Meteorology च्या ऐवजी Climate Physics म्हणणे योग्य ठरेल. शिवाय त्या शास्त्राला एक वजन प्राप्त होईल। लिहिण्यासारखे खरे तर अजुन बरेच काही आहे पण हा विषय सर्वव्यापी व परिपूर्ण असल्याने त्या संबंधी विस्तारित आणि प्रासंगिक चर्चा पुन्हा कधीतरी.

Baba Ramdev and his "withdrawal" symptoms

Raju Korti
I find people who go back on their words interesting examples in case studies. In my four thankless decades career in Media, I have seen people spout gibberish out of complacency, misplaced audacity and in the hope they will get away in their considered superiority or power. For some of them, retraction makes bigger news than what was said with full understanding.

That's where the problem is!

It is not my case here to discuss the semantics of "retracting a statement, withdrawing a statement or refuting/rebutting a statement". What does it mean, anyway, to "retract" what you've said? How can anyone state categorically that a thought once spoken with perceived conviction is no longer valid? Somewhere ages back, I remember Milan Kundera saying in the "The Unbearable Lightness of Being" that a thought can be refuted but not retracted. And here, it is not even a thought. It has crossed the mind barrier to be told to all and sundry.

I am alluding to Yoga Guru Ramdev who recently on television poked fun at Allopathy, terming it as "a stupid aur diwaliya science" claiming "lakhs of people have died taking allopathic medicines." He also rubbed the Drug Controller General the wrong way by declaring Remdesivir and Faviflu as complete failures. I am not sure whether this bluster was the result of his (flopped) medicine that claimed to cure Covid, but the man hiding behind his smirk and cagey eyes has been brought to his senses -- if it really has -- by the red flag shown at him by Health Minister Dr Harsh Vardhan. Harsh Vardhan, himself an allopathic doctor, lost no time in asking him to take back his unintelligent statement that offended doctors who are treating Covid patients 24x7. 

A chastened Ramdev now realizes in his infinite spiritual wisdom that "he respects all forms of sciences." How does one suddenly respect something that one so contemptuously and crudely dismissed barely a day ago? But then there are legion who will take his contrived apology in stride and move on. You can rest assured that Ramdev's conviction which drops from his beard to his marbles, is none the wiser. A brain mapping test (!) will show that he carries the same thought that he so pompously claims to have "withdrawn." 

He is, of course, one of the leading lights of this "retract and withdraw" brigade. Remember our very polite, genteel Ajit Pawar who stopped short of unzipping himself while making that coarse "dharnaat paani naahi tar mutayche kay?" The list is long. Politicians are known to gauge public reaction and mood with such beaten-to-pulp tricks. But Ramdev, who is now more of an entrepreneur and less of a Yoga exponent, has a considerable following and from what I hear, his products are not doing too badly.

Since he claims, among other things, to cure homosexuality "a bad addiction" through Yoga, he could also find a medicine for his own indiscretion in the spirit of physician heal thyself. 

A day spent with Sunderlal Bahuguna

Raju Korti
The ultimate test of man's conscience may be his willingness to sacrifice something today for future generations whose words of thanks will not be heard. Very few people I have been occasioned to meet have stood true to this dictum as Sunderlal Bahuguna has. He was to trees what oxygen is to the humans. I consider it a milepost to have spent one full day in his company way back in 1981 when his hands were full; passionately defending the natives of Himalayas, working for temperance and the country's rivers that were beginning to become a bone of contention between the riparian states.

Then, enlightened that Green was a word that described a committed environmentalist, my knowledge about environmental sciences didn't travel much beyond the elementary fundamentals learnt in school. One chance meeting with Bahuguna changed all that. As one inspired by Gandhi, he trekked through the rugged terrains of Himalayan forests and hills covering almost 5000 kms and had a first-hand account of the damage caused by mega development projects on the fragile ecosystem of the intimidating and awe-inspiring mountain range and the subsequent degradation of social life in its rural hinterland.

Dressed in white pyjamas, white kurta with a bandana that looked partly soiled and his hair unkempt, I looked bemused at the tall, lanky man -- two front buttons open -- who I had seen moving partly bare even during the chilliest of climes of Garhwal. All of that actually didn't matter because what floored me was the benign smile on his jovial face. Before I could say anything, he gestured me to sit and proceeded to rustle up quite simply the best rustic salad I have ever been treated to. I watched as he poured soaked moong dal, finely chopped cucumber, tomatoes and squeezed a lemon with a pinch of salt and pepper. Giving it a quick, practiced mix, he offered the bowl to me. The taste still tickles my palate after 40 years.

Having pioneered the sui generis Chipko Movement that appealed to people to hug trees to save them from devastation, Bahuguna was at that time in the thick of mobilizing public opinion on Tehri dam protests that he championed for decades. As I wondered how he could undertake long fasts given his lean frame, Bahuguna explained to me the time-tested Gandhian means of holding satyagrahas and hunger strikes on the ecological impacts on the dam. Never once did he mention how first Prime Minister Narasimha Rao and then Deve Gowda dilly dallied on the issue and the protracted legal battle in the Supreme Court where the case was heard. Bahuguna took that loss in his stride with the same smile that had me drawn to him.

