O M G

I am depressed this morning.

There are a number of reasons for this state, starting with having to use the  texting-generation's most favourite exclamation for the title of this post. I have nothing against that generation beyond noting that they are selfish, spoilt, looks-obsessed, ill-educated, badly brought up and financed instead of being raised by their parents.

The other main reason I am depressed this morning is that I have just been informed that my God is not good enough, doesn't cut it, doesn't pass muster, etc etc: In general he/she is a wimp not deserving of my - or for that matter anyone else's - devotion and respect. This despite my god being a vast multitude of  multi-limbed, multifaceted, characters capable of taking many forms and (usually) possessed of multiple consorts. I have much respect for anyone who can manage one spouse / companion / consort and I go into a state of abject surrender in front of anyone with two of these, not to speak of a multitude. Despite being possessed of this enviable ability, I have been left depressed by the intimation that my gods don't cut it.

I am reminded immediately of a book that my father handed me long ago while I was still in school. It was summer holiday and I had nothing much to do, having dismantled every electrically-driven object - no electronics those days, mind you - I was allowed to lay my hands on; these included battery operated train sets, cars, Mechano sets and generally anything with an electrical motor and /or battery in it. Needless to say I had less success putting them back together again and, when I did succeed, I was usually left with a few parts more than I started with. But such is the locus of developing genius. I had a feeling that I was going to be another Feynman although I hadn't yet heard of that gentleman which happened only much later, in college. Concerned by my boredom and by the mounting cost of things that needed immediate replacement - such as torches, bicycle dynamos etc - my father thought up this idea of getting me to read. Read with a capital R. Quite unlike today's parents giving their kids Harry Potter videos to watch.

The book was titled The God That Failed. It was subtitled "A Confession". The book featured essays by exotic sounding names like Louis Fischer, Arthur Koestler, Andre Gide (which I duly pronounced as "Guide", not knowing any French), et al. It was soon after the Russians had stolen a march over the West with the launch of  the Sputnik, the space-dog Laika and were threatening to obliterate the West with their ICBMs. I believe Krushchev used to call Nehru "Tavarisch" and give him a bear hug which somehow filled me with excitement. Much, much later when I saw Bob Hoskins play Krushchev in "Eenemy at the Gates" the excitement returned. Not only had they pulverized the Nazis, they also had managed  to get rid of  Stalin, and their rockets and missiles looked more menacing than the Western equivalents. Their Marshals (Zhukov et al) looked much much more resplendent in their uniforms festooned with medals and campaign ribbons, much more so so than the American Generals LeMay or Taylor or Admirals Zumwalt or Rickover. In short I was in thrall of the Soviets as any boy who liked things that went "boom" could possibly be.

Then Koestler, Gide, Fischer et al said that the Soviets God had failed. Actually I am deliberately getting the dates a little mixed up here - they said it a little before I was born, but I became aware of their saying it only 15 years later. After all I had to learn to read and learn to read English which, despite what my facility with the language might lead you to believe, I wasn't born with. A bit like quantum mechanical view of the world, a thing exists only when you observe it. So, to me, the Soviet God had failed only when I heard about it from these fine gentlemen, although their rockets were still doing well in the 'sixties. They too would fail, later, and I am unsure of the role of God in that. Or that of Ronnie Reagan despite his claims.

Not only did I have to read such books and newspapers and magazines handed to me by my father, but I also had to write precis of what those books said or essays on the headline news, like the "State of Congo" which my father would then get typed and critically read. So learning the names of the capitals of the world, the colonial powers and their colonies as well as the names of their liberators (who later turned their tormentors-in-chief) was de rigueur. Not surprisingly I used to hate summer holidays while in school. The upside was that I could show off amongst boys of my age, reeling off names of countries on every continent, their capital cities and their current leaders. The last named was a bit tricky especially when it concerned South American and South East Asian countries for by the time I learnt the names of one set of leaders they would have been overthrown in a "coup de etat". That was my first French word (apart from the name of Mr.Gide whom I called Guide) and sounded very sophisticated. I would say coup with a silent P unlike my peers who did not and somehow felt that that was a special skill.

The aforementioned venerable gentlemen had all embraced Communist ideals and Soviet Russia heartily in the early days of the latter and, after the Nazis were overthrown, had a change of heart. Not least because the Nazis had been eliminated - you see, Stalin's unspeakable cruelties on his own people, carefully concealed from everyone, was slowly beginning to leak to the wider world. To them, the Soviet Gods had failed notwithstanding their chest full of brass-ware.

Which brings us to brass ware in general and Hindu idols in particular.

We are on the lookout for a domestic help now and someone referred a woman who had time to spare and needed to earn some money. In the course of the chat - during which she interviewed my wife more than the other way round - we were informed that having converted to Christianity (to marry the object of her affections), she will not come to work on Sundays which the good Christian Lord had decreed to be the day of rest (the Hindu Lords, the whole host of them, have made no such stipulations perhaps knowing full well that for Indians every day is a day of rest, if they can get away with it). She appears to have embraced the Christian faith with a fervour only to be found among the neophytes and apostates.

Despite having grown up as a Hindu having only recently embraced Christianity, she also unequivocally confirmed that she is not much impressed by brass-ware especially when the latter purport to be idols of Hindu Gods and therefore will not look at them let alone touch, clean or polish them.

It seems my Gods have failed to impress which leaves me depressed.