tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-43183143568797435832024-02-19T05:43:49.039-08:00RANDOM VIBESleohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16646094477296614362noreply@blogger.comBlogger41125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4318314356879743583.post-14133143474478861632020-10-27T08:35:00.004-07:002020-10-27T08:35:43.476-07:00Bone soup<p style="text-align: justify;"> Back in Hyderabad my friends and I would gather around the wizened old chef of a small eatery during Ramzan. The eatery was one among the many which would spring up in every nook and corner of this old city during the fasting season. As the faithful would gather around for their bowls of <em>haleem</em> to break the day's fast we would join in for our share. At times it would drizzle and we would stand in the gentle rain and watch the old man stirring the contents of his big pan over the low flame. The meat along with bones would be pounded into a mush over the flame. Spices would be thrown in to give an aroma that still has me salivating as I think about it. It was a food for the gods and as I squeezed the lemon over the warm mush I remember thinking that the best things in this world are pretty simple. I doubt they have gotten any Michelin rating, if ever an online rating; these eateries often didn't have a place to sit either, but hands-down <em>haleem</em> from Hyderabad's outdoor eateries is among the top 10 things I have had the good fortune to eat in my life. It was a ritual to stand in queue and have my bowlful everyday as long as the fasting season lasted.</p><!-- wp:paragraph {"align":"justify"} -->
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<p class="has-text-align-justify" style="text-align: justify;">The secret to a good <em>haleem</em> is the slow pounding of the meat and bones over the flame. That is what breaks even the bones into a mush. I doubt our company-bus driver Bholu has had <em>haleem</em> but he does excel in pounding bones without a flame and a big pan. He has a wiry frame that could get wind-blown by the looks of it; so it is not to his physical prowess that I am referring to. He has a ready scowl and a wizened face that spoke of harder times. Bholu's USP however lay in making sure that the 30 or so damned souls delivered in his hands received the pounding of their lives as they made the harrowing 20 odd kms to the company each day. If the chef at Hyderabad used a ladle and pounder, Bholu's tools for work were the accelerator pedal and the bus. A word or two about the bus. This box of torture was a moving nightmare and with Bholu's excellent worksmanship it would render Adam's family's exploits a joke. The bus had more seats than it should with the result that its inmates, moi included would sit with our knees crushing against the seat ahead or into our chest as the case might be. I am among the shorter ones and I know a friend who tops out at 6-foot-something. This gentleman has the rare honor of sitting in positions which wouldn't be out of place for a lady getting a gynaecologist's examination. Our bus was one of the few which ran at full capacity and on some odd days a fellow could find himself sitting on the engine cover with nothing to hold onto and an ever warming bottom. That unlucky chap got a taste of the devil's heating of sinners in hot oil. It was not very surprising that them fellows were never to be seen again on the bus. One wonders if they ever got to feel their bottoms again what with the heat and the vibrations from the engine cover.</p>
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<p class="has-text-align-justify" style="text-align: justify;">As though part of a diabolical scheme to put salt into our wounds ; the PWD in Pune too helps Bholu play his role to perfection. I have often felt that in Pune I have travelled more vertically than horizontally. I am quite sure the number of speed-breakers on Pune's roads will set a record per km of road laid if counted. I have heard that it is one of the offerings of the local politicians here to erect a speed-breaker infront of any apartment building that got them votes. It was Zulfikar Ali Bhutto who allegedly screamed "roti, kapda aur makan" in an election slogan. In Pune the list has speed-breakers added for good measure. I know of a road which has over 15 speed-breakers in barely a 2km stretch. Our route probably has about 20 or so of them, maybe more. And it is in this torture track that Bholu ploughs his horror bus through every morning. </p>
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<p class="has-text-align-justify" style="text-align: justify;">I have watched Bholu from close quarters and it is a lesson in absentmindedness. He forgets the second gear once he shifts up and for all he cares the first two gears are a luxury he badly wants to do without. So come a speed breaker he would brake ever so slightly, make sure that front wheels pass over okay and step on the pedals without shifting into second. I have often felt that the dragon-boat is the scariest ride in a fair. Yes, I know they have roller-coasters. But anyone who has been to local fairs would vouch for the fact that the dragon-boat which basically swings everyone in a pendulum motion, is the scariest ride of them all. There is absolutely no protection and you grab the solitary bar infront of you for good life. In those few seconds of horror I became aware of Mr. Manoj droning on in physics class that centrifugal force will save your neck, but nothing beats the blood rush as your trust in science is put to a baptism of fire. Well, the very same blood rush and a heavy feeling as though your innards were being pulled downwards, is what the occupants of the rear seats of the bus got before being thrown a few feet into the air. No sooner would they have gotten used to this joy of zero gravity, that gravity would suddenly pull them down, only to find that the bus had come crashing down a few milliseconds earlier and was bouncing back up. The result is a bone crunching crash back onto the barely padded seat with shockwaves passing up the spine. Every nut, bolt and steel member of the bus would tremble but the crash would be lost in the overwhelming sound of the engine. And up ahead Bholu would push on singing a Madhubala number. But it isn't entirely Bholu's fault. We have had the 'fortune' of being allocated one of the worst pieces of machinery which roams Indian roads. The suspension is non existent, the engine is in its last days of life and the transmission is more of a vibration shaker machine than a transmission. Add to this extra seats and virtually no padding and you get the picture that Bholu can do little about it.</p>
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<p class="has-text-align-justify" style="text-align: justify;">This is a daily occurence with the sequence being repeated every 300m or so thanks to Bholu and the PWD. There is a nasty patch somewhere midway which has been christened the "Kelkar lift". Bholu was in a particularly jolly mood and Mr. Kelkar all in his late fifties and approaching super annuation was in a slumber in one of the rear seats. I was in the next seat and I could hear him snoring. That was when Bholu chose to 'fly' the bus over the speed-breaker. The whole bus heard a "<em>jai mata di!!</em>" escape his lips as he flew up and a deep groan as he settled into the crash. His eyes were wide open like a pair of set-dosas and he clutched his back in pain. But he wasn't given a chance to mourn as the bus ran into a quick second bump and everyone got launched into the air yet again. This time as he landed whatever got undone in the first crash got jolted back in place, or the soon to be sexagenarian actually lost all sense of feeling for he looked numb and dazed. No one knew what to do but the moment passed as the gentleman looked to have surpassed the feat, and seemed to be moving onto his forthcoming years. </p>
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<p class="has-text-align-justify" style="text-align: justify;">As we keep getting pounded into mush or a bone-soup as I would call it, there have been some changes. The old bus has been replaced with one with the correct number of seats and a suspension which is on its way to retirement. But the roads are the same and Bholu is - well Bholu. He does takes care on speed-breakers these days but old habits die hard. It is with a trepid heart then that I foresee a future where we would slide out of our seats into a slurry rather than walk out.</p>
<!-- /wp:paragraph -->leohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16646094477296614362noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4318314356879743583.post-65476453211660065332020-10-27T08:34:00.004-07:002020-10-27T08:34:38.379-07:00Holy cow!<p style="text-align: justify;"> Disclaimer: We live in a time in this country where I have to make my intentions clear on this topic. So I would like to make it clear that this is just a comic take on cow- the animal and is not a commentary on anyone's religious beliefs.</p><!-- wp:paragraph {"align":"justify"} -->
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<p class="has-text-align-justify" style="text-align: justify;">These days the bus rides back home have become torturous and long. So anything out of the ordinary is a welcome change and is much appreciated. The other day as I was looking out I happened to see a cow standing diagonal to a cake shop. Just diagonally - as though someone had parked it there. So it wasn't as though it was looking into the cake shop waiting for someone to give it something to eat. No dear folks, it just stood with its head pointed a foot away from the door looking at the blank wall next to the shop. Completely blew my brains. Of all the things to stare at, that wall was the barest. That is what probably struck me as the bus whizzed past the creature and what continues to pique my interest in them. For all I knew the damn thing was just cross-eyed, but I have seen enough of them to know that this wasn't the case. </p>
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<p class="has-text-align-justify" style="text-align: justify;">For instance you could walk North Indian streets and come across a cow standing plumb in the middle of road with no business of being there. Just as the cake shop case these would stand in full regal glory, every muscle in their legs taut and stare into nothingness. Almost as though posing for an imaginary painter. And yet totally listless. Not a care in the world as vehicles whizzed past them. The Minister for Roads and Transportation took to television to tell people that every second or so took a life in India from road accidents. But in all my adult life I haven't seen nor heard of a single cow getting hurt in a road accident. And they stand or walk where they choose to on Indian roads. It is almost as though they are mind numbingly dumb the way they stand listlessly or do their business where they want. Sometimes both. I mean how can you not care when you take a dump. How weird can it be if you don't move a muscle even when you are doing your business. I have seen cows just pouring it out on the roads without flinching a muscle. It is almost as though life just exists in them and their thoughts God knows where. Much like the current government. Absolutely listless when it comes to economic policy and foreign policy and home affairs. Well just about anything other than talking crap about the opposition and PR work. The relationships with all our neighbors are at an all time low, the economy is in dumps, activists and social workers are getting arrested for pointing out faults. They have taken the country and made it a dung pit. I digress.</p>
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<p class="has-text-align-justify" style="text-align: justify;">The bulls and cows on the streets today were in all probability on some farm earlier. They were just let free when they got too old. Since most of the populace is against eating them they roam the streets like a big zombie army. Everything on Earth has a purpose except these cows. They just exist. And when it suits them they parallel park themselves infront of a cake-shop or even a butcher's shop just for kicks. It is a good time to be a cow in India. You are on the top of the pyramid. But then you are left with pretty much nothing else to do. Maybe that is why they are so listless. But they are also stocking up on firsts. A cow for example is the only animal in India including humans that can stroll infront of a speeding government bus and escape with its life. There are times however when even they show a semblance of normalcy. When out of nowhere they realise how bored they are I have seen these cows getting really mean. Last week one particular bull scared the living daylights out of the domestic help as she was passing by. It is in moments such as these when religion and such get thrown out of the window and pure human nature kicks in. It is what induces them to give the bull a good whack on the back with a handy umbrella and sidestep the miscreant. </p>
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<p class="has-text-align-justify" style="text-align: justify;">All in all if you ignore the street food and the waste dumps that they have to eat from, it is a good time to be a cow in India. They have an entire government to watch out for them. They are the ones who are truly free. Free to roam and do as they please. The two-legged beings here on the other hand can only wish for such glory.</p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;">The next afternoon Shyama and I joined the kids under the watchful eyes of Sajini <em>chechi</em> to the temple. As we chattered along we reached the temple grounds. Outside the temple were rows of shops to either side selling toys and balloons and snacks and much more. Once inside the temple grounds it was all we could do to hold onto each other with the crowd inside. We came across families - the dads keeping a firm hold on the children as they tried to dart this way and that, the women their hair decked with beautiful flowers and gold dazzling on their necks, there were groups of youth their shirts unbuttoned and strutting about, gangs of drunken men singing wildly and children running wildly for their lives having broken free of their parents. We ducked and swerved and one of the kids almost cartwheeled right into Shyama! We joined a large crowd gathered at the entrance and moved to the front. I tried to peep through the people infront and saw the <em>pandimelam</em> group. </p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;">"We are just in time! It is just starting" shouted Sajini <em>chechi</em> excitedly over the voice of the crowd.</p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;">I listened and watched as the sound of the <em>chenda</em> rose above the crowd. It was a slow beat now. The <em>chenda </em>people were on one side and the <em>kolu </em>people faced them. The diety was mounted on an elephant in the centre and the chief of the <em>chenda </em>group led them in a well orchestrated slow beat. Occasionally as though to accept a challenge the leader of the <em>kolu </em>group would bow to the former and then take over the playing. The atmosphere was charged up and the crowd egged the <em>pandimelam</em> on. The leader of the <em>chenda </em>group signalled to his group and soon the music turned up a beat. The crowd responded with a roar of approval. Kutty Marar who led the <em>pandimelam</em> was famous and people turned up to see him play from all over the land. With each change in beat the group along with the elephant started walking around the temple. Men in front of us started jumping into the air with the music, holding up their arms and egging the musicians on. I held onto Shyama with one hand and Sajini chechi with another as we were pressed into the crowd. I loved it when the music passed on from one group to the next, the moment when the <em>kombu</em> players lifted up their instruments like elephant trunks into the air, I loved the swaying <em>kolu</em> players and the charged up <em>ila thaalam</em> group. But above all even though I knew little of it, I loved the <em>chenda</em> beats best as they filled the night air with a magic so electric that I felt lifted as one with the crowd. We listened to the very last and as the crescendo died down I felt flushed.</p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;">We stayed on to watch a drama on the temple grounds and it must have been well past midnight when the gang dropped Shyama and I off at granny's place. All next day Shyama and I played with the village gang. The temple festival wound to a close and we watched the fireworks light up the night sky. The next day I woke up to my granny shaking me.</p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;">"Jithu wake up! Wake up! Don't you want to know what happened yesterday? The temple has been robbed. The deity's jewels are gone! Wake up!"</p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;">I was up in a jiffy. "What happened?"</p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;">"I heard the news from the milkwoman. Well you know the festival got over yesterday and the priest locked up as usual. What with all the festivities over the past few days people must have been pretty tired, and no one around heard anything. The thieves apparently broke in through the tiled roof and stole the jewels!"</p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;">Everywhere I went that day people were talking about the robbery. Police jeeps screamed up and down with sirens blowing every now and then. Sasi <em>chettan</em>'s tea shop was in the centre of it all. People were bunched up looking serious and the latest news was shouted out over cups of tea. Every now and then someone would come rushing in with some news. I felt a bit sad like everyone else but excited at the same time to know what was the latest. I wasn't alone - Shyama and the rest of the gang felt the same way I could see. The tea shop was the village newsroom and Sasi <em>chettan</em> could hardly handle all the orders he was getting. So we helped him serve tea and snacks and he let us hang around. News trickled in - police rounding up suspects, the priest collapsing in a nervous fit, even the village boys who lived nearby talking of seeing suspicious men wander around during the festival. It was quite impossible however to say anything for certain apart from what the police were saying - that it was a professional job and that it happened in the wee hours of the morning around three. There weren't even any tracks to follow as it had rained that morning and washed away any which were there. In a couple of days the news dropped down to a trickle with the police seemingly not getting anywhere with the case.</p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;">The gang and I fell back to our games and the tree-house. We spent hours up there watching the goings-on, feeling like the rulers of 'our land'. We divided the landscape up into portions among ourselves and made stories about our 'subjects'. Most of our stories were naughty ones poking fun at the people below and their activities. It was a week after the festival and we were at the tree-house. The sun was beating down and we were just about to leave when Rafi announced news from his 'portion' of the land. Apparently there were newcomers at his patch which included the sacred grove. This was a rarity as Rafi's patch had hardly any houses and his subjects were mostly stray cows or squirrels! We sat down to watch and indeed there were two men in the clearing. It was too far to make out clearly but they didn't seem to be from the village. One of them was carrying a bundle which he placed on the ground. They were discussing something it seemed and sat down by the trees. "Probably some traders left over from the festival" said Rafi and we turned to climb down when he gave a soft exclamation. We turned to see one of the two crouched on the ground and the way his body moved we could see that he was digging. <em>Why would someone come all the way to dig in the middle of a forest?</em> Our questions were answered when the other man joined his partner and handed over something. That something caught the sun and we could see the yellow glint of whatever it was. </p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;">" I say! Are you guys thinking what I am thinking" said Rafi.</p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;">"What is it Rafi? Seems odd that someone is digging in that snake grove. Isn't he afraid of snakes?" It was Luttu.</p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;">" Forget snakes Luttu. What is yellow and shines? Gold. That is what. Are these guys thieves?" Ravi was excited.</p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;">"I say Rafi! Who do we know who has lost a lot of gold recently? Could this be...the temple jewels?" I looked at the others. I could see that everyone was as stunned as I was. </p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;">We slithered down the tree and carefully made our way to granny's place making sure that we weren't seen. We told her everything. </p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;">" Jithu are you sure you saw this clearly?" asked Granny.</p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;">"It was a bit far Granny but those men did seem to be hiding something. Should we tell the police?"</p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;">"Wait here. I do know the Inspector. He is a friendly man. I will tell him your story and see if he is interested. But I do have a feeling that you could be onto something Jithu. No one in their right minds goes to that snake grove and messes around. And what with the missing jewels and all we shouldn't leave this unchecked." </p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;">I could hear Granny on the phone as she told the Inspector what happened and after a few nods and <em>hmms</em> she kept the phone down and turned to us excitedly.</p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;">"The Inspector is on his way here now. He is certainly interested. He wants all the details from you guys Jithu."</p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;">We told the Inspector everything. He gave some instructions to his men dressed in plainclothes and left promising to tell us if it led to anything. Later that evening granny got a call from the Inspector telling her that his men had indeed recovered the jewels from under the tree we told them. They had not nabbed the men yet and we were supposed to keep the news secret till any arrests were made. It took another four days till a lazy afternoon was punctured by the sound of blowing sirens. A visit to Sasi <em>chettan's</em> shop later that evening brought forth the whole story. The police had watched the place round-the-clock after recovering the jewels. And that day in the afternoon they had nabbed the duo as they arrived to get the jewels. </p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;">"They came here posing as traders and robbed the temple on the last night of the festival. As they expected no one heard a thing and they were pretty confident that they got away with it. But they didn't expect you lot to have seen them where you did Jithu!! We have you and your gang to thank for catching the robbers and one other thing."</p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;">"What is that Inspector?"</p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;">"Why your tree-house my boy! That is where we hid to watch out for them." said the beaming Inspector.</p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;">The whole gang was proud to have helped and also for the plaque we received from the police. It said "To the heroes of the missing temple jewel mystery. With many thanks. The police." No prizes for guessing that it made its way to the tree-house! </p>
<!-- /wp:paragraph -->leohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16646094477296614362noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4318314356879743583.post-78214585252895562922020-10-27T08:32:00.003-07:002020-10-27T08:32:25.124-07:00Jithu - Up above the world so high<p style="text-align: justify;"> It was summer vacations again and I was back at my grandma's house. My name is Jithu. You may already know me. I am eleven years old and I love staying with my grandma. Like I have already said we both are our favorite people. I had woken up early as the grandfather clock struck the gongs for six o' clock and could see the light on in the kitchen. I walked in to see that Grandma had already got the fire going and the water was boiling for tea.</p><!-- wp:paragraph {"align":"justify"} -->
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<p style="text-align: justify;">"Good morning Grandma!"</p>
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<p class="has-text-align-justify" style="text-align: justify;">"Good morning Jithu! Did you sleep well? Go brush and I'll have tea ready for you. I have tasks for you this morning. After you are done with your tea you must check the hens coop for eggs. I could hear the hens clucking away. You should find eggs in there. Also you must go to Raghavan's shop and get some appam and egg curry for us. Our dough has turned too sour."</p>
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<p class="has-text-align-justify" style="text-align: justify;">As I brushed I could see the sky getting a faint reddish glow in the distance. It was still dark and cold. I could hear the hens clucking and moving in the coop. A rooster had climbed onto a nearby guava tree and let out a cock-a-doodle-doo. As I spat onto the base of the coconut tree I kept a wary eye out for dry coconuts. <em>Grandma always tells me to be careful lest one fell on my head</em>. The stones pricked my bare feet as I moved around in the yard. <em>Ah Grandma had planted fresh turmeric and yam here.</em> <em>Hmm what was this? Looked like ginger.</em> When I got back most of the hens had climbed out of the coop. I shooed away a reluctant one and looked inside to find six beautiful eggs. After I got them to the kitchen and had my tea grandma handed me a bag.</p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;">"Be careful not to let the egg curry spill ok Jithu?"</p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;">"Yes Grandma"</p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;">When I reached Raghavan <em>chettan</em>'s tea shop I could see that there were already a few people inside.</p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;">"Ah Jithu! holidays already? Nice. What will you have today? I have steaming hot <em>puttu</em> and <em>appams</em>. <em>Appam</em> and egg curry? Take a seat. I will get you your parcel."</p>