The Chipko Movement had started in early 1974  when trees were being indiscriminately cut by unscrupulous forest contractors in Uttar Pradesh but beyond this obvious environmental conservationist activism what stood out was his accompanying slogan 'Ecology is permanent economy.' It caught the attention of then Prime Minister Indira Gandhi who was so impressed with his advocacy that she imposed a ban on cutting green trees for 15 years. I could see this was just a Pyrrhic victory for his battered soul as the ban remained mostly in breach than practice. But then he was never the one to keep grudges. His protests were as simple and unassuming as his own self.

Speaking in measured words and tone, he demystified almost every environmental issue under the Sun - dams and their seismic hazards, depleting ozone layers. Greenhouse gases, climate change et al, all the stats at his tongue tip. "There is a simple way to know if the ecological conditions around you are good. If you can hear the croak of a frog in the monsoon and sparrows chirping around you, it means the ecology is hale and hearty. Birds are the indicators of Environment. If they are in trouble, we will be in trouble sooner." His spiel was laced with examples and figures and it was astounding that an individual could be a repository of such wealth of knowledge. It belied his peasant-like appearance     

In his free-flowing style, he explained how intricately human lives were intertwined with forests, rivers and the wilderness. "As a peaceful activist, my sights weren't riveted on ecological issues alone. I could see the menace of alcoholism in the hills and how imperative it was to empower the Dalits, especially women, who were denied entry in Tehri district's temples." 

His convictions were reasoned with a mix of impeccable English, Garhwali phrases and grassroots wisdom. I believe he was perhaps the only activist who was gentle, quietly persuasive and yet strongly rooted in his beliefs. The occasional anger was quickly left behind and replaced by his infectious smile. The country's homegrown environmentalist stood in stark contrast to the post-industrial activists of the genre that abound in the West. To be able to trigger concern for environment across urban India with such tireless application is unheard of in my experience. 

It is an irony of sorts that this Man of Earth is lost to us for the very reason he was so vocal about. As he told me that day with that child-like smile: "The Earth does not belong to us. We belong to the Earth."

पुस्तके लिहिण्याचा हव्यास

राजू कोरती

साधारण पाचवी सहावीत असेंन। ओठांवर अजून मिसरूड पण फुटले नव्हते. शाळेत जायचे, खेळायचे व अभ्यास करण्यापलिकडचे जग ठाऊक नव्हते. आज जवळजवळ पन्नास पेक्षा जास्त वर्षानंतर त्या प्रसंगाची आठवण आली की त्यामागे काही दैवी संकेत असावा असे वाटते. 

आमच्या शाळेचे मुख्याध्यापक भारद्धाज सर अतिशय शिस्तप्रिय आणि कड़क.कधी ही कोणावर हात उगारला नाही की कोणावर आगपाखड़ केली नाही पण त्यांच्या नजरेत प्रचंड धाक आणि जरब होती. अर्थात तो काळच वेगळा होता. आज कालचे विद्यार्थी शिक्षकांना जसे लाडिकपणे "हाय सर" वगैरे करतात तसले काही नव्हते। शिक्षकांच्या डोळ्याला डोळे भिड़वणे तर सोडाच, मान वर करून बघायची सुद्धा बिशाद नव्हती.
 
इंग्रजी, हिंदी व मराठी भाषा तितक्याच अस्खलितपणे बोलणाऱ्या पण मातृभाषा तमिळ असलेल्या भारद्धाज सरांची एक विशिष्ट सवय होती. दिवसातून एकदा तरी ते कोणत्याही वर्गात जात व  कोणाला ही  एखादा प्रश्न विचारित. हे प्रश्न अभ्यासक्रमातील नसून सामान्य विषया वरील असत. आता मागे वळून बघताना जाणवते की ह्या मागे त्यांचे बहुधा दोन हेतू असावेत. मस्ती करणाऱ्या विद्यार्थ्यावर वचक आणि त्यांच्या मानसिक तयारीची तपासणी.

त्या दिवशी ते आमच्या वर्गात अचानक आले आणि वर्गात नेहमी प्रमाणेच चिडीचूप  झाली. त्यांनी मागील बाकावर बसलेल्या विद्यार्थ्याला खुणेनेच उभे केले आणि विचारले "What is your staple diet?" अजिबात न डगमगता त्याने सांगितले "Sir my staple diet is roti, sabzi, dal and rice." मान हलवित त्यांनी उत्तराची पोच दिली आणि त्यांची भिरभिरणारी नजर माझ्यावर स्थिरावली. माझा भेदरलेला चेहरा बघून त्यांनी           

 स्वभावानुसार पुढचा प्रश्न मलाच विचारला. " भविष्यात काय करायचा विचार आहे?" त्या प्रश्नाने मी पुरता बावचळलो. पण का की माझ्या तोंडातून उत्तर आपसुकच बाहेर पडले. "मला खुप पुस्तके लिहायची आहेत." त्यांच्या विस्फारलेल्या डोळ्यात मला कुतूहल दिसले. बहुधा त्यांची अपेक्षा मी इंजीनियर डॉक्टर होइन अशा काहीशा उत्तराची होती. ते बोलले काहीच नाहीत व तसेच मान हलवीत बाहेर पडले. आपण काही तरी  आगाउपणा केला आहे ह्या विचाराने मी मात्र धास्तावलो होतो. पुढे पाच वर्षानंतर शाळा सोडताना मी जेंव्हा त्यांना वाकून नमस्कार केला तेव्हाचे ते वाक्य आजही कानात घोंगावते: "I hope you will be true to your words. Let me see how many books you write."