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<p class="has-text-align-justify" style="text-align: justify;">As I sat on the wooden bench I looked around at the men hunched over their newspapers and sipping tea. It was still dark outside and the dim light of the electric bulb in the centre gave just enough light to read. Raghavan <em>chettan</em> was preparing tea. On the stove next to him was a tin boiler, and from it rose a steady stream of steam which wafted out through the window into the darkness outside. I watched him swivel the tea in a mug and pour it in a huge arc into another in his other hand. I always wished I could learn to do that. He finally poured the foaming tea into small cups. In the corner the men were discussing something excitedly from the newspaper.</p>
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<p class="has-text-align-justify" style="text-align: justify;">"You have heard? It is the light-music show at the temple grounds today evening. There is that new singer Greeshma and that lad Jishnu is performing as well!"</p>
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<p class="has-text-align-justify" style="text-align: justify;">"They must have paid them good money to get the whole troop here. This year's festival has been grand so far."</p>
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<p class="has-text-align-justify" style="text-align: justify;">"Yes. Yes. Why, yesterday's drama was so good! It has been a long time since we have seen anything come close ..."</p>
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<p class="has-text-align-justify" style="text-align: justify;">"True. And tomorrow is the <em>valiyavilakku</em>. In the evening for the <em>pandimelam</em> it is going to be Kutty <em>marar</em> and his team. It is going to be brilliant. All in all the committee has spared no expenses and the show has been very good so far.</p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;">I collected the parcel and headed home. I needed to ask Grandma about this <em>pandimelam</em>.</p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;">"Grandma what is this <em>pandimelam</em>?"</p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;">"Ah Jithu it is really brilliant. It is a musical show performed in the temple for festivals, with many different musical instruments. Your grandfather and I used to go every year back when he was alive to watch the artistes perform in the evening. Let us see ..ah there is <em>chenda</em>, then <em>ilathalam</em>, <em>kolu</em> and <em>kombu</em>. The whole music is performed in sections based on beats and it usually lasts a long time-maybe two hours or more. You have to see it to enjoy it in its true beauty. Who knows maybe you can go along with Sajini if she is going tomorrow."</p>
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<p class="has-text-align-justify" style="text-align: justify;">I was helping out Grandma with the dishes when the doorbell rang. We opened the door to see Dr. Mathews and Shyama.</p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;">"Well someone here didn't want to be at her grandma's any longer when she heard that you are back here Jithu! Her grandma isn't all pleased but I could see that she has many friends here. So I thought of bringing her here." said Dr. Mathews ruffling Shyama's hair.</p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;">"Of course Doctor! Hello Shyama. Grandma she can play here right?"</p>
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<p class="has-text-align-justify" style="text-align: justify;">"Of course Jithu. Doctor she is a treat to have around. Don't you worry. Come when you want to take her back." said Grandma smiling at Shyama.</p>
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<p class="has-text-align-justify" style="text-align: justify;">"Okay then. Shyama you and Jithu be good kids and help out grandma. I'll see you in the evening then. Bye!"</p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;">After waving goodbye to her father, she gave me the packet she was carrying with a shy smile. I noticed that her front teeth had grown back but a tooth on the top row was gone now. <em>This girl always had some tooth missing.</em> </p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;">"Here mom gave me some mangoes from our yard for you and grandma."</p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;">"Oh thank you Shyama. Here Grandma. They look delicious."</p>
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<p class="has-text-align-justify" style="text-align: justify;">As we sat eating those delicious mangoes I looked at Shyama. She looked pretty much the same. Maybe a bit taller. <em>But not as tall as me. Ha!</em> Her hair looked a bit longer but you never knew because they were neatly done in two plaits. She had bruises on her chin and those probably were an answer to the missing tooth. I had known Shyama only since last year, but that was enough to tell me that this girl enjoyed collecting bruises from falls on a daily basis.</p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;">"So Jithu. What are we playing today?"</p>
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<p class="has-text-align-justify" style="text-align: justify;">"Ah Shyama good you asked that. You are in for a surprise. Me and the guys have been at something the past couple of days and you will love it. We will go see it in sometime. I am just waiting for Chacko and Rafi. They should be here in sometime."</p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;">"Jithu you shouldn't take her somewhere risky. Remember you are older and you should be responsible."</p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;">"Oh no Grandma. It is not risky. But it is challenging and she will love it."</p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;">"Ok dear" laughed Grandma" I won't spoil your surprise then. Take care and remember to return in time for lunch."</p>
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<p class="has-text-align-justify" style="text-align: justify;">Just then the bell sounded again. It was Chacko and Rafi. We said goodbye to Grandma and were on our way.</p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;">"Hello Shyama. When did you reach? Holidays again?"asked Rafi.</p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;">"Yes Rafi. Just reached today. Jithu has been telling me there is a surprise waiting today?"</p>
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<p class="has-text-align-justify" style="text-align: justify;">"Oh he hasn't told you then?"laughed Chacko."Well I daresay you will love it. To the railway station first then".</p>
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<p class="has-text-align-justify" style="text-align: justify;">We walked past the railway station with Shyama skipping along beside us. Onwards till we reached the thicket behind the railway station. There were all kinds of trees here - gulmohar, teak, eucalyptus, even occasionally a jackfruit tree, and many others I didnt know the name of. As we walked inside through the forest path the thicket grew thicker around us. I glanced around to see Shyama getting an anxious look on her face and smiled encouragingly to her. She became her usual naughty self again but still kept a distance from the thick bushes around us. We had walked almost to the centre of the thicket when they loomed in front of us. Before us stood six or seven of the most ginormous mango trees I have ever seen in my life. I had once tried with Chacko and the others to hug the trees. It took five of us to hug one of them. Grandma once told me they were probably centuries old. We were so deep in the thicket that we could hear nothing except for the insects in the bush. Chacko walked to the largest of the trees and disappeared behind it. He reappeared beaming, with a rope ladder in his hands. </p>
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<p class="has-text-align-justify" style="text-align: justify;">"See I told you guys that no one would find it. It is hanging to our branch and hidden right where we left it. Come on up we go!"</p>
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<p class="has-text-align-justify" style="text-align: justify;">We climbed barefoot and I went last with Shyama just ahead of me in case she felt frightened on the way. As we climbed the trees next to us got thinner and very soon we were above the rest of the trees. I called out to Shyama from time to time lest she felt frightened, but I could see that she was doing well. Finally we reached it - our tree house! As we climbed onto the wooden platform I could see the look of wonder on Shyama's face. The view from here was just brilliant. We could see for miles around. The railway tracks snaking across the land, the paddy fields beyond the thicket, the pond on the other side of the tracks where we could see cows grazing on the banks, the houses with smoke curling from the chimneys. </p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;">"Isn't it just brilliant?" Chacko said " We can see the whole village and beyond from here. And hardly anyone comes this way so it is really quiet and secret. Our secret hiding place!"</p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;">"Yes, yes. It is amazing!"said Shyama her eyes twinkling" what a beautiful scenery!"</p>
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<p class="has-text-align-justify" style="text-align: justify;">"Well it was Jithu's idea. We used to come here to throw stones at the mangoes and then he had this plan. Now this is our spot. Here have some some guavas we brought from our yard."</p>
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<p class="has-text-align-justify" style="text-align: justify;">As we munched on the guavas we heard a voice as though from a loudspeaker far away. The person seemed to be reciting something. There was hardly any noise out here and the sound did travel far that way.</p>
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<p class="has-text-align-justify" style="text-align: justify;">"That is probably from the temple. They have daily recitals now as part of the festival." explained Rafi "It could be fun if we could climb up here in the evening. We could probably hear the light-music show from up here."</p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;">"Oh yes. That would be so much fun. We could also see the temple all lighted up from here." said I.</p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;">"What is that?" asked Shyama. She was pointing downwards ahead at a clearing in the woods.</p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;">"That is the old sacred snake grove. No one goes there except for the special days." said Chacko.</p>
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<p class="has-text-align-justify" style="text-align: justify;">We saw the daily bus to our village rumbling along. As we lazed at our tree-house we saw two trains speeding away - their smoke tracing their path far away into the distance. We saw men lying on the banks of the pond after their swim. Up ahead we could catch a glimmer of water between the trees coming from the river. Over on the other side we saw a kid chase a goat around his house. The goat was a lively little devil and we could see him tricking the kid at every turn. We laughed at the sight. The kid was never going to catch that thing.</p>
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<p class="has-text-align-justify" style="text-align: justify;">We spent a lot of time on the tree-house that afternoon as well and Rafi was right - we could hear the lightmusic from up there. It was lovely to see the temple all lighted up towards dusk. But we couldn't wait a lot longer as it was getting dark and Shyama had to leave anyway.</p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;">As we said bye to the guys and walked upto the house we were just in time for tea. We told Grandma all about what we had seen and she was really amused.</p>
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<p class="has-text-align-justify" style="text-align: justify;">"Really? you could see the river and temple from up there? Wow those are really far away! What a view that must be. Please be careful though Jithu when you are up there."said Grandma.</p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;">"Of course Grandma. I take care each time."</p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;">"I should tell you about that one time when my friends and I went swimming in the river...."</p>
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<p class="has-text-align-justify" style="text-align: justify;">We listened to Grandma's stories from her youth. They were always naughty ones and a lot of fun. I always wished I could be brave like her. Presently there sounded a gong and it was Dr. Mathews come to pick up Shyama.</p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;">"Tomorrow is a big day Shyama. We will be going to see the festival with Sajini chechi."</p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;">"Oh yes! I can't wait for that!"</p>
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<p class="has-text-align-justify" style="text-align: justify;">I watched as she walked down the road with her dad, clinging onto his hand and skipping as she went. She reminded me of that goat we had seen.</p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;"><em><strong>.... to be continued.</strong></em></p>
<!-- /wp:paragraph -->leohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16646094477296614362noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4318314356879743583.post-25228732599625448062020-10-27T08:30:00.005-07:002020-10-27T08:30:39.171-07:00Dog-walk<p style="text-align: justify;"> Droopy and I meet each other almost every other day. Like everywhere else it is quarantine time here in Pune and I have taken up a regular walking schedule on the road next to my apartment. Droopy is a fine old labrador with a thick white coat and he is never alone. He has a dog-walker as is quite common in well-to-do-families out here. Put it simply there is a scrawny lad from a nearby lane filled with clumsily built shanties, working this walk for an hourly wage. But even though Droopy's time outside is ticking up the wage-meter, he is a surly customer given his costly up-keep. We pass each other many times on our daily walk - mine being completely free, and he passes me a dull look each time. In fact his real name probably ain't Droopy; that is just what I call him for his sad eyes. He takes a sniff here, a sniff there, does his business on the sidewalk almost without breaking stride and moves on at a crawling pace. His heart rate could very well be matching his walking pace. It was almost as though he resented life. He was indifferent to the neighbor's poodle's frantic efforts to capture his attention as he walked past. He pooh-poohed the occasional village daredevil mongrel and even showed absolute apathy to wetting the parked cars. It was almost as though he and I worked in the same company. My heart burnt for him.</p><!-- wp:paragraph {"align":"justify"} -->
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<p class="has-text-align-justify" style="text-align: justify;">Back when we were kids my cousins and I used to read children's story books in Malayalam. They were fortnightly and one of them used to have a feature at the very last page that was my favorite. It showed an alternate world - one in which animals ran the show. So as opposed to democracy (demos- citizen, kratos- rule) it dealt with what can simply be called an animocracy - for want of a better word. In animocracy then, animals lived and ruled and they dealt with all kinds of problems in societal living that we as humans do. But in every event the ending was different and sarcastic to show that animals would have done better. As I passed him everyday I imagined what would Droopy have done in animocracy. For starters having seen Droopy this long, I would imagine that he would be without this burden of neglect that his owners were now showing him and be a totally different guy. He would have a fire in him and be a dashing guy who knows? Perhaps that poodle jumping four feet into the air would have been met with a debonair gaze of "how ya doing?" The only question that remained was what would remain of her when she fell tummy first to the ground in the face of such raw doghood. I would imagine that he would have been that guy in college on whom every girl secretly had a crush, and who no one really seemed to land. Droopy could show up late for class with the terror in the ranks, the Physics ma'am taking class. As the class watched with baited breath, the terror of the college would fold like a coy dove on hearing his "excuse me ma'am" coming from the doorway. Amidst scarcely disguised sighs from the girls Droopy would make his way to the back of the class. As he looked for a place to sit with a hand running through his beautiful ruffled hair every heart in the room that was feminine would be saying "pick me!". After breaking their collective hearts in a matter of seconds our hero would pick the nearest available place next to a dork in glasses. Meanwhile the damsel in front would be suffering a near stroke imagining what 'her' hero thought of her sitting barely inches behind her. In contrast, I had fancied Dhanya in IT back in college. In all those four years the closest I got to being with her was across the brick wall between our classes in first year. That was about as much attraction as I generated. I could compete for the world's shortest one-sided love story. Droopy was my hero.</p>
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<p class="has-text-align-justify" style="text-align: justify;">I thought of the mongrel, the village thug who made it a point to bare his teeth at any passing dog or man. He would be no match for Droopy. Droopy had biceps, and triceps too by the look of it. No, that village thug would retire to his corner under the peepal tree when Droopy walked the streets. He would know better than to mess with Droopy. My man didn't need to rule the hood, the hood showed him respect. He could open beer bottles with his teeth if need be and the cracking of his knuckles would send shivers up the spines of the mongrel. But he wouldn't need to do all that. He would be the gentleman who dressed dapper and commanded respect. He could walk down the street and the passer-bys would tip their hats at him. "Good morning Mr. Droopy" "top of the day to you sir" "How are you doing this day sire?" they would say as he walked past. The damsels would blush and the mothers would say to their kids "See that? That is how a dog ought to be" in hushed voices behind his back. Droopy would be every dog's envy and every bitch's dream.</p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;">It was our last round back up the street and I thought of Droopy. He was looking quizzically at a butterfly perched on a rusty scooter. What potential! what verve! yet so wasted in his present existence. In a few minutes he would be back with his owner. A man so involved with his money and his self-centered life that he couldn't see Droopy for what he was. He couldn't be half the man that Droopy could be. Be it in charisma let alone in spirit. As he padded along slowly home I wondered about the burden in Droopy's mind. The weight of greatness borne but forcefully hidden. Goodbye for now Droopy. You giant who walks in the shadows of men. (sniff)</p>
<!-- /wp:paragraph -->leohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16646094477296614362noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4318314356879743583.post-66019697098831789092020-04-18T09:24:00.001-07:002020-04-18T13:37:48.915-07:00Jithu - The missing milk (continued)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
We reached granny's home and I called out to her.<br />
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"Granny I am home!! I have got your medicines."</div>
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"Oh there you are" said granny appearing from the kitchen."Thank you Jithu. Well who is this with you? A new friend?"</div>
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"She is Dr. Mathews's daughter Shyama grandma. She is here to play with me."</div>
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"Oh really?"</div>
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"Yes and I have to go back by six" Shyama added.</div>
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"Granny can we go visit Chacko? I have not met him since I got here this time."</div>
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"Yes alright. But remember to play safely and be back by lunchtime ok?"</div>
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"Ok grandma. Come on Shyama"</div>
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We stepped out onto the mud road and I took my sandals in my hand and started walking barefoot.</div>
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"Jithu daddy told me to play at your granny's house. Where are we going?" asked Shyama.</div>
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"It is ok Shyama. Chacko is a friend of mine. A good guy. And if your daddy comes looking for you, granny can tell him."</div>
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"Ok. Why are you walking barefoot? And I can see it is hurting you too. You keep making that face and jumping when the stones hurt your feet"</div>
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"Ah. Shyama this is for practise. The guy we are going to meet. He is like all the village kids. They all walk barefoot on this red, rocky ground and their feet are used to it. Not like you and me."</div>
<div>
"So?"</div>
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"So they can run barefoot and a lot faster than you can run with your slippers<i>. </i>So if we are going to play Police-thief then I have to practise walking barefoot to have any chance of catching that idiot."</div>
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"Oh" said Shyama and tried walking barefoot. "Ahh. It is hurting a lot. I don't want to." She put her slippers back on again.</div>
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I laughed. "Well here we are at Chacko's house".</div>
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I called out for Chacko and he ran out. He hadn't changed one bit. Like always he was wearing blue shorts and didn't have any shirt on. He looked a bit taller though and his curly hair longer than I last saw him with. Needless to say almost all the village kids were well built because they played so hard and climbed those big mango trees, all except Pakru. Pakru was fat and round like an orange. I looked at Chacko's toes. Yes twice my toes and all rough and tough because of walking barefoot all day. </div>
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"Hello Jithu. When did you reach?"</div>
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"Just yesterday. We'll go play? Come"</div>
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"Hang on let me go tell mom" With that he rushed indoors. He was soon back again beaming.</div>
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"Well so what are we playing today Chacko?" I asked as we walked outside.</div>
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"We are not playing today. I have a plan. But firstly, who is this with you?"</div>
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"Oh I forgot Chacko. This is Shyama - Dr. Mathews's daughter. She has come to play with us."</div>
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"Oh hello there! So well then she will have to be part of the plan. You ok with that?"said Chacko in an important voice.</div>
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"I don't know. What is the plan? My daddy has told me not to get into trouble" said Shyama looking at me.</div>
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<i>"</i>Yes Chacko. What is it? I had promised not to get her into any trouble."</div>
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"Ok there won't be any trouble if we stick to the plan. It is fairly simple. This will be our adventure ok?"</div>
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"Ooh adventure." My face lit up. I looked at Shyama. She still seemed a bit anxious but nodded. "Hmm yes."<br />
The way I remember Chacko's plans, they were all good and a lot of fun. <i>Why the last time we had built a tree-house in the forest next to the railway station, didn't we?</i> And what fun we had!<br />
"Ok Jithu you know Mercy <i>chechi</i> right? - the house next to the pond? Well she is the one who has been delivering milk now as she has a cow, and Raghavan <i>chettan</i>'s cow has had a calf so he doesn't get enough to deliver. Well my mom says she is bit of a crook and so do all our neighbors. Her milk is more water than milk. You know Shantha <i>chechi</i> - she has a small kid now and she needs milk for the kid. And she gets the same watery milk! That poor kid; it is already very thin. So we had decided something needed to be done. Ravi and all of us guys. And yesterday I got an idea."<br />
We were walking and reached the paddy fields by the edge of the village. I could see Mercy <i>chechi</i>'s house in the distance.<br />
"See the idea is this. She can add water only if she has the milk right? What if she doesn't?" Chacko had a naughty look on his face.<br />
"I don't understand Chacko. She has the cow. Why won't she have the milk?"<br />
"Ah. See she first milks the cow, then takes the milk pot to her well and adds water. She makes sure no one sees her do it. But ha! she didn't see me, hiding by her fence the past 3 days. So what if we have the milk before she adds the water?"<br />
"But we can't just run up there and snatch her milk Chacko."<br />
"No we can't silly, and that's where I need you two. Like I said her fence is made of sticks stuck into the ground and thick bushes, and my spot is pretty close to the well. I have already made a gap there through which I can easily slip in and out. I have done it a few times when she wasn't there and know it pretty well now. I also run pretty fast, so I will run with the pot. Shyama, just before she pours water into the pot I want you to ring her doorbell really hard and fast sounding really urgent, and then run away."<br />
"But how will she know when to ring the bell"<br />
"That is your job Jithu. See there is a spot about mid-way by the fence where you can see Mercy <i>chechi</i> by the well and also as she goes to check the door, through a window by the side of her house. You are to make a sound like a cuckoo thrice - first for Shyama when she is by the well, then for me to slip in through the fence when you see her go through the window. Third when she passes back after checking the door for me to run like crazy for the fence if I haven't already done by then. Ok?"<br />
"Hmm yes."I nodded.<br />
"But isn't that stealing?" Shyama looked anxious.<br />
"See if we are doing it for a good cause then it is not stealing" said Chacko his chest swelling with pride."Besides if you do this you can come with us to see our tree-house too"<br />
I could see that she was in no real danger by the plan. I looked at Shyama. She was looking down and her face looked tense.<br />
"It is not dangerous for you. You don't have to do it if you don't like. But it is adventure no?"<br />
She was fidgeting with the pleats of her frock anxiously.<br />
"Hmm..ok yes. Anyway I won't be taking the pot. He will be."<br />
"Ok alright. Let us do it then. She might already have started to milk the cow. Oh yes, when your part is done run as fast as you can to the tamarind tree you see over there. I will run around to make sure she hasn't followed me and then meet you here. She won't think of searching there. It is quite far from her house. Also if you see any danger Jithu, bleat loudly like a goat. Everyone runs away then"<br />
We arrived near the house and sent Shyama away to wait for my signal. Chacko and I crept to our positions by the fence. Chacko was right. Where I was I could see both the well and the window. I could also see Chacko ahead crouched by the fence. I could hear Mercy <i>chechi</i> talking to herself in the cowshed nearby. My heart was thudding loudly and I felt my ears burn up. There was a shifting noise from the cowshed and then I saw her - Mercy <i>chechi</i> was carrying a pot and walking to the well. I waited till she sat by the well. I opened my mouth to signal but all that came was a small squeak. I panicked. I inhaled a deep breath and summoned all my strength.<br />
Then - "kooo-hooo!! A bird on a nearby tree flew away on hearing my signal. I waited. Nothing.<br />
Then after what seemed like a huge pause sounded two loud gongs from inside the house. Mercy <i>chechi</i> looked towards the house. Then came a peal of gongs four five, it sounded like a mini fire truck. I watched Mercy <i>chechi</i> yell and hurry indoors and there she went across the window.<br />
"Koo-hoo!! I saw Chacko dart in like a rabbit and then on the other side of the fence and by the well. I watched him pick up the pot and run back. I had never seen him run like that. When he was halfway across I saw movement in the window. The lady was going back. "Koo-hoo!!"<br />
Time to run. Chacko and I had decided to run in opposite directions and I thought I saw his head poking out of the bushes when I turned to run. And boy did I run. As silently as I could; my feet racing across the pebbly road. As I turned the corner I heard a loud voice from behind me followed by angry curses. I didn't stop and ran and ran. I only stopped running when I caught sight of the tamarind tree. There underneath with a scared look on her face stood Shyama. Seeing me her face broke out into a wide grin. I was finally relieved and ran up to her. No one was chasing me. We hid behind the tree and waited. No Chacko. <i>Was he caught?</i> After what seemed like ten long minutes there came Chacko down the road. He was half running, half jogging holding a large pot.</div>
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"We have made it Chacko!" I couldn't hide my joy and jumped up and down.<br />
"Yes!" Chacko looked happy and flustered and his cheeks were red. He was out of breath. "We aren't done yet. Now we distribute what we got!"<br />
And so it was that the three of us made our way upto Shantha <i>chechi</i>'s house. We filled the milk bottle with milk and rang the bell and darted away. It would be our surprise for her. We couldn't fill the bottles at every house as there would not be enough for our last stop. At Ramesh <i>chettan</i>'s tea shop we saw him outside reading a newspaper.<br />
"Ramesh <i>chettan</i> do you want some milk? My uncle came over with some fresh milk today and we had extra after distributing. So mom told me to check if you needed it as it was quite a lot." Chacko had the lies ready.<br />
"Oh really? Well thank you Chacko. Mercy has been giving us such watery milk that my customers don't want my tea anymore. This is such a help. Will you deliver everyday?"<br />
"Oh..you are welcome. Do me a favor and please don't tell Mercy <i>chechi</i> or she will stop delivering at our house. But I don't think we can give you everyday because uncle only brought since he came over."<br />
"Oh that is not a problem. Thanks again Chacko! wait I will give you some tasty <i>pazhampori </i>for you and your friends."<br />
We munched on the delicious <i>pazhampori</i> and headed to Chacko's home. We were playing in the front yard when Chacko's dad walked in. He walked straight into the kitchen and we heard him talking to Chacko's mom in the kitchen.<br />
"Did you hear? There was a huge commotion outside Ramesh's shop today! By the way did we get milk?"<br />
"Yes" said Chacko's mom "and unusually good milk too! Why?"<br />
"Well that is the puzzling thing. Apparently Mercy went to Ramesh's shop to say that she had no milk to deliver and there was a big fight. Ramesh was livid about how Mercy was always delivering watery milk and that she had no milk at all today! She was also saying some cock-and-bull story that she got robbed of the milk today! That got Ramesh even more angry. Told her to change or he didn't want her milk! Now here is the strange part. I heard this and checked with our neighbors on the way here. Everyone has got milk. Maybe not their usual share. But they have got it. I don't believe it!"<br />
"Really? That is strange indeed. But I hope this happens daily. See? We have got really good milk today."<br />
I turned to Chacko. I could see the twinkle in his eye. All three of us sat down and laughed and laughed.<br />
As we walked back to granny's I asked Shyama "Shyama what do you think? Enjoyed today?"<br />
She beamed and I had a glimpse of her toothy grin as she nodded her head vigorously.<br />
Over the next few days Shyama and I played together everyday. Sometimes we had Chacko or the rest of the guys from the village with us. I remember that vacation because that is when Shyama and I became best friends. That was also the vacation when the news of Mercy <i>chechi</i>'s change spread throughout the village. Apparently after that day and the fight at Ramesh <i>chettan</i>'s shop she was a changed lady. No more watery milk from her.<br />
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I was jolted back to the present by my wife's calls from the kitchen.<br />
"Jithu! Will you leave that shirt alone and come eat your dosa? I know what you have in mind and it needs to be starched for that dear!"<br />
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leohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16646094477296614362noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4318314356879743583.post-88408523282606248312020-04-17T02:49:00.000-07:002020-04-17T02:56:28.337-07:00Jithu<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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1. The missing milk</h2>
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"Jithu! Will you please hurry up. The dosas are getting cold!" That was my wife calling from the kitchen.</div>
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My name is Jithu. On that day I was getting ready for work but the white cotton shirt was not helping. I am particular in getting my clothes ironed well and that was my favorite shirt. I tried sprinkling some more water to dampen the fabric and get it to yield to the heat, but to no avail. I knew I couldn't match the golden standard in my mind. My mind wandered away to the image of a crisp white cotton shirt. Twenty years ago to be precise... </div>
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It was summer holidays and I was at my granny's home for the holidays. My granny was my mother's mother and she was very old. I am Jithu and I am nine years old and I am my granny's favorite person and she is my favorite person. She lived in an old old house with many rooms. Back when my grandfather was alive and when my mom and her brothers and sisters were little kids, grandma says there was not a room where you could find a little peace. It is very silent now and I am a little scared of going into the back rooms alone in the evening, but in the morning it was my kingdom. When I came home granny always used to take me to all the rooms and show what was new this time. It was a very special house. There was a glass among the tiles in the bedroom to the west through which light came down. I know it was west because that is how granny called it. I also know that the sun sets in the west and I could see it set there through the wooden windows, by the tamarind tree far away. So west it was. It was funny with granny that way - it was always North or East or West ; my mom always said left and right. But I have been with granny long enough to know what she meant. I knew everything about this house from my granny. For instance there is the big wooden chest in the kitchen where granny stores the grocery. It is so big that it can fit me in. Last summer I hid in the chest when we played hide-and-seek and my cousins never found me once. My granny's kitchen was not like my mom's back home. It had a big back chimney through which I watched the smoke twirl up and out through the holes. Its walls were covered with soot and it smelt of the spices granny had hung there. Yes my granny would dry her spices on a long wooden board hung there. The stove was made out of stone with an opening in the front and through it we would feed it wooden logs. I would love to climb onto the stone slab and stoke the fire and watch the sparks fly up into the chimney. Up and up and vanish.<br />
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"Jithu!! where are you? I need you. Come here" granny's voice came from the hall.<br />
I ran to find my granny waiting holding a piece of paper.<br />
"Jithu you are now nine no? A big boy now? Now you can help granny with big duties no?" granny peered at me through her glasses. She had that look of telling me something important. My mom would never tell me anything important. Not my granny though. She trusted me and I never failed her.<br />
"Yes grandma!" I nodded vigorously<br />
"This is my list of medicines Jithu and this is the money for them in this cover. Now can you run along to Dr. Mathews and give him this for me?" Granny looked anxiously at me<br />
"Of course grandma. I can do this!"<br />
"You do know where Dr. Mathews works don't you?"<br />
"Yes grandma. Next to <i>Sasi chettan's</i> grocery store no? Give me. I will go get it"<br />
"Careful then. Keep the money and list safely in your pocket. Off you go. He will give you the medicines and you can bring them back for me."<br />
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Off I went. Dr. Mathews's clinic is on the main road. As are all the shops in my granny's village. There is the grocer Sasi <i>chettan</i>, then the flour mill in which there was a big-toothed old man who scares me, there is the printing press by Moly <i>chechi</i>. Moly <i>chechi</i> has a nice kindly face and she would always give me a greeting card when I visited her. I liked her. There was Pranchi <i>chettan</i> the baker. He was always baking something nice. And a few more shops. But for now I came across <i>Kingini. Kingini </i>was our neighbour's cat, a sly one and I always wanted to hurl a stone at her. She was looking into the bushes by the side of the road. Probably stalking a mouse. I picked up a stone took aim and gave it the best swing I could. It hit <i>Kingini</i> right on the back and I laughed as she made a wild curr and darted into the bushes. Serves her right; she had made off with one of granny's fish the day before right? I reached the main road just in time to see the morning bus pass me in a cloud of dust. There were only two buses that passed through my granny's village - one in the morning and one in the evening. As I walked along the dusty road the air smelt of freshly baked buns. Ah! Pranchi chettan must have already brought out his first batch of buns.<br />
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<i>"</i>Hello Jithu! when did you reach?"that was Pranchi <i>chettan</i> from behind the counter<br />
"Hello Pranchi <i>chettan</i>! I reached yesterday. I see you have already made those lovely buns!"<br />
"Yes Jithu. You want some?"<br />
"Not right now Pranchi <i>chettan</i>. I have got to get granny her medicines. Maybe later. bye!"<br />
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I continued walking past Sasi <i>chettan</i>'s shop where a crowd had already gathered to get groceries. Dr. Mathews's clinic was painted white with dark brown windows with nice flowery curtains drawn across. I could see the light on inside through the glass. There stood a small girl about my height wearing a blue frock at the doorway. I had never seen her in the village. She was pulling at her nice red hairband and looked at me quizzically. I walked past her and into the dimly lit room next to the doctor's office. There was no one inside and I went upto the swinging doors too the doctor's office and knocked.<br />
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" Come in!" called Doctor Mathews from inside.<br />
I walked into Doctor Mathews's brightly lit office. It smelt of a nice flowery perfume inside.<br />
" Good morning Doctor!" I smiled at him. I was always slightly in awe of him.<br />
" Good morning Jithu!" said Doctor Mathews smiling at me. "Why don't you sit down?"<br />
As I clambered onto the high wooden chair I noticed that the small girl I had seen earlier had followed me in and was now standing by the side of the desk and looking at me. Why had she followed me in here?<br />
"So what do you want today Jithu?" The doctor beamed at me from behind his big wooden desk.<br />
"Granny told me to get me her medicines. She told me to give this to you." I took out the cover containing the list and money.<br />
"Ah so your granny sent you eh? Good. Now let me see what I can do. Ah...these are her regular medicines for sugar and BP. She must be running short on them. You are a good lad helping your granny." I beamed. " See Shyama how he is helping out his granny at home?" He turned to the girl standing near his desk.<br />
The girl nodded. " Hmmm".<br />
"Wait Jithu. Let me get you your medicines". With that the doctor got up to search in a shelf by the wall.<br />
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I watched him as he got up. He was a tall man. His short hair was black like my dad's and he had a kind face. He always wore a clean white shirt that was stiff and smooth and was well ironed with crisp lines. Granny says he starches the cotton shirt and it is always neatly ironed. In his pocket there always glinted a steel colored fountain pen. He wore steel grey trousers today and they were neatly ironed as well. Granny says that a man's dedication to his clothes shows a strength of character. I don't quite know what she meant but I always was in awe of this gentle, kind man and of his clothes. I would tell granny that I would be a doctor when I grew up and wear a shirt just like him with a nice fountain pen in my pocket. I would then write medicines for her with that pen I told granny. She laughed. This doctor had arrived at my granny's village only three years ago but she says that everyone knows him now. Before that everyone had to go all the way to the town far away to see a doctor. But he didn't stay in the village. He stayed in the town and would arrive early morning on that big huge black Bullet of his and stay till evening. I was in awe of his Bullet too and I told granny that I would buy one when I grew up too.<br />
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"Here you are Jithu. I have put the medicines in this cover along with the list"<br />
"Thank you doctor" said I and took the cover from him.<br />
"Well wait a minute. I know you are a nice young lad and are not naughty. So can I give you one more duty young man?"<br />
I nodded "yes doctor. What should I do?"<br />
"This is Shyama my daughter and it is her vacations too just like you. She was supposed to go to her granny's for holidays but her grandma has got the pox. So I brought her here with me as she was bored sitting at home. Now she is getting bored sitting in this empty clinic. Do you think you can be good and play together till evening at your granny's? "<br />
"Well..uh huh." I nodded. I looked at Shyama. "Do you want to play at my granny's?"<br />
"Hmm.yes" She nodded and smiled. There were two teeth missing in the top.<br />
"Ok then. Off you go. Tell your granny that she has to be back for leaving at 6 ok? And be good Shyama. No getting into trouble. Jithu I am trusting you guys to not create trouble for your granny ok?"<br />
"Ok doctor Mathews! bye!"<br />
With that I walked out onto the dusty street with Shyama walking beside me. I remember that day very well. Because that is when we became friends.<br />
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<i>To be continued...</i><br />
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leohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16646094477296614362noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4318314356879743583.post-79578293104414225042020-04-14T23:27:00.002-07:002020-04-21T03:57:29.596-07:00The Bawler<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Most of you reading this would be wondering if I made a typo. Not a surprise in this sub-continent where a huge lot are cricket-crazy. In this country which has lost its head with cricket when it won eleven medals in Olympics for field hockey of which a total eight are gold, it is a bit worrying. Somehow from being the wizards of hockey we were left floundering due to matters both political and physical. I digress though and if you still think I made a typo or think that is how I say bowler in whichever part of India I am from, I wouldn't hold much grudge. We might have 15 official languages here but tragically or otherwise we are bound by myriad versions of the colonial tongue that is English. And it doesn't really matter to people here if you say eenglish or inglish or aenglish, it better be somewhat inglish-vinglish. So I could be saying bowler or bawler or boler or baller and my Indian buddy would get it just the same. We are bound very tightly that way.</div>
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I better be getting on with my story then, if we are to get anywhere. I live in a dingy flat in the Indian city of Pune. My apartment is like many other nondescript others in the neighborhood, decaying with age and bursting at its seams with people. It isn't Mumbai where space is at a ransom but we are not at a luxury either. I make do with a tiny balcony where I can walk five paces but my friend's fat uncle Mr. Parvinder could do barely three and that too only sideways. I am happy for the privilege though, for I have seen some neighbors who can land in the next flat if they take a standing broad jump from their doorway. A balcony is a luxury for them. I watch the world from my balcony in these days of quarantine. I have to share my balcony with some rowdy pigeons but that is another story. The only other window which gives me a different story of the world is my kitchen window. It is here that the events of this story take place.</div>
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In these days of work-from-homes and state-enforced quarantine I have taken upon the self the heavy responsibility of helping the woman of the house. Companies have taken advantage by overworking their employees in the name of work-from-home. So I decided to lend a helping hand in these strenuous times to the significant other. I add however that even though I had taken on the job quite willingly, my plight is no different from slaves building the pyramid. The days are long and the job is back-breaking and the end is nowhere in sight. The worst job in the house according to me is washing the dishes. Any of you morons disagreeing with me haven't done a household chore in your life and certainly not washing dishes. Those of you who agree would also agree that it is a thankless job and it is never good enough. But if you would ask the woman on days when her US calls had gone well, she would tell you that I am among the best dishwashers out there. Ha! I have gotten the certificate from the woman of the house. It is in this backdrop then that the hero of our story emerges. Down in the next street somewhere, probably turning 3-6 years lives an unholy terror. He is the Bawler. I am quite sure it is a he from his voice. Oh come on you would say, all this ado for nothing? Just a wailing kid? Hold your horses. I have lived 33 years, been quite a wailer in my teeny years and understand the nuances of the craft. I have been around wailers big and small all through kindergarten and adult years what with the cousins and friends sprouting kids. But this one just takes the cherry by a mile. </div>
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The Bawler is just an expert at his craft. You have seen those "Monster-jobs" ads asking if you are stuck in the wrong job? Well not Bawler. He knows his job perfectly and does it to all perfection and with all sincerity. This is a kid born just to bawl. For all you concerned people out there I am quite certain he is not suffering or hungry or what not. Bawler for all intents and purposes just loves to bawl. I bet he looks for an excuse just to start howling. Howling would be speaking insult to his art. I mean he sort of picks up the tempo if you will and blends it into art. Bawler is known to have held a baritone for no less than ten whole minutes - ten whole minutes at nearly top pitch. And when I say top pitch I don't even know where it flattens out! He seemingly improves upon it each passing day. The kid is unbelievable. I mean I am no music expert but I am pretty sure this is a yardstick too. I maybe an ignorant dimwit who can't distinguish a Pavarotti from a Bocelli but I will admit this. Bawler is one mean customer. And when he opens out at full throttle the gates of hell open out onto their street and onto mine. Quite by accident in the early days, I had been caught unawares at the kitchen window at these times doing the dishes. At fever pitch of this cacaphony it took the breaking of two of her favourite porcelain dishes and facing the wrath of the woman, to show me the way forward. It was probably the aforementioned monotony of the unforgiving job that gave me this idea. I started using Bawler's pitch for my selection of dishes. The starting pitch was for the cutlery, the mid-range was for the cooker and plates and for the top pitch I brought out the heavy machinery - unforgiving oil-stained huge pans. And the general beat and pulse in his baritone served as rhythm for my washing. So I went swishy-washy with the pulsations of his voice and with the change in tenors changed my dishes. The idea was that if I could take his unforgiving baritone I could just as easily do the dishes. </div>
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It helps that the Bawler is on duty twice a day and almost regular with a variation of a few minutes. What is a few minutes when you are listening to a genius at work. I have heard of many a zealot practising their <i>riyaaz</i> on the banks of rivers and such. Bawler however opens out his lungs and his vocal box in that dusty alley of his and he does it everyday. Ever so often when he is on a crescendo, I believe some unknowing fool in his locality whose eardrums are leaking fluid, takes it upon himself to give the brat a pinch in his chubby arm believing it would stop the charade. This act though brings out in B frequencies never known hitherto. It scares away the village drunks and the unwitting stimulant too. On a regular basis though he scares the pigeons in the locality and his evening baritone scares away the bats as well. That is how we know we are safe from Corona.</div>
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All in all Bawler has helped me keep in discipline when it comes to washing dishes. His regular schedule <i>bis in die </i>means that I now wait for him to start, to run to wash the dishes. And his excellence at it has kept me washing them squeaky clean day after day. It is Bawler-time everyday at around 7 am and 6pm. What can I say but "thank you Bawler..."</div>
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leohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16646094477296614362noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4318314356879743583.post-22589051460585412712020-04-12T09:29:00.002-07:002020-04-14T12:17:18.207-07:00Things a little chaotic<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<u>Disclaimer:</u> All names are changed and any connection to anyone living or dead is purely coincidental. </div>
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The events narrated below occured when I was a hot-blooded bachelor going about doing things which single guys do. I worked at a firm where things were as boring as a doorknob. The only entertainment during the lunch hours included sucking on a <i>chocobar</i>, taking a stroll in the cruel mid-day sun and watching the beauties of the campus pass by now and then. Our company is a hugely male-dominated workspace and sometimes the hot sun and the strenuous workload could play tricks with your mind. But even the most hard critics out there would say that there were some undeniable beauties on campus. Shaina then was no beauty queen, but she could hold her poise against the best of them. She moved about surrounded by her coterie of 'bodyguards'. These men laughed at her jokes and made sure they ate to give competition to a hippo, and well, in reality were no match for her. Or that is what I thought - and secretly every man, who watched her make her way from the cafeteria to her office. Yes I was jealous of them - no secret. Why wouldn't I be? She was a buxom gal who dressed as though looks could kill. She walked out from the shade and sunlight glanced off her face as smooth as porcelain and her skin glowed. One tilt of her head, one bat of her eyelashes and I swear people would drop to the tarmac drooling as they went. While the rest of the girls plodded along, this one seemed to glide forward as though air parted to let her walk. Her hips would sway ever so gently as she walked and it played <i>Chopin: Nocturne no.20</i> in my mind. From time to time she would turn to the hippos, say something and laugh. It was enough to get you weak around the knees. You get the point - she was gorgeous and half the company was crazy for her. The rest had no testosterone.</div>