आज मी तीन पुस्तके लिहिली आहेत आणि चौथे आणि पाचवे प्रकाशित होण्याच्या मार्गावर आहेत पण लॉकडाउन मध्ये रखडली आहेत. शाळेतून बाहेर पडून Engineering , Science , Law, Journalism, MBA आणि Management Sciences सारखे भिन्न अभ्यासक्रम करीत असतानाही भारद्धाज सरांचे ते वाक्य बरेचदा कानात घूमत असायचे. पुढे नियती ने मला पत्रकारितेकड़े खेचले व माझा नवशिक्या लेखकाचे रूपांतर व्यावसायिक लेखकात झाले.

मला आठवते घरात लहानपणा पासून सगळ्यांना संगीताची आवड होती. विशेषतः जुन्या चित्रपटातील रफी साहेबांची गाणी विलक्षण आवडायची. त्यांच्या दैवी आणि स्वर्गीय आवाजाच्या जादुवर फ़िदा असलेली आम्ही मित्रमंडळी तासनतास त्यांनींगायलेल्या गीतांवर काथ्याकूट करत असायचो. आमचे आक्खे विश्व रफीमय झाले होते. त्यांच्या आवाजाचा बाज, त्यांच्या आवाजातील त्या अदभूत हरकती, तार सप्तकात लीलया पोचण्याची मजल अशा एक ना अनेक गोष्टींवर बोलताना आम्ही थकत नसू.

माझे रफी प्रेम आणि लेखनाची आवड बघता मला बरेचदा माझे मित्र व सहकारी मला त्यांचे आत्मचरित्र लिहायला गळ घालीत पण मी ते प्रत्येक वेळेस चेष्टेवारी नेत असे. रफ़ी साहेबांच्या अमर्याद आणि आभाळा एवढ्या कर्तृत्वाला गवसणी घालण्याचे धाडस करण्याचा प्रश्नच नव्हता. पण २०१४ च्या सुमारास माझी धीरेंद्र जैन ह्या film journalist ची ओळख झाली आणि त्याने मला मदतीचे आश्वासन देऊन माझ्या मनाची तयारी केली. हृदयविकाराने ग्रस्त अवस्थेत मी ते ४०० पानी पुस्तक दोन महिन्यात लिहून काढले. माझे डॉक्टर मित्र सुहास देशपांडे यांची मोलाची मदत झाली व पुढे त्या पुस्तकाचे विमोचन सुप्रसिद्ध संगीतकार खय्याम ह्यांच्या हस्ते झाले.

 

८०० रुपये किम्मत असलेल्या ह्या पुस्तकांच्या सर्व प्रति हातोहात खपल्या आणि bestseller च्या मालिकेत जाऊन बसले. देशात आणि London Book Fair मध्ये पुस्तकाला पंचतारांकित rating मिळून त्याला Best Biography category madhye साहित्य अकादमी पुरस्कारासाठी सुद्धा नामांकन मिळाले. अर्थात ह्याचे श्रेय मला नसुन माझे मित्र, परिवारातील सदस्य, सगळ्या हितचिंतकाना आणि रफ़ी साहेबांना जाते. मी केवळ निमित्तमात्र.

हे सगळे सांगण्या मागचे प्रयोजन हे की मागील वर्षी हे पुस्तक Amazon वर ८५०० रुपयांना विकले  गेले आणि आज पाहिले की त्याची नविन आवृत्ति २९९० रुपयांना विकली  जात आहे. Mohammed Rafi, God's Own Voice चे हिन्दी अनुवादित मोहम्मद रफ़ी, स्वयं ईश्वर की आवाज़ ला पण उत्तम प्रतिसाद मिळतोय.

 
हा ब्लॉग लिहिण्या मागचा उद्देश स्वतःची पाठ थोपटून घेणे नसुन इतर दोन कारणे आहेत. हे पुस्तक माझ्याकडून खरे तर रफ़ी साहेबांनी लिहून घेतले. त्याचे श्रेय त्यांनीच  दिलेल्या प्रेरणेला जाते.  दूसरे असे की भारद्धाज सरांना दिलेल्या --  वेळ निभाउन नेणारे का असेना -- उत्तराची पूर्णता करू शकलो.

दुर्दैवाने आज रफ़ी साहेब आणि भारद्धाज सर दोघेही हयात नाहीत.