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Breakfast in the company had two options - either eat the trash they served in the mess or eat the food served in the cafeteria. After days of experimenting I enter the mess only for <i>poha</i> on Mondays. I wanted to live and since the past 7 years I have done so by religiously following this meal ethic. There was another who had lived longer in the company. And the secret to his long life Sourav would say, was to avoid the mess altogether. Sourav was a bit of an enigma. Standing five feet four, hair like Sonic the hedgehog and geeky black-rimmed glasses, he had few rules that governed his life. He was a whiz when it came to quizzing and what his geeky brain couldn't comprehend, Sourav would say, were things best left alone in this world. That was Rule One. So a small subset of things - mess food, cats, Lady Gaga, Donald Trump, etc. made it into this list. His brain couldn't comprehend the mess food. Couldn't understand what in the modern periodic table could come together to create such a toxic slush. So he left it alone. I could see real genius in this thought. So I followed him. Rule two: there is no need for gears other than first, reverse and top in any automobile. I travel with the chap and I solemnly state that the rest of his gearbox have had as much action as a fat girl on prom night (I have nothing against fat girls, but you do get my point don't you?). Rule Three, everything in this world followed a logic and all chaos had to be broken down. Even before Google brought out Maps, he had calculated the shortest route from home to office at any given hour of the day with respect to distance and traffic and the four seasons. There was no chaos in his life. And come morning, if chaos were to come in through the front door, it would be thrown unceremoniously out the backdoor into the trashcan by night. His rule for chaos however, meant that girls were out. Don't get me wrong - this was a happily married chap; but, "Leo", he would say," girls bring chaos and I rather not have chaos". And so Sourav and girls in general had a "like poles" rule. They tended to move apart.</div>
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These were the rules around which his life revolved and all things said, this moving calculator was a fun person to be around.</div>
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On that particular morning, Sourav and I were climbing the cafeteria steps for breakfast. We were talking about a mix playlist he made or some such. I happened to glance up and there on the top of the steps stood Shaina. A lump formed in my throat and I felt a shiver run up my spine. I always got nervous when she passed within 5 feet of me. It seemed like she was waiting for someone. One hand on her hips, a light morning breeze blowing her hair back and the sun glowing her face golden. I swear I could sing "<i>Chaudaveen ka chand...</i>" for that look alone. I mumbled to Sourav to add <i>Chaudaveen</i> to his playlist and kept climbing. I thought I heard him say " are you nuts?...right after megadeath and metallica?..." I must have been two steps from the top when it happened. She happened to look down towards me and her face broke into a smile. I froze.<br />
She said " Hello!!" and the smile became wider.<br />
This epi-tome of beauty was smiling at me! My world stopped. I could feel blood flowing through all the blood vessels in my body. My brain went into overdrive. <i>What just happened?</i> <i>She is smiling at me? saying Hello? Had she caught the smile I gave her after she passed me every afternoon? Maybe that project accolade I got, became known in other departments as well? Really? </i><i>Sure, plenty of HODs thought it was a good effort. But really? The Shaina knows my name? Could be. Why else would she say hello? Boy! Shaina is saying hello to you. Shaina is saying hello to you!</i><br />
I have heard that supercomputers work at several teraflops. But the way my brain processed what happened would have beaten the best of them. I could see her big beautiful eyelashes closing as she blinked. Her lips a crimson red, gleaming as her smile grew. Time slowed. </div>
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<i>"When they are given energy electrons jump from an orbital at lower energy state to another orbital at higher energy state!..." hollered Mr. Babu. My Class XII Chemistry class had half the class nodding off from the heavy lunch that we had. I opened half an eye to look at sunlight reflecting off Mr. Babu's bald head. It looked shiny and red. Very nice. I felt my eyes dropping shut when Mr. B started drawing the said orbital. It made no sense to me. </i></div>
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<i>"Saying hello to YOU! said my brain</i>. I was on the steps again. <i>"At me?!"</i> <i>I replied to my brain. "Yes you! She is saying hello to YOU". </i>I felt a strange sense of energy running through me. Up my spine, up my neck and into my brain. I felt light, my ears were buzzing. I was not in this world. I looked up and saw her smiling. Still. I half extended my arm to her. I still couldn't decide on a wave or a handshake. My brain ordered my lips to reply with a smile. I was shaking from head to toe.</div>
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"Oh hello! Sourav! Long time no see?" She extended an arm and moved to my side.<br />
The creature next to me - that number-crunching, rule-making, chaos-hating geek bundle next to me walked up to this vision of beauty and held up his hand.<br />
" Hello there Shaina" he said "How are you?" </div>
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<i>"And when the atoms give out energy the electrons drop from higher energy orbitals to lower energy orbitals" continued Mr. Babu "Are you listening ?? You there in the back bench. Is that you Leo? Sleeping again?? When will you learn all this!? Stand up!! Explain the s p d f configuration.."Mr. Babu was livid. I hated him then. I was seeing Salma Hayek just a moment ago.. Oh what was this s p d f nonsense?? Salma looked so nice....</i></div>
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As Sourav stepped across to shake her hand I felt the blood drain from my head, down my neck and into my legs. A numbing cold enveloped me. I felt heavy as though someone had tied a rope around my waist and was pulling me into the Earth. Felt as though my world had erupted and all the energy in me had drained out. </div>
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I stood frozen in a time wrap, watching them exchange what seemed to be pleasantries. After what seemed like ages he waved bye to her and walked to our usual table. I followed in a stupor. She had walked away without even realizing that I was standing next to him. I think I ate <i>poha</i> that day. I never know and hardly cared. I was in shock. He talked to me oblivious to the fellow who had the life sucked out of him a moment ago. If an electron felt that way I really feel sorry for it. That was one low energy state. I must have eaten my food, said bye to him and walked away. I have no clue.</div>
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When I regained my bearings maybe an hour or so later I called up my friend. Asked him what happened that morning. He explained that they were old friends, batchmates infact.<br />
He finally said" You were there Leo. You were right with me? Why are you asking me this?"<br />
<i>He had too choose the hottest girl in the company to throw out his no-chaos rule! Talk of anomalies.</i></div>
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"No Sourav. My mind was on other things."I said" Things a little chaotic." I hung up.<br />
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PS: At this point I would like to make some things very clear for my well-being. I am happily married and I do run these tales by the woman of the house before I broadcast them - before I embarrass myself. </div>
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leohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16646094477296614362noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4318314356879743583.post-6352916591955585052019-03-27T12:41:00.001-07:002019-03-27T12:48:01.051-07:00We don't deserve better<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
In the time it takes you to bat an eyelid you could count a minimum of ten rule violations in public in India. We are a lawless people; we have the longest written constitution in the world as well. Today on my way home from work I saw an earth-moving vehicle moving at a speed well above 30kmph cutting through traffic. The traffic cops do not bat an eyelid - not at what the vehicle was doing on the road nor at its speed. The transportation minister however does a well-rehearsed speech in the airing of a commercial on road safety. We spit on roads, public places, encourage dons to become politicians, land stealing mafia goons as well, jump traffic signals, drive like maniacs, engage in road rage, pay bribes, take bribes, but at the end of the day we whine that we deserve better.<br />
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<b>The Lion's philosophy</b><br />
The Lion was as you remember my thesis guide. As is with most thesis guides he and I rarely saw eye to eye on things. But disagreement is the mother of creation I like to believe. I did not create a lot at the end of my thesis believed the Lion. But more on that later. The Lion had a huge expanse of a desk and this is the story of one of the few things that the Lion and I were in agreement over. So one fine evening the Lion calls me to his office and after rambling on over thesis technicals he points to his desk. Now when I say vast expanse of a desk it is an understatement. It would be the kind of place a chap would arrange bowling pins at the end of. Where James Bond would throw a smoking hot Hale Berry and make out - without having to brush anything off. You get the picture. The Lion had a few books neatly arranged to the millimeter and would sit at the other end peering through his spectacles. He was so far away you would be tempted to shout. So like I said he pointed to his desk and said " look at this desk for example. I got it made after giving very specific dimensions.." For what? A skating rink? " and look at what I get. The surface must look quite smooth from where you sit..." huh? I was still fantasizing about Hale Berry's thighs..they are really smooth. "but it is not really smooth you see. There are undulations...I can feel them under my fingers. If you look closely you can see them too...Perfection is a forgotten word in our country these days" I was shaken out of my Hale Berry dream. "There was once a time when our artisans were revered all over the world for their fine craftsmanship. Now I cannot even get a proper desk made. People do not value perfection these days in our country..." he trailed off. I nodded. That is the root of our problem. We are a society which breeds mediocrity, panders to it, and worships it. Why else would we revere jugaad?<br />
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<b>The Field Marshal's speech</b><br />
Field Marshal Sam Manekshaw was one of the best leaders this country has ever produced. In his speech to the cadets at IMA I believe he spoke at lengths on what makes a leader. And he emphasised that one of the virtues a leader should possess is knowledge. Knowledge about the subject on which he is supposed to lead. Indians a big majority of them finish their education with not a clue of what they have studied. I work in the R&D centre of one of the leading automobile manufacturers of the country and I can confidently say that the big decision makers and vast majority of the population in all the R&D centres of all the automobile manufacturers in this country are men of little knowledge and big egos. Absolute crap and a perennial nature of subservience and pandering breed in their minds. If you doubt my words check the number of meaningful patents filed from India. Check whether we are the owners of any bit of technology. Mr. E. Sreedharan remarked in one of his interviews that nearly 90% of Indian engineers are simply unemployable. They have to be reschooled to get any decent output from them. The vast majority of Indian R&D centres lap up everything that the Western world tells them like the fools they are. With not a question or shame. It is true that India won its independence from Britain in 1947 but we are still slaves to the white man.<br />
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<b>"How the King is, so shall his subjects be"</b><br />
goes an old Indian saying. There can be no perfect fit than in the present case. We are swine in the gutter lead by a donkey. Swine in the gutter because we love to live this worthless shitty life. Donkey because our leader is an ass - of enormous proportions and dubious credentials. The other day I was returning home when I saw a cow trying to scratch its ears on a parked motorcycle's handlebar. It was as though it was trying to dig out ear wax from its ears. I remember that it was about the time when the PM's (a+b)^2 speech had gone out. If you have not heard it please do check out Youtube for the landmark speech that he gave to Indians in Canada. And when you have heard it let me know if you feel like the cow did. I can assure you that people all over the world from Canada to India are yet to make any sense of his words. We should have given up on that long time ago. At no time before this in the history of Independent India nor of any country for that matter I believe has a dictator risen to become PM after having carried out a genocide. They usually become dictators and carry out genocides once they get to be the ruler of the land. We are that land of unparalleled idiots who voted to power a man under whose reign there was a genocide which went on for three days under full public media glare. Three days. Deaths first in one community and then another. Uncontrolled communal clashes that went on like a macabre test match. And we voted him to power. Industrialist money poured in during election season and you voted in like the swine you are someone to rule you. You pathetic subservient idiots. When will you cease to think like a slave and behave like a decent citizen? A responsible one? Forget the PM and his sidekicks. Your local politicians are old Zamindars(landlords) and mafia goons and plain old thugs. They fill up hoardings wearing heavy gold chains and look down upon you with their ignorant, bullying eyes. You deserve no better you subservient fool. You continue to vote them to power.<br />
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<b>We do not deserve better. And there is no respite.</b></div>
leohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16646094477296614362noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4318314356879743583.post-32624805765360685212018-08-11T11:28:00.002-07:002018-08-11T11:28:17.586-07:00US trip diaries part 2 : A lot new<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I believe every place has its unique set of variables. There are the people, local traditions, mannerisms, social rules and conventions, and the like. I make it a point to read up on the place I am about to visit. I feel it helps me adjust better to the change. But there is no way of knowing exactly what to expect at a place and thus the surprise element always remains. The romance is there to be savored. Just that I am better prepared to imbibe it and blend in. There is a ton of knowledge thrust on you about the American way of life from Hollywood and books that I really did not feel the need to read up on the way of life. Did read up on the places to visit as that seemed the only thing left. The bro and sis were supposed to be accompanying us everywhere and even this did not seem necessary but somehow I do not like the idea of wandering blindly into the unknown. So read I did. But all the reading and the movies and what-not could not have prepared me for the sea changes that I came to witness.</div>
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I was not surprised at the neatly mowed lawns, the white picket fence, the sprinklers on at dawn, and the big pick up trucks in the driveways. My binge on movies and sitcoms had shown me enough of that. One of the biggest surprises however were people. No they were not weird but oh so very different. It is the same story everywhere - any new land has its own type of people. I agree. I have been to Europe, I have seen different races and cultures amongst people. I come from a country where the people and their traditions change roughly with every 100 km or so in any which direction one takes. But I must admit at being more surprised at the way people live here than in other wanderings in my life. Again nothing wrong in the way they do things. Just different from what I am used to. In the mornings I would try to get up early by daybreak and look out of the balcony to see the community blanketed in quiet and punctuated by the lights of the streetlights. Dawn was just creeping its way in. Over yonder the pool-cleaners were at work pulling out the leaves from the pool. It would be cold. And I would be enveloped by a sense of peace. The wife liked to sleep late and so with my morning ablutions done I would creep down in my sneakers to explore around. I wasn't among the earliest of the early birds so I did meet people on their way for a morning stroll, some with their dogs too. Pet owners here do two things differently compared to the lot back in India. They actually take their dog for a walk themselves and yes they do pick up after their pets. It has started becoming a fad with the well-to-do in India to have someone else walk their dogs for them. Lazy brats that they are. I am repelled by their laziness and their insolence, and indecency in letting their pets' litter be the source of worry for the general public. It will lie where it is to dry in the natural scheme of things and be a source for flies and insects or to wash down the road with a downpour. Indians would not admit it. But their gain of Independence was not with a sense of social ethics. I have heard that in the early days there did exist a sense of value for the freedom they obtained and a general decorum in society. But that must have been short-lived because I have grown up to seeing an India especially in the past decade where social ethics and decorum have taken a back seat. Might is right nowadays and it stinks. We lack in self-imposed discipline and obey only the rule of the stick. The pet-owners in India, a vast majority of them have forgotten that they are confining their pets to a life of confinement and servitude and up the misery by total apathy barring the times when they want to be amused by their pets.</div>
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On my way towards the park I would invariably pass solitary walkers and binary ones with pets or without. Old people, young people their sweatshirts and hoods on to keep the chill out. I loved the clean walkway, such a welcome break from the dirty ones back home! I do not know how it started. But very soon I was wishing most of my fellow walkers a "Good morning!" or a smile or sometimes even an acknowledging nod. I do not know how it started because it is not customary in India to wish perfect strangers, It takes a lot of time to reach to the point of even nodding to strangers on a morning walk let alone wishing them a good morning. Here though it seemed to come naturally. I do not know if the feeling was reciprocal but I sure felt that people were more ready to acknowledge each other even as a matter of formality or in many cases with a lot of warmth. So surprise. I loved my morning walks. The morning chill against my neck and forehead and the feel of the soft grass from the dew on them. If I did feel good about the greetings from the passersby I was puzzled by some of them. The ones I am referring to are the "how do you do" category. That is what I am calling them now. You see these would answer back with a "how do you do" no matter how you greet them. You could have said "good morning" or smiled or even asked a "how do you do". See? asked not said. "How do you do?", when I learnt the tongue was a polite question. This tribe has converted it to a rhetorical question. To be pelted back at whatever greeting you accorded them. Totally lifelessly, with zombie looks. I do not understand this. See back home people mistrust strangers so they tend to avoid you. They do not even greet you. Plain rude, I know. But a reaction equal to the feeling inside of them. But this tribe I do not understand. They seem to feel obliged to answer and answer they do with total apathy. I would have preferred total neglect. This seems more rude and weird in comparison to neglect. So surprise.</div>
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I became familiar to many people on my morning walks and they of me. Old Indian couples, Americans, most of the lot who were on their stroll at the same time as I. In particular the mom who ran. Well the mom who ran did not just run. She did something that would have been considered taboo in India. She pushed her baby in its pram as she ran, taking the toddler along with her. And by run I mean a full canter, not a trot, not the showpiece running that many so called joggers do (sorry people wagging your bottoms and shuffling your legs does not count as running) - but a full blown run. And man was she fast! At first sight I could not believe my eyes. No one from India would. Because this is unlike anything we have seen or accept as a social normal. To put it in perspective babies in India are meant to be pampered and cajoled and treated as the most fragile things on the planet. It could be a daughter-in-law's ticket to hell if she ever thought that she could take her kid out on a run let alone put it in a pram and push it along as she ran. I am told as I narrated this incident to my nri cousins that this is not unique to the U.S. Apparently their local 5k run winner in their neighbourhood in Australia was a dad who pushed his kid along in its pram as he ran, And he wins everytime - with people who have nothing to push and that includes my cousin. He just has to push himself but still pram-pushing dad beats the lot and him to the finish every single time. What a talent! I would love to visit this guy and have a beer with him just to know the secret. Because it is a secret ain't it? The mom that I have seen and this dad have not only to concentrate on their running but push their kids in their prams too negotiating the course. The mom's kid I am sure will be the next Schumi because if that kid has learnt to keep its milk down its throat around the corners with the G-force that pram was generating; I bet you my hard earned money F1 would be a stroll in the park. That kid will feel at ease in an F1 car when it is nineteen. Mom was making sure of that with the speeds she was running around those wild corners. But it made me think. You know about her and about her counterparts back home. She represented a lot of the girls back home, fresh into marriage or stepping into marriage. She represents a question for which there is no easy answer and none it seems that would satisfy everyone. Right in that moment as she ran in full flight she was for me a person trying to fulfill many roles. Tick a lot of boxes all at the same time. A mother, a working lady perhaps, a fitness enthusiast, a wife, a single-mom too perhaps. I do not know of their counterparts in the U.S but the ones back home atleast the ones I know are finding the equations too confusing. They are ghosts trying to fit into many roles at once and doing justice to none of them. For too many girls in our country their very identity or role is not well written. Most of them are well-educated ergo they would like to work at well-paying and demanding jobs. They would like to be treated equal with respect to guys and be given equal responsibilities. The question however (oh I will be hated forever for this one) is whether they are ready to be treated as equals. About the turn of this millenia there was a big shift in parenting. Gone were the days of big families with 10-12 children. Now reduced to 2 kids apiece the kids started growing up in extremely nurturing environments. There was an understanding that education was a way forward so parents started choking their kids with just education. Atleast among the late 80s and early 90s kids growing up had dual roles - they had to do chores at home and were exposed to the need for social conventions and proper social behaviour. With the turn of the century even this was lost. But boys were boys, many of them learnt to be street-smart. Girls however I feel had it tough. They grew up more pampered and cocooned than ever in the history of their kind. The result is the modern Indian girl (atleast many of them) who do not know their role in the social structure. They demand equal roles and respect on par with boys whereas they are physically and mentally sub par. The fault is in their cocooned and over-protective upbringing. One one front she wants to be independent and free and wild without ever possessing the mental grit and physical prowess to be truly free and independent in the dirty world that is the modern world. There is more pressure than ever before in the workspace and public spaces are as dangerous or worser than ever before. Most modern Indian girls I feel are woefully sub-par among their kind elsewhere in standing up to the pressure and insecurity in the modern world and in particular India. Next up is their role as a homemaker or mother. Both are intertwined though I am quite sure that most Indian girls would swear that they do not want either or both of these roles. How much ever we cry hoarse and debate, the truth remains that in the Indian context and so too with the rest of the world the role of the mother and the tasks therein remain firmly with the woman. No one could be as selfless and caring as a woman for her child and the modern Indian girl has lost the gist of this in her push for being a career-woman. Being mollycoddled or cocooned from the outside world for most of her adult life she approaches the challenges in the work environment and elsewhere with unwarranted bravado and often takes the fall that comes with this approach. At home too she is stuck in the limbo between being a career-woman and a homemaker. Doing basic household chores has been seen to be demeaning and it is a common scene to find men doing the lion's share of the work at home. For the feminists out there jumping to score a point I have something to ask you. Leave aside the lazy men who refuse to lift a hand to help their wives, Let us talk about the real men. Men who having seen their mothers toiling in the kitchens have taken to helping their wives. Then mix into their lives these 'modern' girls who have done little in their childhood in helping their moms out, do not have a sense of their role in the family nor in the society, have not moved a muscle in household chores ever in their lives and are incapable in taking any worthwhile family decision because lets face it they were never involved in anything important throughout their lives. These pompous, infatuated, selfie-generation girls have invaded India and are living in the delusion that they are a lot more important than they actually are. I am not idiotic enough to think that all the boys have rescued themselves from the "cocoon" phenomenon. But boys get more chances to be street-smart and many of them use the opportunities to be world-ready. And lastly with the system of arranged marriage in India men usually marry younger girls and many a sensible boy has had to marry the "cocoon" generation. Cut to the chase to being a mother. Many in the "cocoon" generation have never raised up a sibling and hence do not know what it is like to raise a kid. The result is kids growing up without proper care and guidance because the parents are yet to figure out their roles and are fighting to balance out their career and parenting roles.The scene is pathetic and it is bound to get worser the way it is going. We are raising a generation of socially impaired kids and they will wilt in the face of reality. The Western woman may have learnt to balance her roles and I hear that there is a good work-life balance in the western world. But India with the rest of the developing world stinks in this regard. So while pram-pushing mom ran her quick rounds around the park I am left to wonder - will her counterparts back home ever make it to where she is? I am surprised though, for even with the confusion in roles back home I am yet to see pram-pushing jogging ladies in India. I get the feeling that there is a lot new coming in this trip. </div>
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leohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16646094477296614362noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4318314356879743583.post-14235474346454955732018-07-11T07:50:00.001-07:002018-07-11T07:58:15.435-07:00US trip diaries Part 1: Settling in<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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It is a long way from here to there - was what was running through my mind standing in front of a john at a restroom somewhere in California. I was having an aiming problem. Men reading this blog would nod sympathetically. The ones who have seen me would not. Touching the scales at 5' 6" barely, I am not tall by any standards. With the average American way above those values I had have reckoned finding the furniture built for a tall man. But no, that was not to be and I was pleasantly surprised. It should be nice growing up in the States as a kid and knowing that you can pee with abandon. For me in India it was a horror. Urinals in India (most public ones) are built for giants. For short kids like me it was no less than artillery class. To pee or not to pee was certainly a valid question then.</div>
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Colombus must have been one bad dud at Math or how could he have mistaken this landmass for India? Lying right the other way it should have been fairly simple to gauge that this ain't it. We could tell him for sure; we had a bad jetlag to prove it. It was past midnight where we had started from and it was a pleasant 11 am in San Fransisco with the wind blowing in at a mildly chilly 60 degree Farenheit onto our faces. We were waved into US by a jolly Customs officer and an equally irritant Security guard. The first of the surprises was the big welcome card that sis-i-l and bro-i-l (hereinafter sis and bro) had made. No one had made me one before and I loved it. They live in the suburbs of San Fransisco. From what I hear of the rent in the city I feel it is a good choice. Once at their place we settled into trying to beat jetlag. We had tried it on the flight and failed but that was without a determined bro around. Eight years of living in the States and he claims he has a fool-proof method to prepare visitors to beat jetlag - patent pending. First off is an 'innocent' walk around the community. Only one hour into it do you realise that he has no intention of turning back. You plod along looking at the freshly mowed lawns, the garden furniture, making a mental note to come see all this when the head is not buzzing. You know that you have been taken for a ride when you pass the mailman a zillion times on his walk and there is a sheepish grin on the bro's face.</div>
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"Just a little bit more" And then you pass the mailman another zillion times. Finally just when you are regarding a sit-down protest the bro announces "home!!" He has timed it to perfection. Back home you plonk down onto the sofa and it is still 3pm PST. Five hours to when you will sleep says the bro.</div>
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"Yeah right" says the snigger in your head. I see rainbows and clouds and meadows; sleep is wonderful.</div>
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And that is when he starts playing the most intriguing macho movie that could stir the manliness in an old-school nerd. Trust me it was Italian job, Ocean's eleven, Mission impossible rolled into one. I have no idea now what it was. Only that my eyelids popped open, pupils dilated and for the next two hours I was held by the idiot box. Bro's plan had worked. I was kept awake till 10 pm PST and by morning the next day I had gotten adjusted to living by PST.</div>
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We spent the next couple of days roaming around the place. I envied the bro and sis for they lived in a wonderful place. A neat little community complete with a park and a kiddies play ground. As if that wasn't enough there was a stream flowing down with ducks in it. I admit it is not Wordsworthy but I just loved it. After having walked around the neighbourhood a hundred times I still maintain that I am not in the slightest bit bored of it. Infact given the chance I would do it a hundred times more.</div>
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leohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16646094477296614362noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4318314356879743583.post-63955252856582415532017-10-24T11:12:00.000-07:002017-10-24T21:06:37.389-07:00Lead the way!!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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"The concept of India will shatter, for Indian leaders will be men of weak straw ..." such was the gist of what Winston Churchill supposedly thought about India pre-Independence. The Indian state however has survived many a storm and in its seventieth year of independence we could do well however to ponder on the second half of the prediction. Through the course of the journey of these seventy years India has thrown up many exemplary leaders. Among them Field Marshal Sam Manekshaw would be remembered with reverence. The good Field Marshal delivered a stellar speech at St. Xavier's Institute of Management on the topic of what made a good leader. All of what he said was pure gold and it would have done a ton of good if it had been broadcast through all means of public communication in great dollops like Indian aunties would serve to the visiting nephew or niece. I am guessing the Field Marshal would disapprove of thrusting his speech down the general populace's ears but in view of the current state of affairs that would hardly seem overdrive.</div>
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If the country has produced exemplary leaders it should seem to have it done it with as much vigour as water coming out of the municipality taps. In short supply would hardly cover the sentiment. There has been much debate over why the country has not reached levels achieved by others who got their independence much later even leading perhaps to the comparison of India to a grand old elephant. Taking its own sweet time to do things. Blame has been ascribed to the huge population, to our pathetic state when the British had left us - broken socially and economically, among many other factors. The younger generation who have not seen nor experienced those early years the early fifties and right upto the seventies, are increasingly quick to find fault with the economic policies practised, and people of all political affiliations are prone to point their fingers at a rival political party's role. In this land of incredible diversity it is all too easy to have a different opinion and trade accusations as to whose fault it is. But sometimes it would help to point a finger back towards the self. The fact that it has taken a long time to bring development at the requisite pace in this land of ours is quite surprisingly its own people. A look around at one's immediate neighbourhoods - the home, the workplaces, the transportation, the places of education, law and order, all barring none reek of a lack of good leadership. It is like the plague!!it is everywhere. And the Indian attitude which is the cause of this disease has accepted it as the normal. Borrowing from the Field Marshal's speech, among the many qualities which a good leader should possess are primarily technical knowledge and integrity. Both are abysmally absent in the Indian scene. Taking the case of the industrial sector of which the writer is also a part of, there is very less focus for the most part on scientific correctness or accuracy. There is a mad rush to beat the competition with little regard to accuracy or quality. The results are half-baked products which are way behind the world standard for quality. In fact the method of a quick or temporary solution known famously as "jugaad" is accepted with pride and self-professed with wide grins to visiting foreigners. This coming from a nation which centuries ago was the world leader in quality and renown for the accuracy in its work is shocking to say the least. Indian leaders do not as a rule promote quality nor technical accuracy and an overwhelming majority of them do so because they are not technically competent. There is a mad rush to meet deadlines wherein the very reason the rush exists is because of an attitude of procrastination and a lack of the second quality - integrity. Indian 'leaders' barring a minuscule few lack integrity. They are hopeless yes-men and women, charlatans of the worst order. Glaring examples of servitude they attain their positions by constant arse-licking rather than any real talent and are pathetic leaders. They are quick to pass the compliment down the line and expect their subordinates to follow the same revolting process. The atmosphere in most Indian offices is frustrating and nauseating with this vicious cycle in place. The ability to make a subordinate work extra hours with no regard to his/her work-life balance is often projected as a talent rather than an abysmal failure at managerial-level planning. It is no wonder then that the best talent in this country runs away from it at the first opportunity.</div>
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Indians are 'taught' all through their long education process and adult life with glaring examples that scientific accuracy and integrity do not pay. Careful inspection would reveal that these very qualities resulted in the colonisation of this people by the British. There were bad leaders then as does the nation now. The question then is: can this be corrected? Yes, by purging the country of this mindset and that is no easy job. The trouble moreover is that there is no alternative, for, with this attitude the nation would slide back into economic servitude if not a political one. A starting step then would be a change in the educational process to favour integrity and accuracy and an acceptance by the national conscience that there needs to be a change. Here is to hoping that it may happen! </div>
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leohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16646094477296614362noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4318314356879743583.post-59757797888574588862015-01-30T12:28:00.001-08:002015-01-30T12:33:23.946-08:00Couple Fever<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I am allergic to couples. When I
am exposed to them I get prickly, irritable, nauseated, revolted, obliviated, stupified, stressed - altogether, or in parts. What I don’t however, is pick
up boils, develop rashes, run temperatures, develop coughs, feel jittery(there
is sometimes that tingling feeling though, like when one loses tooth enamel),
lose body-balance, froth from the mouth, see hallucinations or any funny
symptom of this order. I guess it is safe to say: I am better off away from
them. Thus the allergy theory. Before you start making conclusions – I am
straight and single(but have no aversion to being a pair). There is no
bitterness too; I am happy the way I am.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I am living through a time when
my friends are getting married, having kids, fooling around, so I am exposed to
couples a lot. It is not that I don’t love them. I love my friends, just don’t
understand their behavior when they are a pair. I say fool around you lot, do
it to your heart’s content. Let the Earth in its timeless beauty be your playground
without any international boundaries. But when you do it, why do you remember me? Don't get me wrong, all I am saying is: why do you feel the need to share your intimate moments with me I wonder? I am
just stumped by the gesture. I do understand that love between a man and his woman
is one of the most beautiful things in this world as is all kinds of love out
there. There are fewer things more beautiful than a kiss of love and I have
been humbled by this exchange of love in the earnest. That being said, I limit
that feel of wonder for the couples kissing on screen or for my partner – when I
find her. I really dread the summer, no, not for the heat. But that is when you
guys go for your honeymoons and your trips and what-not and flood Fb with your
pictures. Do I really have to see you and your partner kissing, hugging, and
doing it in front of every statue, every fountain, under every damn tree and on
every park bench all over Europe, Singapore, Malaysia? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Where has the old-school way of doing these
things and <b>NOT</b> showcasing it to the whole world, died huh? I say dig that up
from wherever it has been buried and post it on Fb like a ticker tape – on an
infinite loop. The next time I sit down infront of my computer with my morning
cuppa listening to the bird-song and breathing in the stillness of the pure
dawn air spare me the sight of you guys hugging the living breaths out of each
other.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Have your double-dates and your
couple get-togethers and your weird past-time games, I understand the feeling
that you feel different now that you are with each other. But pray can you not
be condescending next time when you are with us single-lot? I can bet that you
didn’t learn anything overnight when you were fooling around, so why suppose
now that we your friends up until this point and perfect gentlemen don’t know
how to handle it when we see you as a couple? We knew how to be around a lady
or a guy as the case might be, before this; so why the airs as though we cannot
handle it? How do you suddenly forget that you were one among us right up until
she said “yes”, making the same sick jokes, poking fun, neck-deep in general
tom-foolery and suddenly turn a ‘new leaf’? Why this insecurity? Either keep us
the way you saw us or move on you lot. It does hurt to ask you to push off
though – even though you would do that without batting an eyelid.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Will I become one of you lot? Not
a chance in a million. I laugh even as I write this. As a guideline take this: there
are things you can share on Fb guys – pictures of your new house, a family
picture, your new stereo, that new awesome car that you bought, even the new
shoes that she wants to flaunt(all of this earn a big thumbs-up), pictures of
the two of you looking into the sunset(yes), of the two of you looking dreamily
into each other’s eyes(ahem), kissing as if there is no tomorrow(quit spoiling
my today). See the drift? On a similar note with girls I should believe. Though
I can be damned if I know what counts as ok with you lot! I am joking. Don’t
cross the “weird-line” people; that is the thumb rule. You know it, because you
were once single too. So use that brain of yours - <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>if you can manage to bring blood back to it, and
be “unweird”. You can be sure that I still love you lot from the bottom of my
heart and would still want to be around you – pray don’t give me the creeps.</div>
</div>
leohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16646094477296614362noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4318314356879743583.post-10687824943312417922012-10-02T12:55:00.003-07:002012-10-02T12:55:27.649-07:00No country for young people..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I stay in a dinghy, old appartment in Pune and it is not as though I am here by choice. I have enough money to rent out a better, cleaner, newer appartment. Yet even though the Supreme Court has ruled that there will be no discrimination against bachelors, the rule has not found its way to the aam admi (common man). Whenever I had gone to a better 'housing society' I am greeted with the sometimes unwritten 'rulebook' which wags its knarled crooked finger disapprovingly in my face "no appartments for bachelors". Even spinsters are not spared, making us wonder what it was that these 'housing society' people feared. Maybe the men didn't trust their wives and the women their husbands. All in all I ended up in this old, forsaken appartment from where the owner in his sixties moved into a better place a few yards away in a better 'housing society' and here I am sitting and writing.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Every year the prime minister or the president of this country or some other chap who has reached some position in his life, at the Red Fort or in the insides of some crowded auditorium infront of hundreds of young faces reiterates the golden words "the youth of this country is its future". I guess the words stop their way when it has reverberated in some young chap's hypercharged brain or the walls of the auditorium and perhaps when the 'IAS' written speech finds its way into some convenient dustbin in a convenient manner. True the words inspire a few young men and women to tackle the odds and rise high enough to whence they would deliver the same speech in front of another set of drooling faces. This is in no way to belittle the office of the PM or the President, let me not find the police when I return tomorrow to my ramshackle place. What I ponder however is what this country is doing when it is not listening to the aforementioned speech. " Oh these teenagers they are so unruly"..."the young people they play such loud music..." .."no regard for basic manners..." we the youth of this country have so many epaulets showered on us. Not one wherein someone is thankful or better still nurturing or looking upto the youngsters of this country and handing them the reins of responsibility. Is it me or is there the feeling that I live in a place which doesn't value its youth.There exist societies where the youth are valued, respected and forever reminded that the reins of responsibility rest with them. Here they don't believe that you are capable of choosing your own life-partner so I'm guessing the reins of responsibility are still a far way off. It is sad that I get to hear about the youth of the nation and its 'power' only from ads of a soft-drink maker and not from the front pages of a national daily. What instead rules the front pages is the public drama of some political kingpin or the gory images of a riot somewhere; anything for a little extra readership. We drool in the cesspool of political drama and highly disturbing images of mangled bodies, blood and gore and of wailing relatives. Reports of riots and personal loss are important, but what is disturbing is the image of a nation which greedily laps up this daily dose of gore every morning. We are more than eager to find new role models and we wallowed in pride when we had a president of the stature of Dr. A.P.J. Abdul Kalam, but I wonder how many of this nation or is its press remember his observations when he compared the first page of an Israeli daily to an Indian one. The gist was that the Israeli one carried the news of some ordinary guy who had worked to create an invention on its front page while there was a bomb blast in the country which killed many, while the Indian one ran pages including the first one on a similar blast. The press of this country has a responsibility to its citizens but it is questionable if it is doing its best to work it out rather than to feed upon the negative psychology of the general populace.</div>
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We don't care for the least that the best of our minds leave the country in search of better pastures, except for some screaming headlines when there is nothing better to write of. It is been quite a while that we have been hiding behind the excuse that we are a 'developing' country and cannot provide them minds with the infrastructure that they are looking for. When everywhere we want to be counted among the cream of the 'developing' nations why don't we care that the people responsible for making this change leave the country at the first chance? We say the youth are unruly and that they have no manners. The youth of this nation did not drop down with the South-West monsoon and were very much a part of our households till they became the 'youth'. So we have only ourselves to blame if we have raised up a society which has no manners. I am not saying that the youth of this nation is innocent of all crimes like the pure white snow. It can and should think for itself. But fostering a society where the youth are at best onlookers is pathetic. If there are 'gropers', 'party-freaks', 'druggies', 'hippies' in the society it is high time we remember that education starts at home. If you dress up your daughters in micro-minis don't expect them to wear anything more when they are grown-up either. If you shower your children with unwanted gifts and aid him/her in becoming a show-off in school remember he/she will want exponentially more when they are growing up and it just might be that they no longer get enough money to satisfy their 'needs'. In all probability you didn't care or listen to them when they were growing up and didn't know that they were not 'just attending' school and college like you supposed they would be but also spending the cash on smoke and drugs and anything else they could lay their hands on. So they are into drugs and all sorts of shit and deal with the underbelly of this society (who incidentally are there because people like you foster them) and notwithstanding all the crap they are in may come to the situation where they are short on cash to pay off the dealer. Now you were negligent when you brought them up, such dregs of weak moral fibre, so it is hardly surprising when they decide to conk off one of you so that they could get their hands on some easy cash. And you are up in arms against the youth? You made them weak, incapable of taking any major decision, morally feeble, socially inactive (you can be sure I'm not talking of nightlife here). You taught them that things can be done in an incorrect manner as long as nothing fails. Boys are termed as miscreants and girls 'incapable' of doing anything on their own so it is hardly surprising when a large number of them become so.</div>
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There is a huge chunk of untapped young human resource in this country as stated by many experts. But for it to be worth tapping into the attitude of this nation towards its youth must change and so must its attitude of 'kuch bhi chalega' (anything will do as long as it works). Maybe someday the youth of this country will stand up and take its place, will be held accountable and will be worthy of shouldering responsibility.</div>
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leohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16646094477296614362noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4318314356879743583.post-48712232232431736342012-08-01T02:55:00.000-07:002012-08-01T11:18:47.408-07:00The Lady's bag<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Small, big, 'vanity', basket-shaped, all-weird shaped, they have baffled me for years- ladies bags. I never thought so much of fashion could revolve around a single accessory. But over the years I have been witness to these things taking forms and shapes I couldn't have fathomed, before they made their appearance. More often than not beating reason and purpose for sheer looks they have been as attached to women-folk as much as their very limbs. There was a time when I used to think they were mere objects to carry things around as we men have our satchels. But I couldn't have been more wrong. There were signs of trouble early on. When they changed from hanging bags to uncomfortably hanging at elbow-level they struck a warning note. Why would anyone want to walk around with their arms sticking out at odd angles just to accomodate a bag which was previously worn happily at waist level? To appreciate the problem you will have to practise walking around with you arms sticking out as if there were bricks stuck at the arm-pit level. Now maintain this position for hours. That will give you an idea of what I am talking about. What was so valuable about these bags that they would give up the comfort of walking at ease to be seen in public with their arms sticking out a few feet from their bodies; not to mention the perennial unease of walking around looking a bit like one of those dolls that my baby cousin pulled apart.</div>
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What am I doing poking my nose into where it doesn't belong you might ask. No pun intended. Some might go further and point out that I am sacrificing my self-esteem doing this. To all of which I have the following to say. Gentlemen, not the ladies, lend me your ears 'cos who knows what I am about to say might change the course of future for us folks forever. I have been witness and so might you, when some of our women-folk have lost it all and begun to hunt for something desperately in their bags. After rummaging for ages in their bags they would proceed to shake out their contents instead. Out would fall combs, make-up accessories and what looked the entire contents of a dressing table, and what not. There have been times when I expected the dressing table to fall out as well. Now the lobby whom I have earlier mentioned would twitch their noses in disgust and would proceed to ask me if it was gentlemanly to wonder about the contents of a lady's handbag. Now correct me if I am wrong who among us if we have actually noticed this phenomenon haven't felt "how on earth did all this fit inside?". So it is not the contents per se that I am worried about Mr. and Miss so-and-so who have felt disgusted about my activities, it is how all this got inside and stayed inside rather, that has been on my mind. Those who have read Harry Potter might remember the handbag that Hermione carries around in Deathly Hallows. Where she hides an entire tent and supplies for months and what not. Ha! you thought that was a mere fairytale didn't you? What if that was for real and has been happening around us for years? It is a conspiracy gentlemen! and it has been going on under our noses for centuries and we have been too busy to notice. Imagine what a joke it must have been to ladies when they went to magic shows and the magicians pulled out a rabbit from under the hat. They must have been thinking "Pooh! is that all? I can pull out a grand piano outta my bag this very second." Honestly when I see them ladies walking around with handbags splitting at the edges, I swear I half-expect a baby elephant to poke its head out if not for a rabbit and a goat or lamb or two. I can see ratings for the Self plummetting on ladies charts due to this expose, but someone has to bring this to light and if I have to face slander for progress, so be it. I wonder when this started and how is it they do it. Was it prevalent in the Stone ages itself? Did cave-women carry a deer or two and their knitting needle-rocks and perhaps other paraphernalia to go with it in their leather bags? I can't fathom what it must have been that they carried. I can't and don't want to fathom what it is that they carry around these days so it will be a laugh if I try to figure out what the Stone-age ladies carried. Still a dead rabbit or two and a few deer couldn't be too misplaced can they? I wonder whether they cared about their looks in those days. I mean their modern counterparts have gone to the extent of pulling out eye-brow hair - painfully might I add, and I wonder whether the Stone-woman did care about her looks. A necklace of round rocks perhaps?, a string of shiny rocks, pearls, bones? Wonder what counted as beauty in those days. Whatever that might have been, women of all ages would have been gatherers and would have had plenty to put into bags. But it still remains blurry as to how they accomplish this task of packing so much in. It is with great peril to the life then that the Self has put together this little piece of research. For, I find it hard to believe that there hasn't been an inquisitive chap who hadn't stumbled upon this till now. Snuffed up long ago I guess.<br />
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There must be quite a price to a secret such as this. If women have gossiped around for centuries and yet managed to keep this from us I feel that it would take more than a strong will to get to the bottom of this. Some secrets take more than that and this one looks like it would take the price of blood to reveal itself. The occasional blood donation is one thing, even the frequent blood-borrowing by the Kochi-mosquito permissible, but to shovel up something so powerfully hidden might take sacrifices - literally. Till such a time gents don't doubt your eye-sight if you did see a baby-elephant taking a peek out of the bag. What it is doing there in the first place is still beyond me but he is probably poking his head out to say that it quite cramped in there with the dressing table butting into him everytime she swings the bag. </div>
</div>leohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16646094477296614362noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4318314356879743583.post-89255136448665597752012-07-19T21:43:00.000-07:002012-07-20T10:40:23.314-07:00Eurotrip Part-3: Interlakken-Paris & Paris<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i><b>In Deo confidimus</b></i></div>
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<b>Interlakken-Paris</b></div>
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We left for Paris the next day at about 10. It would be a long drive to the city of love, but before we set off there was a little bit of last minute shopping to be done. A watch for mom, and a chance for me to try my French on the shop-lady. We set off and I said goodbye to the city between the two lakes- atleast for now. We reached the French border soon enough and as we crossed over to France we noticed why the Swiss landscape is so famous. I mean it is more or less the same landscape once you cross over, but while the Swiss side looks like a never ending post-card the French side looks like the same postcard has been given to a pup, who well took it for a rip here, a toss there. But personally, I love the French countryside, what if it is without the prim and trim look the Swiss side has?; it has a beautiful feel to it. After watching 'Flyboys' life has never been the same for me, and my love-story with the French countryside has been quite selfish and unending since then. So it was that we watched brooks winding across farms, across the countryside, saw sheep dotting the meadows, gazed at the hedges as they flew past. Me and Fatso got back to playing the 'predict-the-brook-game'. Simple really, all you had to do was predict when the brook would reappear again. I won that one. Fatso was good with the cars, and me, I was predicting brooks. Was I losing out on a life? I made a study which showed that I spent more time in my lab than anywhere else. If that time resulted in anything worth is another matter altogether. I was lost in the beauty that was slipping past. No wonder Wordsworth and Coleridge wrote those beautiful lines. They had the likes of this infront of them and the leisure to relax in this surreal environ for as long as they liked. So as farms and meadows sped past, dotted here and there by quaint farmhouses, I mused in the silence of my mind. My thoughts on several things- on life, on the blessing incurred, on what lay ahead. We passed ruins, of houses it seemed, standing forlorn, holding back their stories. Where these WWII ruins? seemed like it. I doubt any of this area was bombed seeing that the Nazis didn't face any resistance coming in. Maybe this happened on their hastened exit? I don't know. We stopped at a KFC somewhere along the way, in a small town. Nandana got talking to a local who turned out to be quite a nice guy; we spoke for a long time. He talked of his life thus far and we told him about ours. We spoke of the people there, their relationships, their fleeting nature, of how marriages were rare and took place after a series of relationships usually. He spoke of his life, job, village and we told him about our lives too. It was a very nice conversation and I got to test my French again. We said goodbye to the gentleman and were on the road again. We reached the suburbs of Paris at sundown and after a quick dinner at an Indian restaurant (<i>I am getting tired of Punjabi food following me everywhere</i>), we did a quick city tour and saw Paris at twilight. It goes without saying that I was spell-bound by the city, its buildings, their architecture, its cafes, the crowd in them, the lighted Eiffel, the Seine flowing by. We turned in at the Holiday Inn was it? near Charles de Gaulle airport. Slipping in and out of consciousness, after a failed attempt to place a call at IST 5:30, I fell asleep.<br />
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<b>Paris</b><br />
The next day, we had a quick French breakfast and drove over to the Seine. We were to go on the Seine river cruise, on the Bateaux-mouches, and the city was blanketted in a thin fog. There was a huge group of school children (kinder-garden mostly) with us on the boat and we were lost in the chatter. As the boat cruised down the Seine the famous monuments on either side were explained but again most of that was lost in the chatter. I couldn't help trying to remember what it was like when I was their age. Life was more carefree, there was never ending chatter, fun games. It was more simple I guess, except for those class-tests which I thought I could be free of when I became an adult. What a dream that turned out to be! There were teenagers too on the boat and I couldn't resist smiling to myself when I saw their 'we-are-different' airs and how they were looking at the smaller children, the 'oh-these-kids' looks and the general indifference they give to the general populace. Such teenage trends. On that boat I had time to take an assessment of where my life was going. Of how uncertain my future looked even though it was all clear on paper. There are some things which you can control and some that you can't and the latter ruled my thoughts at the moment. We passed the Eiffel on the way. I noticed that the tower has, on a girder at the first level I guess, written in golden letters about ten names- names of famous french scientists of the time I'm guessing. I'm saying this because I did notice Lagrange and if I'm not wrong Dirac too among the names. We saw many famous monuments including the Notre Dame Cathedral with its twin towers, the French national assembly building and the likes. Some of us were lucky to get ourselves photographed and bought our snaps with the Bateaux-mouches emblem on them, when we got off. After a quick lunch we got in queue for the Eiffel and after a long wait we got onto the elevator to take us to the top level. We were lucky that overcast conditions of the morning were gone and a splendid view awaited us o the top. Every which way I looked Paris spread itself out infront of me. The Seine winding along, the presidential palace, the cathedral of Notre Dame, the renaissance architecture was evident on most buildings, the network of streets spread out like a carpet infront of us. We peeked into the apartment that Gustaav Eiffel had built on the top level and saw the wax figures of him, his daughter and Edison in there. A scene depicting when Edison was invited for tea and gifted Eiffel his latest invention- a phonograph. I tried my best to get the shirt-blowing, bare-chested, photo atop the Eiffel I had promised myself. But given the crowd and mom's stern looks that was not to be. Instead I had to be content with a jacket-blowing-in-the-wind photograph atop the Eiffel. It was gusty out there and I loved every moment. Then there was the moment when my hanging-from-a-girder-on-the-Eiffel photo too didn't come out the way I would have liked it to, but hey that's life.We bought souvenirs and apart from the few tense moments when dad went 'missing' there was not much action at the Eiffel. We were given one more tour around the city and along the way we passed through the tunnel where princess Diana died. It seems so long ago but Diana with her social outlook was one of my favourite people and I still fondly remember her. We passed by the Louvre and it was disappointing we couldn't take a peek inside. But we didn't have time and that's for another visit. We then went perfume shopping and even though I am a sucker for perfumes, I had to be content with learning new brand names as I had used up all my Euros. We left for Charles de Gaulle international airport the next day quite early in the morning. I was lucky to be seated with quite friendly old ladies on a vacation to Sri Lanka. I tried my broken French and even though I forget the name of the friendly old gal next to me I do remember that she was quite a nice lady. We pieced together what the other was saying and her friends sitting next to her were very friendly too. My new friend told me they were on a vacation and we discussed ordinary things like her fear of flying ( all in my broken French and her purely local slang), our families. She showed me pictures of her grandchildren and I showed her my family. I said goodbye to her friends and her when we landed at Colombo- nice old lady she was. Apart from the 7-hour-or-so wait for the next flight at the crappy hotel Air Srilanka reserves for Indian travellers, there was nothing special about the wait. The people Negumbo (near Colombo or in Colombo, whatever) dress in an Anglo-Indian style. Must be what is left of the Dutch culture in the area. The Negumbo beach was deserted apart from a coconut-seller whom we didn't see, trying to sell coconuts at the price of gold-biscuits- to Malayalees no less. What a joke. When we landed back at Kochi I had to say goodbye to all my new friends- both old and young. Thanks a lot people. The trip wouldn't have been this fun without you making it fun. I shall the remember the old songs we sang, the pennu kaanal stories and many incidents in this trip forever. Wish we could go someplace again soon. I remember the talks I had with Gina ma'am, Albert and many other people on this trip. Those will be memories I cherish.<br />
P.S: anyone in touch with Gina ma'am? Almost everyone else I have located on FB. </div>
</div>leohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16646094477296614362noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4318314356879743583.post-35839217143314205092012-05-30T00:28:00.000-07:002012-05-30T00:29:31.922-07:00Eurotrip-Part 2<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i>In wait for the blessing</i></div>
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You can only pour more water into a jug that is not full. So too with knowledge you can only add more to a mind which is not full or willing to accept more information, or so goes an old chinese saying I guess. Why did I say this? Ah...just that the times suit such sayings.</div>
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<b>Day-3: Zurich-Geneva-Interlakken</b></div>
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We said good-bye to Zurich early on day-3 after a sumptuous Swiss breakfast. Here as in most western countries, the drivers have a limited driving time. I guess it is near about 10 hrs. after which they have to stop for the day. This includes toilet stops every 2 hours and unannounced stops if taken. They have to log into the bus's system when they start the journey and can be checked anywhere enroute to see if they are adhering to the rules. The penalties are very severe and no one breaks the rules. So we were told that all toilet stops would have to be time-limited and any extensions would take their toll on our Geneva-visit. We would only pass by Geneva and would rest for the day only at Interlakken.</div>
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What began then was a fun day in the bus. I had earned the nickname of 'laptop'. Everyone enquired whether the laptop was safe when they saw me. We started off with David <i>maashu</i> rendering a few prayer songs as also did a few of the girls and some of the 'aunties'. Then along came Sachin with his 'hit numbers'. Soon the bus was rocking to 'glucosum vellam' a hit number from north Kerala. I know this 'cos Muringa(mate from IIT) sings this at most of our parties, and I tried to join in too. Then along came the 'uncle' gang and sang a few golden old malayalam numbers. Some of which they might have sung to their spouses some time back, by the looks of it. Jina ma'am then suggested an ice-breaker where each couple had to speak about their 'pennu-kanal'(a ceremony in India particularly in Kerala where the prospective groom goes to meet his prospective bride at her place). It is a nerve-wracking encounter for some and makes for very entertaining narrations. So it was pleasantly surprising to see normally shy people come forth and share very amusing <i>pennukanal </i>stories with the rest of the group. I was very nervous when it came to my folk 'cos I really didn't know if they had some surprise up their sleeves. I guess most children are thrilled to hear how their parents tied the knot and so was I. I listened with bated breath as they narrated their tale, most of which I already knew. Still it is thrilling each time you hear it. But there are some love-stories which make for very amusing narrations. And there were few such as well. I love to hear such stories of love, bravery, destiny, divine-intervention, chance; there are many facets to them. But each of them is a thriller in its own way. There were stories of guys waiting around while the girl had almost 47 rejections to finally marry the girl, stories of long courtship where there were n number of love-letters written, postmen befriended to make sure that letters reached pronto, in short going the length and beyond for the love of their life. Fascinating tales I say. Meanwhile the bus was taking us through the eternal post-card that is Switzerland. We passed farm-houses, neatly planted crops, cows with cowbells lazing on the fields, on the slopes of rolling meadows looking content with the world around them. Munching grass and flicking their tails, beautiful creatures they were punctuating the scenery. Every now and then we would pass a canal or a brook, twisting and turning its way through the countryside. They were picturesque making their way through the landscape, making a turn here and a turn there, their muddy banks tracing a path through the lush green meadows and fields. Infact me and Fatso had a game where we would predict the arrival of the next brook. Needless to say I won; but Fatso won the name-the-car contest that we had. Reminded me that I have been away from the field of cars for a little too long; losing my grip on the subject that I treasured when I was Fatso's age.<br />
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<b>Geneva:</b><br />
We stopped by the lake in Geneva where there is the tallest fountain in all of Europe. We were let out for a bit of sight-seeing and shopping. After a spot of taking snaps Albert and I decided we should roam around the city in the half-an-hour that we had. Off we set with Fatso and negotiated zebra-crossings as any local would. As we walked by the side of the lake we saw people relaxing on the bank as it was a sunny afternoon. There were people reading, couples relaxing, their arms inter-twined looking out at the water, musing, some kissing. There is this thing with the western world that you wouldn't find anywhere in the eastern world- public show of emotions. They have no qualms in letting off their emotions even extremely personal ones in public, whereas it is taboo in the eastern world. So it was that by the lake on the streets as we passed we saw couples hugging each other, kissing with not a care for the rest of the world. I being Indian am confused when it comes to this. On the one hand I am extremely inhibited when it comes to emotions and would chose to show/express them at an extremely private level; on the other I respect the western world for their devil-may-care attitude and expressing their feelings freely for the ones they love with not a care for the rest of the world. As we walked we saw first one and then another gang of people probably in their twenties, one of them in a bride's attire, some girls all in pink, both groups extremely loud and approaching strangers and asking them stuff, hooting. For all I knew it was a marriage party or a gay-pride gang, and I wanted to stay really clear 'cos I had Albert and Fatso too. Fortunately they didn't 'catch' hold of us and we enjoyed with a tinge of nervousness the 'show'. We admired the architecture around us as we walked, some renaissance and some modern from what I could make of. We passed by a church with tall spires in Gothic style and there was calming church music emanating from inside. As we were in no way dressed for church and there was a small crowd outside posshly dressed for the occassion and due to the fact that we had very little time left before Jina ma'am would start turning purple with worry, I skipped my urge to take a peek inside. From the lake we went on a city tour and passed by the various U.N buildings. We stopped at the U.N headquarters opposite of which is the Broken Chair. We took snaps outside the U.N Hq. and tried to spot the Indian flag among the two rows of flags that line the road leading upto the building from the gate, but to no avail. Dad says he spotted it at the fourth from the start on the right row, so if anyone can confirm it let me know. We took snaps under the Broken Chair named aptly cos one if its legs is built to show that it was blown off. It is said to be inaugurated by the late Princess Diana as a symbol of the fight against the use of landmines. Diana ws an active crusader against the use of landmines and tried her best to spread awareness about children losing their legs on abandoned mine-fields after wars. Hence the blown-off leg in the Broken Chair.<br />
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We journeyed on from Geneva and on the way we stopped and did a little shopping. That was were I picked up something dear and Fatso bought himself and me chocolates. I also became good friends with Jina ma'am enroute and we talked about a lot of things.We reached Interlakken late in the evening, but the sun was still up as it is until late 7-7:30 wherever we went.<br />
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<b>Interlakken- "The city between two lakes"</b><br />
Interlakken is called thus because it is nestled between two lakes- Thun and Brienz. It is a small town with 5000-odd people but it is extremely beautiful as it is situated at the foothills of the Swiss Alps. We passed by one of the lakes on our way into Interlakken. We were on the bus a few yards from the water, but from where I was seated I could see the bottom of the lake. So clean and clear was the water!. Greenish-blue pristine water for miles ahead, the lake was beautiful and few houses dotted the edge and at one place there was a dock with many yachts and boats moored. There were yachts on the water too and i can only the people there for the beautiful, beautiful lake that they have. Back home I have always admired our <i>Chalakkudi puzha</i> as I have spent evenings on its beautiful banks with my cousin and uncle. But that has a different feel to it; this is different with it is crystal-clear, greenish-blue expanse. We were boarded at the City Hotel Oberland and the rooms were neat and tidy complete with a bath. But the view was breathtaking . The windows opened onto a backdrop of the Swiss alps in all their beauty and out over the rooftops of the quaint old houses of the town. We went out for a spot of shopping and sightseeing. We set off on one of the roads out of the town-centre and were beheld to a jaw-dropping view of the Swiss Alps- black custodians with icy slopes, on one side. There were rolling meadows that stretched upto the foothills from one side of the road. We took snaps with the Alps on the background, on the meadow, near beautiful fountains on the roadside. I drank in the beauty as I walked, the folks enjoying the view too. On the other side of the road were shops of all variety that included the very famous casino that features in that first song in Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayenge. The film was shot partly here in Switzerland and Austria. At the end of the road we came upon a quaint old church with tall spires and a bell-tower. Now we were all for getting in even for a little time but couldn't find an open door. We were just leaving after looking around the beautiful church when someone rang for the vespers. Shortly though a boy came riding on his bicycle and opened the church doors. The church was beautiful on the inside too and there was even a grotto. After a few minutes of prayer we got back out. Fatso and me took snaps around the Church and we hurried back to the hotel for our dinner at an Indian restaurant.<br />
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Fatso if you are reading this, you should know that we didn't take you 'cos you are not old enough for this and I will certainly take you when you are old enough. I would suggest that you stop reading here but the inquisitive idiots that you and I tend to be I hardly believe that. So read on at your own peril.<br />
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<b>'Cos we are guys: </b><br />
Me and Partner(as he shall be called) set out after dinner to visit one of the casinos or pubs/discs. The aim was simple- 1. Enter a local pub. 2. Enjoy the music and if possible shake a leg. 3. chat with a local girl(that was my personal aim..don't know if Partner had it in his mind). Now Interlakken is a predominantly German-speaking town and I soon found out that my "il y a des boites ici?" was practically useless. We asked a teenage guy and some school-girls who shrieked at the mention of beer, but they all pointed to a region down the road. And that was where we found probably the only disc in town way before the opening time of 10p.m. We roamed around till 10 and [I] entered with a pinch of nervousness. 'cos I knew the scene could ugly if the locals were not friendly and I was worried more so because I had brought Partner into the equation. My strategy was to leg it with him at the first sign of trouble. We entered to find the place pretty empty except for two bar-maids. There was some German rock music (I guess) playing and disco lights scrawling on the dance floor. We took seats near the counter. We gradually got talking to one of the barmaids, the prettier of the two and also the more friendly of the two.<br />
Me: Comment sappelle vous mademoiselle?<br />
Her: Uhh..What? (<i>Dash it no French!??</i>)<br />
Me: You don't speak French?<br />
Her: No. Only German and English.<br />
Me: Nice place you have here. What is this music? Is it German rock?<br />
Her: Thank you. Yes.<br />
Me: Which band? (<i>As though I knew any except for Rammstein</i>)<br />
Her: I don't know. We just play it from the CD.<br />
In walk a couple of guys and a girl, one guy on a wheel-chair. They sit opposite to us at the circular counter. I look for signs of trouble. The girls move over to talk with the newcomers. They get talking after initial greeting kisses. The scene looks ok. Me and Partner sit enjoying the music. Grins on our faces, so far so good. After sometime the girl we were talking to returns and asks us if we'd like anything.<br />
Me: (Pointing to a board "Our house wine Jaggermeisser") what is that? How much does it cost?<br />
Her: Oh..that is a joke. Jaggermeisser is alcohol actually.(she goes over to the tap and reads the label as to how much percentage was alcohol) It is very strong.<br />
Me: (<i>Huh! she thinks we're too young?</i>)So how old do you think I am?<br />
Her: Twentyy-eiight -thirrrty?<br />
Me:(laughs) No not that old. 25 actually. Me and friend Partner are from India. So what is your name?<br />
Her: Laila(name changed). So you are staying in the town? At a hotel?<br />
Partner: Yes. We're staying at the City Hotel Oberland. We just arrived here in the evening. So you are from here?<br />
Laila: Yes. My father is Saudi Arabian.<br />
Partner: Oh..so your mother is Swiss?<br />
Laila: Yes.<br />
Me: So you have stayed here all your life?<br />
Laila: Yeah except for teo years when I stayed in Zurich. I didn't like it there, so I returned.<br />
Me: So when you are not working what do you do? Do you study?<br />
Laila: I am not a student. I am a mother, I have two daughters. I actually work here only on Fridays and Sundays. They(pointing over her shoulder to the others at the counter) work here except on Sundays.<br />
Me: Come on! Two daughters, why you don't seem more than twenty-eight! seriously?<br />
Laila: Yes.<br />
Me: Wow.(<i>She could be easily more beautiful than most women I have seen in my life. Not that being a mom makes you less beautiful. But there are some signs of aging; this woman looked near-about perfect.</i>) So when does this place get crowded?<br />
Laila: Usually at 3-4 in the morning. Today is a Sunday. So it will be less crowded. People have to go to work the next day.<br />
Laila took a snap of me and Partner. We said goodbye to her and returned to the hotel, happy that we could do something a bit wild.<br />
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<b><i>To be continued... </i></b><br />
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</div>leohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16646094477296614362noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4318314356879743583.post-33773227335770584132012-05-28T11:25:00.002-07:002012-05-29T13:36:13.441-07:00Part 1: Day 2: Zurich<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i>For the blessing</i></div>
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Seasons may come and go, but some things are here to stay....doubt thou not, for when the heart desires and the mind agrees is where I have found peace.</div>
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<i>-Mawerick.</i></div>
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<b>Day 2:</b><br />
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<b>"Mane" Issues: </b></div>
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A word about the reception I got from the group. Most of it were colleagues of my parents or of the same age-group, with their families. And I had specially chosen a super-man t-shirt to add to the cheek-level, for with my Bob-Marleyish dishevelled look, I was sure I would be on the danger-level according to this group. I had worn my hair all ruffled and dishevelled as what I had been doing in the insti for three months, to very good response. I was proud of the look and it made my day when I looked into the mirror at times, even though it miserably failed me on my journeys to the church. But I knew with this group it would go all down-hill and even before I started I incurred my mom's wrath and dad's disappointed looks. So to save them further embarassment I thought I would try to tame my mane. <i>Bad idea, curly frizzy, dishevelled hair has a mind of its own and it is used to a certain liberty in life; certainly hates the comb.</i> So it was that when I was done with the hair I looked like a French poodle on a bad-fur day, tufts of hair sticking out whichever way. Add to it the super-man t-shirt and I was somewhere between a nerd and a fool. The lengths we go to save our parents' pride. My folks would have broken down laughing hadn't it been for the extremely grave situation they were in. They were probably at cross-roads thinking about about disowning their elder son and taking only the younger one instead. Fatso was picture-perfect as this trip was one he wouldn't miss in a life-time. Finally after much thinking they probably came to the conclusion that they had to bear with the prodigal elder son. It has taken much pain to raise me up and I felt sad for the poor folks; hence the attempt to tame the hair at great personal embarassment. I was right on all counts as with each introduction foreheads wrinkled, noses twitched, fingers pointed(to be hastily put away), and long hard stares were donned at the 'different' elder son. 'Bank-aunties' had their pupils open real-wide and not-too well-hidden smirks flashed at the black sheep of the family. 'Bank-uncles' couldn't hide their disappointment for the rotten apple of the family and foreheads wrinkled riding their spectacles up real high, and the whites of their eyes which ride out only for crisp 1000 rupee notes and heavy discounts at retail-stores, were visible now with obvious disregard, for the son that turned out 'bad'. All in all I enjoyed the obvious aversion to my looks(really I couldn't agree more folks, my hair shouldn't have been tamed), but I did feel sorry for my poor folks. They are pretty decent people and they shouldn't really take flak because they have a son who wants to think 'differently' for a change. Not when the son is 25 anyway. Anyways I wanted to get out of my tamed look. And that I did to partial success and went out with a lighter heart to a full-Swiss breakfast.</div>
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Breakfast was a special affair as I loved the French breads and the various jams and the cheeses and oh! just about everything. I will never tire of Swiss/French breakfasts, though I am yet to get in terms with their cold meat. I washed everything down with a rich coffee and stepped outside with a spring in my steps to see Zurich.</div>
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<b>Rhine Falls:</b><br />
We were headed first to the Rhine Falls on the Swiss-German border. I sat plastered to the window as the road took us through breath-taking Swiss countryside. Quaint farmhouses, rows of neatly planted crops, freshly rolled grass lying on the fields. Meadow followed meadow with lush green grass, dotted with wild flowers of every hue. All growing as though someone had trimmed them to perfection. Every hedge, every field, every barn we passed was picture-card material. There is something about the Swiss countryside; it looks as though everything here grows to be beautiful and is naturally trimmed to perfection. Even the tree-lines around the farms have a definite curve about them and I am quite certain someone has taken a blade through them so that everything looks beautiful. All through there is no sign of trash of roads or anything ugly. It seems like God has given the Swiss a view of what is paradise and the Swiss, hardworkers that they are, have maintained it to perfection quite like their watches.<br />
We reached the Rhine Falls on the river Rhine ofcourse. Quite like the Niagra falls in appearance, it was a beautiful sight. The water rising as foam at the base from twin falls seperated by a small piece of rock at the top. The spray hung in the air giving it a beautiful appearance. We took snaps and also a family snap at one of the cafes with the Falls for background. We did some shopping and I spent considerable time thinking if I should take a Swiss cow-bell. I became good friends with our tour guide, Jina ma'am, a friendship that would be further strengthened in due course of the trip. Fatso picked a Swiss-army knife while I picked the Swiss cow-bell.<br />
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<b>Where is the bag????</b><br />
It must have been half-an-hour into the journey from Rhine Falls to our next destination Mt. Titlis when Fatso asked for my laptop bag. It came as a sudden sharp shock to me- I didn't have it with me. Then came the sharp realisation; I had kept it under one of the chairs for the family snap at the cafe at Rhine Falls. A deathly silence descended upon the group as I related to them the loss and that the laptop held the contents of my thesis. There are no words to describe the feelings at the time, the laptop's contents were my life's work till then. There were copies but nothing could compare with the original. I was stunned and in a sense of shock. I wanted to et out of the bus right then and hitch-hike back and get the bag, but m'am would have none of it. We were too far and transportation was near impossible. Sometimes nothing works but divine intervention. One of the group, Roy sir, had just the previous evening got in touch with an old friend in Zurich and was yet to see him, both after a very long time. He called him up and the friend very readily agreed to drive all the way to Rhine Falls and get my bag back to the hotel when we arrived- provided it was still there. Tense minutes passed and I think rolled into an hour, all passed in silent prayer. I was hating myself for making such a stupid and costly mistake and also for spoiling everyone's good time. And then came the call like a God-send "the bag is still here and everything is inside. I will bring it along to the hotel when you people get back from the day's trip" said the friend. I thanked God profusely and proceeded to thank the group for their support in my hour of distress. I still remain indebted to Roy sir and his friend for all the help and for everyone's prayers during the time. That incident though was an eye-opener in more than one way which I will not discuss here.<br />
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<b>Mt. Titlis:</b><br />
We reached Mt. Titlis in high spirits. With a height of 3238 m. Titlis is the second highest peak in Switzerland and its most popular ski-resort. We took a cable car that climbs up the mountain to its summit in three stages. The last stage is covered in the rotair or a rotating cable car which rotates as it climbs thus giving the passengers a 360 degree view. It is huge and can take upto 30-40 odd passengers at one go I guess. The snow-line starts way before the summit and it was a beautiful sight to behold the mountain decked in thick snow. We spent close to an hour on the summit, throwing snowballs, making snow-angels (Fatso and I have never had the opportunity of doing any of this before). We quickly got the hang of it and had a lot of fun. I still maintain that I got Fatso with a wicked one(snowball) and that he could never really close the tally. Ha there ! we made slides in the snow and it was a treat to watch the old man get a whiff of life while mom watched on. I guess both of them enjoyed the mountain in their own way. From the summit we descended into the thickest ice-caves(artificial) in the world and went about exploring them. We enjoyed the ride back down on the cable car. On the way back it was more watching in awe-struck silence at the beautiful Swiss countryside. We had our lunch at an Indian restaurant and did a Zurich city tour before heading back to the hotel. I marvelled the clockwork working of the Swiss -be it their watches, trams, machinery, lives. In Zurich everything runs on time and the people abide strictly to the laws. Everyone is paid well and all in all the quality of life is the best in the world. I guess that is the prize for living in such strict but healthy regimen.<br />
<b>To be continued....</b></div>
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</div>leohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16646094477296614362noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4318314356879743583.post-84505436724936619822012-05-27T06:02:00.001-07:002012-05-27T06:02:56.647-07:00Eurotrip-Part 1<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b><i>In search of a blessing </i></b></div>
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<b>Day One: Kochi-Colombo-Zurich</b><br /><br />Characters making their appearance in this blog:</div>
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<br />Fatso-not anymore like the name(but guess all younger brothers have at one point of time donned this name). The younger bro</div>
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<br />Qasim- The neighbour...quite literally, in flight-seating and nationality.</div>
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<br /><br />The flight from Kochi was uneventful except for the fact that the Sri Lankan Air air-hostesses were a long-time dream. They showed me that more oomph factor could be extracted from the saree than I thought was humanly possible. And for one ogling adoloscent long time back at Mumbai airport it was a dream to travel Sri Lankan Airways. But save for one sexy one the rest were pretty ordinary. Sum that up with the fact that Fatso had misplaced the battery of the camera, and those of you who are not idiots of the highest degree can imagine what would have happened when a certain someone with as much guts and macho that could be conjured for a job like this, went and approached the said airhostess for a snap. A slightly surprised airhostess supressed a shy grin and very readily agreed, for the certain someone to find that the camera just wouldn't start. Guessing what had happened and cursing Fatso with all his might the certain someone conjured up his best poker-face and the special 'buffalo-hide' specially reserved for such occassions, explained to the much bemused airhostess the situation, turned on his heels and walked away from every-guy's mightmare. So yeah it was a forgettable flight.<br /><br /><b>Colombo-Zurich:</b><br />Colombo airport was as dull as as the insides of an accountant's brain.<br /><i>To be continued...</i></div>
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As I passed through personal security check and into the waiting-lounge, the first person I noticed was bent over an Arabic book, it seemed(for someone who doesn't know the language Arabic, Urdu and Persian all look similar). He had long hair and was wearing spectacles and donned a French-beard. Had I been a dame from the U.S stretching her legs into her late fifties, I would have crossed myself many times over and tried to skip the flight as well as I could. But since I was not all that I was curious as to what the writing was that the stranger seemed so engrossed over. A copy of the Qoran?, or some religious writing? Cos get this, I for one was for the large part ignorant of tons of literature in Persian and Arabic and its variants, other than the Qoran. I had forgotten Khayyam and his likes and conveniently forgot the fact that other books do exist in the said languages. Imagine my surprise then when I find the 'stranger' seated next to me on the plane, by the window. A few minutes passed in silence as the plane took flight and then he spoke</div>
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"Where are you from? What is your name?"</div>
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"Leo. I'm from Cochin actually-India."</div>
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"Oh..I am Qasim"</div>
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"Where are you going?"</div>
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"Zurich. I am a research student there."</div>
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"Oh really? Me too. Where are you from?"</div>
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"I am from Karachi, Pakistan. So what is your area of research?"</div>
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"Uhh..Fluid flows and yours?"</div>
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"Well it comes under Electrical Engineering."</div>
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Thus started a conversation which ran well into two of my wines and two of his apple-juices, and further. As he rightly stated it is only when we are in our countries that the feeling of India-Pakistan develop. Outside, we are just good neighbours. What I feel though is that even inside our countries we don't hate each other. It is just political interests who rake up hatred, for their own needs.</div>
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Our conversation turned to Zurich and he explained that it was rated the best for its quality of living and that it was the financial hub of Switzerland. How Geneva was more fun and how more people spoke French in Geneva. Outside we were flying over the clouds and the skies had turned dark. The conversation though was quite young and we talked on. There was some kind of mutual trust and a feeling of thrill of discussing sensitive issues with someone you met just a few hours ago; and as the overhead lights were doused over other seats and people fell asleep, we talked on with much gusto. Girl-friends were discussed, not by name, but by their stories and we laughed at each other's follies. The lack of a permanent nature in relationships of most european women as also the tendency of the western world to divorce was also brought up. Each topic was grilled and pondered over. It was by far one of the best conversations I've had with a fellow human being and the best with a 'stranger'. I feel it was not so much the wine but a certain degree of mutual trust that we accumulated, that made our conversation so deep.</div>
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"You know I first noticed you in the waiting lounge. You were reading some Arabic book. What is it?"</div>
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"Oh that. It is Persian(or was it Urdu) and it is a very famous book- a romantic novel."</div>
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"Oh really? I had no idea. I thought it must be some version of the Qoran or some religious text."</div>
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"No it is a very moving romantic novel and I have read it many times. There are some lines in there which are very beautiful."</div>
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(I intend to ask Qasim the names of the author and the book. It may take me a few years to get a grip of the language, but I am going to read it either alone or with some help and understand this beautiful novel.)</div>
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We talked about marriage, girls, work and everything under the Sun two twenty-odd year olds can discuss. I waited as he said his prayers and explained to me the sequence(one at daybreak, one when the sun is over your head, one when the sun is setting and one when there is no longer light. Correct right Qasim?). He explained to me the contents of the prayer. The conversation veered off into religion and he explained how a good Muslim must also believe in Jesus and Mary because there are two whole chapters dedicated to both in the Qoran, and how all the false propaganda is made by people who don't quite understand fully the narration in the Qoran and the language it is written in- Arabic. He corrected my notion of the attitude of Muslims towards pets and explained that it was perfectly alright to have pets as long as the animal is clean, and how dogs and pigs were unclean. We must have talked for hours and when every single topic was discussed and laid to rest, we felt it was necessary to get a few hours of sleep to compensate for the lag in time that we were about to experience on landing. I look forward to meeting you again sometime in life Qasim, and God-willing may it be in Zurich, you having found your mate and me with mine.</div>
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As I waved goodbye to Qasim and to the cabin crew too with whom I had become friends, I walked into the airport metro taking me towards immigration and baggage. I stepped out into the chill, windy, evening air of Zurich and even as I put on my seat-belt on the bus, I felt a certain sense of adventure for the days to come. As the bus winded down the various roads out into Zurich city I watched the beautiful countryside pass by, blanketted in the evening light. I was at calm with myself as I drank in the beauty of Switzerland for the first time from up-close and struck-awe by the clean and professional Zurich city. Dinner was at an Indian restaurant and it was back to familiar Punjabi food. Stay though was at the Holiday Inn which was quite a nice hotel and I loved our rooms in particular. Neat and beautiful.</div>
<i>To be continued...</i></div>leohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16646094477296614362noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4318314356879743583.post-27601735632989543752012-05-27T04:18:00.006-07:002012-05-27T04:18:58.233-07:00The tea-ceremony in the Shatabdi (prelogue to Eurotrip)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i>For Someone</i></div>
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As in every story it is best to hold onto a bit of suspense and those of you who are already spooked, have to hold onto your breaths for a little while longer 'cos the story needs to have a proper setting for that bit of suspense to be let out into the open. So then, this is the introduction to my maiden journey abroad and it starts from Kanpur to Delhi on the Shatabdi, also a first time for me. So it came as a surprise to me when I tilted the jug of tea and out came scalding hot water. Cripes, I had heard of this kind of thing happening in the 5-star hotels where you had to practically make tea for yourself. As I struggled to open my eyes(I had barely had 2 hours of sleep the previous night), I noticed two sachets of tea-powder and one of milk powder and two more of sugar. In my state of hazy reality I wondered whether I had to make two cups of tea for myself with the items given. Was the tea-powder strong enough? What if it was strong and I ended up making myself a cup of strong tea instead of two cups of normal tea when I badly needed a few more hours of sleep? Quite nonchalantly, pretending that I was checking out the jug i swivelled it to see if there was more hot water left for another cup of tea. The jug was built of strong stuff and didn't want to reveal its secrets. I was pulled out of my predicament when out of the corner of my eye I saw the fellow passenger giving the tea packet a firm shake and make himself a cup of tea without so much as a feeling of doubt towards the second sachet of tea. My doubts evaporating like the vapours that were rising profusely from the cup of scalding hot water placed in front if me, I proceeded to put my skills at making myself a wicked cup of tea, to good use. Having done the said exercise in ample time as if I was plain bored with it, I proceeded to stir the sugar in a deliberate manner which would have put the powdered-nosed, stiff-upper-lipped, buxom royal maidens of England of yore to shame. I attacked the packet of two marie-biscuits with the same I-don't-really-care attitude. I took one, dipped it into the tea and just as I was about to bite into it with afore-mentioned attittude the piece broke off and fell ino the tea. The attitude-pose was gone in a flash and out came the five-year-old hiding within. All manners forgotten, with much gusto I rescued most of the piece floating in the tea with a spoon and noisily slurped up the remians. The villian in me crept back into the hidden depths from where he had come and I subsided to a cocoon phase into the corner. So much for the 'attitude'.</div>
</div>leohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16646094477296614362noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4318314356879743583.post-23946035871796409652012-01-29T02:21:00.000-08:002012-01-30T10:47:56.226-08:00"My Grandson is an MBA"<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Said Mrs. Mathew to the group which consisted of distant family members and close ones too. All of sixty-two years, born and brought up in an era which never knew what an MBA was nor had any use for it, she hardly cared. Licking her lips and chewing away at the chicken with whatever teeth she had left, she continued to her group at the marriage reception "He's got into a big company now. I don't know what it is ITC or Info-something.... some foreign company..There are so many new names now" She knew she had the respect of her on-lookers-it was the wedding of her cousin's grandson Benjamin. But even before the groom and bride had had a taste of the chicken gravy which awaited them at their table, talk was on at the family-network which laid the ground-work for the next marriage and Mrs. Thomas knew she had a winner. Why, didn't Asha's son who also had an MBA get a 'nice' match? For a country of a 'billion people' where their opinions are as varied from north-south and east-west as their paranthas to their masala dosas and pav-bhaji to momos, India is united in its ideas of marriage and right now with almost certainity in this hot marriage segment the MBA-guy/girl has as much demand as mutton biriyani at Ramzan.</div>
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True the Administrative Services will never lose their flavour with the North and Gujarat will always honour its business wallahs, but after the rise and wane of the software techie, the MBA wallah has steadfastedly held the ground at the top of the marriage table. But if you have to name the real hero it has to be the software techie. This particular creature did what no one could dare to hitherto- it single-handedly clutched the power from the doctors and engineers and overnight became the king/queen of the marriage table. This kind of power doesn't come easily in the rigid power structure in Indian society. The software-techie created a new segment in the Indian society-the middle-class or even as some might refer it to-the upper middle class. With the wads of American dollars flowing into the Indian software industry from back-office jobs, the software-techie bought houses, 3-bhks, travelled in autos where he had hitherto caught a bus or worse-walked and basically flaunted his money. Because lets face it- he could afford to show off. All of a sudden the Indian middle-class jumped from bank-slips and wait at cash-counters to credit cards. Where there was the old cathode ray TV now stood plasma flat screens. Be it the change from Old Cask Rum to Teachers and Chivas Regal or from local radio music to entry at the best pubs and discs in the city, the software-techie had it all. And for all the care and frowns and fights that take place to get two people fixed for marriage in India, it still couldn't ignore the fact that with software-techie as groom "life jinga-da-la"(basically means your daughter will be wearing a lot more jewellery than what you would send her off with at marriage). It was seen as a 'safe' investment and software-wallahs came to be hunted more aggressively than whales in the Pacific or cockroaches in China(wonder where those cockroaches in masala stalls in China come from?)</div>
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And what made the software-techie a people's hero was that anyone could become one. The American jobs didn't need much of a brain and anyone who could learn a computer language was welcomed in. It didn't matter whether you were a science graduate, a commerce student, or a techie all that mattered was whether you could learn a simple computer language. Quite suddenly NRIs began to lose their status in India 'cos lets face it software-techies did projects overseas and still managed to work in India. All of a sudden parents who wanted the status of a 'foreign-working' son-in-law and still get to see their girl more often, had found their golden goose. The basic man working outside was also happy 'cos the software-techie was bringing in loads of cash into their businesses. And boys and girls all over India were generally happy 'cos believe-it-or-not software-techies led to software-babes and with them came a wave of fashion. Hem-lines shrank and neck-lines dived and the Indian male population was definitely happy. And so was the female population-now they had boyfriends with loads of cash-well what more could they ask for. It was in this period of prosperity that disaster struck in the form a recession. Ask the auto-wallahs in B'lore; they will tell you, for, the recession in U.S which had nothing to do with them suddenly had everything to do with them. No more single-person trips from s/w companies straight to M.G road and discs, no more long distance trips from software-techies. Infact with software-techies clutching onto their money and making a bee-line for buses and a change in life-style, the auto-wallahs got one right on their belly. </div>
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It was during this period of change or as a silent partner during their growth that a second species called the MBA-wallah began to raise its head. With major companies setting up shop in India they needed someone to run the shop. With C.As being produced in India at the rate of water in corporation taps and owing to the blood-suckers they tend to become when they finally become C.As, companies probably decided they needed their own answer to the adminisitration problem. They decided that people with loads of work experience in the shop-floor(the basic techies) couldn't handle the 'problems' of management and a new breed called the MBA-guy was created to be the Daddy of them all - yes even the software-techie. And the middle class had again found its foot-hold 'cos you said it- with a graduate degree and high school mathematics you could now enter any of the management schools and the best of them the IIMs and emerge as a new creature- the MBA-wallah. Almost inevitably unless you were a complete idiot you did the exitting with several job offers in 7-digit salaries. And the next door Ramu who until now had the vocabulary which could barely include "machining, procedure, scientific, sir/madam" now emerging from MBA colleges had lingo like "down-sizing, right-sizing, resources(not the iron-ore and aluminium kind mind you), break-even" all words which meant latin to common people. True to their nature of respecting things which they couldn't comprehend, the Indian populace treated the MBA-wallah with awe and respect. It invaded the industry in all spheres except where it mattered at the shop-floor and saw to it that things were run 'smoothly'. It became the <i>baap(dad)</i> to the software-techie and other basic techies. And unlike the software-techie of which there were basically two types the code developers( a rare minority) and the code-checkers and probably the bpo-worker, the MBA-wallah came in all kinds of types from number-crunching finance-types to tongue-wagging HRs and Marketting and still others. The work-force was not human anymore-no they were human resource and all the down-sizing, right-sizing hit the software-techies and other techies in their under-belly. Quite like shady religious preachers they used jargon which no-one could understand and lets face it-weren't meant to understand. Many a kid studying engineering and realising that his brains were probably only going to land him a tech job for a measly 5 to 4-digit salary saw the 'error' of his ways and moved onto MBA where you needed less brain and more tongue-wagging and he could earn a hundred times more. So they sold their souls and brains to the B-schools as they are called and shed their engineering skin to become a new breed which scarcely remembered or associated itself to engineering or science as such- and they were rewarded. They even marketted their own products- soft-skills to the unsuspecting public who lapped it all up- Gods that the MBA-wallahs were now.</div>
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And India's biggest unspoken industry-the match-making industry took notice of this new breed that was emerging. No one noticed the pot-belly or the photo-shopped hair on the MBA-wallahs, no one noticed the old Ramu hiding underneath they only chose to see the rich cream of the B-school smeared on him. They didn't care whether he could be a boring old fag crunching numbers day-in and day-off, they didn't care whether he could be home at all to spend time with the family, all they wanted to see or hear was the unfathomable jargon and the foreign business trips that their daughters could accompany him on. They chose to just see the cash-cow infront of them-"he is well-placed and will provide for you and you both will learn to adjust to each other" was what the daughters heard from their parents and instead of well-toned hrithik roshans in their dreams they learnt to accomodate the 'baby-facish', 'slightly plump' and 'official-looking' MBA-wallah. </div>
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Every species in this world finds its own mate - by itself. Everyone except probably the Indian groom/bride. Like potato in our sambhar and aloo-gobi the choices of the groom/bride is just one of the ingredients in the sambhar that is a marriage-match. The Indian groom/couple are probably the only species still out there who are still spineless in getting a match on their own or worst still, are forbidden to do so on your own. Arranged marriages were followed to the best part of the last century probably in the west, but the scale to which it is followed here would probably blow away any comparison. From grand-parents to uncles and aunties on both sides of their dad and mom had to be convinced, before the Indian bride/groom even had a say. By then everyone else other than the couple concerned are convinced they want the two together and then everything thats important is shoved under the mat with "every marriage is like this. You will adjust to each other". Only such a system could have wagged in and lapped up an MBA-wallah with no apprehension whatsoever(am I being too critical? Some of them really work hard and are good at what they do you know) and as luck could have it it gave them the MBA-wallah.</div>
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On the dusty streets of Tanjavore in the early hours as dawn is still breaking Mrs.Iyer has just finished splashing water in front of her house and has drawn a kolam(drawing with rice-powder), to find the daily has just arrived. Breaking her reciting of the keertanas sung from the speakers at the nearby temple she opens it straight to the matrimonial section(they go straight from matrimonial to obituaries in that order) and thumbs down the Iyer section. Her face lights up as she has found what she was looking for "bride sought for Iyer boy,fair complexion, MBA graduate and working in reputed company. Girl should have traditional values..." True to her expectation Mrs. Mathew finds that her crowd of onlookers are eager to hear more about her MBA grandson. By tomorrow word would have reached the outer arms of the family tree and beyond and before long she would have a 'nice' girl for her Vincent.</div>
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P.S: Dru best of luck for your interview dude. I don't hate all MBA people you know, especially those who are really into management like you are.</div>
</div>leohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16646094477296614362noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4318314356879743583.post-82660654219388019092011-12-23T23:00:00.000-08:002011-12-28T08:05:43.188-08:00Nepali currency and noodles<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Pre-script:What follows is a tale based on two things-my friend MT went home recently; and she told me when I asked her how the trip had been, that all she could tell me was that her trip was exciting and that the souvenirs she got from it were-Nepali currency and a packet of noodles. So me driven to nuts by my m.tech thesis decided to get some sense into my life by driving some sense into this story. Henceforth 'I' in this story will refer to MT, for this is her story after all...<br />
Statutory warning: This post is long. So people with very limited patience will probably need a few sittings if they do want to finish this one. For the first time I, Leo wouldn't blame you. I tried doing something different and it has turned out a bit long. But this being my work I don't like to chop at it. </div>
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<b>Packing and setting off:</b></div>
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<i>There, gifts for mom,dad,grandma check. Damn the bag is bursting, people would think Iam a gulf-returnee.Where is the scarf for the night?ya ok..a book to read?hmm ya packed..I won't be needing it hopefully eh?MT isn't that why you chose to travel in the sleeper compartment so that you could watch the people in this part of the country and their behaviour? That idiot Mawe had warned that this would be an uncomfortable experience, said that it would make me regret it every moment cos there would be hardly any people-observing but a mad desperate attempt to sit in my seat throughout the journey. Ahh..I will prove him wrong. MT can certainly travel sleeper class and will live to tell him that it was a good experience ha!Hey its 11:45 time to go downstairs and wait for the auto. Damn this heavy bag!</i><br />
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<i>Oh thank God the auto wallah was on time and the way he is driving I'll probably reach the station in no time. Good job MT..part 1 of journey working well..Oh wait what's this idiot doing! doesn't he see the bus coming ahead?mgod!!noo...Damn!!!that was close..what freaking idiot can drive like this?!Shit that was close! Kalyanpur looks so busy..wonder when this selling and buying and crowd ever vanishes during the day..Oh the dust..pooh..who am I kidding..from Coimbatore to Kanpur, it seems like dust is following me everywhere. Oh old-lady-with-pots bike behind you! bike behind you! damn that was close. Every one in this mad place seems to be driving the way he/she wishes. Wonder how many reach their homes each night! I'll just close my eyes till I reach the station; I can't watch any more of this- oh wait MT what about your resolve to study this land and its people?; remember these are the very people you were bent on studying. Damn! Oh God just get me to the station in one piece! Oh wait why is the auto slowing down? Crap! jam-in the middle of the day - at bloody 12! oh yeah train has crossed; why didn't I think of it before? Every time a train crosses, its a jam on Grand Trunk Road - wise old saying in Kanpur. You'd think they were running on the road!Ooomph oh will you idiots please turn off your smoke belching engines? Wish their a/cs could circulate this smoke inside their cars, then probably they will remember to take them for a smoke check every 12 months atleast..Ahh moving ahead finally..Ravatpur...Parade..every where the humdrum of life-nice..Ahh..Railway station at last!!</i><br />
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<i>Hmm now to find the platform. What? platform 4? C'mon luggage you and I have a long way to go. Ahh as untidy and ugly and crowded as ever-Kanpur railway station how else can you be? Still I don't think I'll enjoy you as much if it were not for these crowds you know. Without them you are just another colonial style station, just like Coimbatore and Chennai and all the others, with your arches and overhead covers. Elegant still, but not quite interesting without this crowd you know. Ahh platform 4 at last; lemme see.. the train is half an hour late so it will probably arrive at 2:15. Time to find a place to sit - half an hour is not bad considering that trains have been known to be running half a day late in these parts eh? Mgod what a large family that is! looks like four brothers and their entire families - yeah one,two.....ten kids..yeah about right..haha that's small in these parts..Must have come for a wedding by the looks of their shiny sarees. Oh who am I kidding, the women over here wear shiny sarees all the time - probably more festive the occasion more the shining, though I'll be bewitched if I can differentiate the degree of shining! Thought that only Rajasthani folk wear bright sarees but it seems the whole of North India has taken up the competition. Urchin group approaching; uh-oh MT get some change ready. When will this ever stop? On one hand we have people buying Porsches and on the other kids like this living and dying without knowing what it is to have a good life let alone sit in a Porsche. People going through entire lives in a parallel world! </i><br />
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"Gaadi no do paanch aat nau char Ghorakpur se Thiruvananthapuram tak jane waali Raptisagar express 4 no platform par 2bajkar painthalees minute pahunchegi.yathriyoon ko pahunchi asavudha par keedh hei.Train no 25894 Raptisagar express from Ghorakpur to Thiruvananthapuram is running late by 1 hour and is expected to arrive at 2:45. We regret the inconvenience"<br />
<i>Damn another half an hour to go..Will Mawe arrive by the time this bloody train comes?Anyway back to people-watch MT.</i><br />
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<i>There comes the train, finally. Now where's S7?</i><br />
"Bhaiyya wo mera seat hei. dhekiye seat 53 mera hei."(That's my seat please get up. See seat 53.)<br />
"Beti hum Jhansi tak hi hein. Adjust to kar lena sab ko jana he tho he."(Iam only going upto Jhansi please adjust. Doesn't everyone have to travel?)<br />
<i>Only here in India could anyone get away with saying such a dumb excuse and flashing a pan-coloured toothy smile at the same time.Damn! now I'll have to put up with this guy till Jhansi. How about getting atleast my berth secure? That atleast should be dealt with without any doubt.</i><br />
"Uthar jhaiyiye dheko ye mera berth hei. Aap neeche akke bhait jhaiyiye"(Please get down from the berth. That's mine.)<br />
Ugly guy on upper berth just looks on as if he hasn't heard anything. <br />
"Arre kyon usko pareshan kar rahe ho. Uthar jhayiye, ye unka seat he. Uthar jhayiye" (Thank goodness uncleji from nearby seat has turned good samaritain. Ugly guy from upper berth is getting down. What if I can't secure my seat for now, atleast Iam safe for the night in my berth.)<br />
"Thank you uncle"<br />
"Arre kuch nahin betti aap ki to seat he"(Oh its nothing <i>beti</i>. After all its your seat.)<br />
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<i>Ah finally captured berth. Mawe was right eh? Its pretty crowded here. Looks like half of North India has decided to suddenly move.</i> <i>Uncleji and his wife and their daughter,ugly guy seems to be travelling alone-going to set up business in the South or just looking for a job?you can never tell...idiot who took up my seat,Muslim guy with long beard with his son - also in white-and-white - is it mandatory that they dress in salwar and kurta?must be orthodox types.And who is this opposite me?Is he a Nepali or just someone from the northern part of U.P? Hmm well shaven and dressed moderately..has had a haircut too and real trim too..dressing has a sense of neat-strictness to it, that's an oddity. No pot-belly so business-man is ruled out, c'mon that's the regional profession of North India, what else is there? Tell me not-so-old man where are you from?across the border in Nepal or this side of the border in Garhwal? and what is it that you do?'cos whatever it is you are the odd-one-out here...Oh well MT you will just have to wait and find out won't you?</i><br />
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<i>Hmm uncle and aunty have decided to have supper. Where has this train reached?Bhopal?</i><br />
<i>"</i>Khaana nahin kha rahi ho beti?"(Stranger from opposite berth has spoken)<br />
<i>"</i>Huh?haan abhi kuch hi dher mein.gaadi kahan pahunchi he?"<br />
"Abhi to Bhopal pahunchi he. Agar kuch khareedhke khaana he to kareedh lo. Agla stop Nagpur bahut dhoor he. Udhar jhane mein khafi dher lagegi."<br />
"Oh haan.."<br />
<i>Will have to do with Poori and dal MT. God don't let this ruin my stomach. Stranger guy has brought his own food. All wrapped up - and neatly unpacked. Oh shouldn't stare..sorry stranger-guy; just curious as to who you really are. Dinner over, now time to sleep.</i><br />
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<i>Yaaaawwwn..where have we reached? goodness its 7a.m already, h</i>ow<i> I have slept! Is everything I bought still with me? Oh thank goodness, slept like a log; thieves could have had a party here and I wouldn't have known. Stranger-guy's up, he's reading a newspaper..hmm..a man aware of his surroundings..c'mon stranger-guy out with your mystery. Oh..should brush.</i><br />
"Aap newspaper padna chahengi?"<i>Crap stranger-guy caught me staring(</i>Would you like to read the newspaper?<i>)</i><br />
"Nahin. aap padke dheejiye."(No please finish it and then I would like it please.)<br />
"Yeh leejiye. Aap kahan jha rahe hein?"(Here. I am done. Where are you going?)<br />
"Coimbatore aur aap?"(Coimbatore and you?)<br />
"Mein tho Chennai jha raha hoon."(Iam going to Chennai)<br />
"Acha Chennai jha rahe hein. Udhar business kar rahe hein?"(Oh you're going to Chennai? Are you doing business there?)<br />
"Nahin business nahin, udhar ek hotel mein chef hoon-The Noodle Shop"(No not business. Iam a chef at a hotel there-'The Noodle Shop')<br />
"Oh mein aya hoon udhar. kuch 6-7 saal pehele. Aap the us samay vahan?"(Oh I've come there. Some 6-7 years ago. Were you there at that time?)<br />
"Haan bilkul. Hum vahan 2000 se hein. Ab gyarah saal hue hein."(Yes. Of course. I have been there from 2000. Its been eleven years now.)<br />
"aap kahan khe hein."(Where are you from?)<br />
"Beti mera gaun nepal mein he. Chitwan district mein."(<i>Beti</i> my village is in Nepal. In Chitwan district.)<br />
"Oh gyarah saal. yahan akar kafi saal hue hein na?"(Oh eleven years! Its been a long time since you came here!)<br />
"Haha India aur mera rishta kafi purani he bhitiya. gyarah saal to kuch nahin. Hum idhar aye te 1977 mein, enlist karne Indian Army mein. Fir 2000 tak theyees saal Gurkha Regt. mein. Sune ho Gurkha Regt ke bare mein?"(Haha..My relation with India is much older. I had come here in 1977 to enlist in the Indian Army. Then I till 2000 I served in the Gurkha Regt. Have you heard of the Gurkha Regt?)<br />
"Haan Haan wow. Tho apne kafi exciting jeevan bhitaya he uncleji?"(Oh yes. wow. Then your life must have been quite exciting <i>uncleji</i>)<br />
"haha haan kafi exciting! theyees saal India ke shandhar regimenton mein se ek mein aur nikhala Lance Naik Bhupendra Nath bankhe."(Haha exciting indeed! 23 years serving in one of the finest regiments in the Indian Army and left it as Lance Naik Bhupendra Nath.) <br />
<i>That explains it. The sturdy posture, the trim hair-line..some habits never change..the strict dressing. The configuration below has changed with 'idiot' probably getting down somewhere in the night and an elderly couple taking his place. They are taking out a large nylon basket. Oh I should have guessed rotis and sabji. So this must be the food-bag for the journey; God now they will eat their way through this one.Oh and all spicy food too, mgod I am stuck on top! all that potato and groundnut will surely convert to gas?!</i><br />
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"Chaai...chaai, sirjee chai piyenge"(Tea! sir will you have tea?)<br />
"Haan ek cup deejiye, beti aap bhi piyengi?"(Yes please.. (to me)Will you have tea too?)<br />
"Nahin uncleji..aap peejiye"(No thanks uncle.)<br />
"yeh leejiye panch rupaiye"(Here's five rupees)<br />
"yeh kya bhaiya - nepali rupaiye nahin chalenge"(Brother Nepali currency doesn't work here)<br />
"offho galti ho gayi. dheejiye ye raha panch rupaiye"(It was a mistake, return it, here's 5 rupees)<br />
"uncle khya mein use dhek saktha hoon?"(Uncle can I look at that note?)<br />
"kyon nahin yeh leejiye. mere pas kafi pade hue hein"(Yes why not,here; I have plenty of them with me.)<br />
"Ye Nepal ke raja the na?"(This was Nepal's king right?)<br />
"Han abhi yeh chal base hein. Log unhein kafi pyar karthe the"(Yes but he has died. The people loved him)Aapka notes ka collection he shayad.rak leejiye. mere pas kafi hein(Looks like you collect currency. keep it I have plenty with me.)<br />
"nahin rak leejiye. nahin tho muj se iske liye apko indian rupee lene padenge. agla chai mere aur se"(No I couldn't or I could give you Indian rupees in exchange. I could buy you the next tea in return.)<br />
"haha teek he"<br />
"yeh kya hei aapke haath mein jala hua nishana he. Hotel mein cooking ke beech hua tha kya?"<br />
"Oh yeh! hmmm..yeh koi cooking ke wajah se nahin he ji, ye tho kafi saal purane ki baath he"(Oh this. This is not from a cooking accident. This is from something much older)<i> What's that dreamy look coming to his eyes?</i><br />
"Oh meine socha, ke aap jho Chinese cooking mein tawa go gumathe hein, uske beech thel girne se ya kuch aise hua hoga. Jyadha personal baath he tho sorry, math bathayiye please"(Oh I had thought it was probably from oil flying off the pans when you swirl them in the chinese style of cooking, or something like that. I'm sorry please don't tell me if its something personal.)<br />
"nahin aisa kuch personal baath nahin he. Iske baare mein sochke kaafi samay ho gaya he. Bahut sal purane ki baath he. Aap sunna chahengi? Ab tho mein buddha hoon, par ye jab hua tha tho jawan tha, shareer mein aur peshe mein bhi..haha"(No its nothing personal. Its just that no one has asked me about this dfor a long time and I had stopped thinking about it. Its from a time quite long ago, Would you like to hear about it? That was at a time when I was quite young and still a jawan in the Indian Army)<br />
"Sahi mein? tho bathayiye. mujhe aisi kahaniyan bahut pasandh he"(really? please tell me more. I like such stories)<br />
<i>The train was passing over a gorge it seemed. There was such noise along with the rit-rat-tattling of the wheels. It was quite dark in the top berth but I was so hooked onto this story now, that nothing mattered. Not 'new' uncle and aunty seemingly battling over who would eat more groundnuts and litter the floor. I had kept a wary eye over the proceedings till now and it seemed that uncle was 'winning', but aunty was showing no signs of relenting. But I cared for nothing other than this old man's story now. What beats a fauji(army) story anyway?</i><br />
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"Then listen. As I said this happened a long time ago when I was still a jawan in the Army-3rd Gurkha Rifles. a well-trained infantry unit. There was pride in being a Gurkha. It is the case with every man in a regiment- a sense of pride and loyalty to his unit. We were posted in Kashmir at the time. Somewhere in Batlik sector. Life was harsh. There is no place as beautiful and as painful as Kashmir. For one thing, the place is beautiful, but the people have gone through a lot in their lives. Life as you know is harsh over there, a struggle to live in some parts. What with the terrorist activity in the region, life is sacred to the people there and our lives were intermingled with the lives of the people there. It was a very stressful period, when you are always on the highest alert everytime you are on duty and that happpened every day; it was enough to drive normal people half-mad. In the armed forces that's a way of life and it has to be come to terms with. My unit was headed by Capt. Rajesh Sinha, a young officer but very caring and at the same time strict with us jawans. We enjoyed our time with him. He was quite frank, open, no room for doubt and life was simple for him and that suited us as well. Its when you have a good superior officer that life becomes bearable in the army. Barrack life was good; me,munnah, chalu, everyone, it was one for all and all for one there. Everyone owed their life to everyone else and it was simple that way. We would go out on sortees on recconaisance according to our duty-schedule.<br />
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It was the height of winter in the valley; snow was falling covering everything feet deep. That day our unit had to go on a recce and we set off in our truck for the first leg of the journey, till the outskirts of the village we were in. One round of the village and there was no sign of anything unusual. We headed out to the outskirts, where we left the truck and headed out on foot over what was once a goat-track, through the snow. There were houses ahead in the hills and we would check up on them as we passed, and out into the wilderness and the hills beyond. We had food for two days in the wild as we would probably have to camp out for a night or two. As we passed the houses nearby there was no sign of any untoward activity and the locals waved at us as we passed. We reached the last of the houses where the local head informed us that all was well, but we'd better check on Amjad Ali's house as we went as he had not seen Amjad or his wife Rani for quite a few days, and since there had been a blizzard was not able to go check himself. We thanked the chief and as we walked ahead, the captain called us together and explained that it was probably nothing but we had be a bit careful about this last piece of news. True, a blizzard could have kept people estranged but there had been news of possible terrorist crossings into the region, and a missing persons report is a possible sign of trouble. This put everyone on a new sense of alert and we continued forward. Amjad was a goatherd who lived in the hills ahead. He lived with his wife and their daughter Shamjana and theirs was the last house in the trail, quite removed and in the hills. We started climbing and each breath was a spike to the chest. The snow was falling thick and we were actually thankful, for, in our present condition it would mask our arrival if there was anything more to the chief's story. We split into two columns and each man scanned the area around him as he walked. About a 100 yards from the house and deep into the thicket surrounding it, the captain signalled for us to halt. We were surrounded by sal trees and brush vegetation, all covered with snow and the house was yet to come into view.<br />
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The captain explained the plan- we would split into two groups. One would approach the house from the front and the other from the rear, and both would take cover in a 25 m radius from the house. The lives of the family was top priority. It was agreed that we would draw the terrorists out of the house if possible and start shooting. But first we had to check whether they were really in the house and it was decided we would start a natural reaction - get the goats to make some noise maybe and Munna would be in place to intercept Amjad/Rani if they got out. But if it was anyone else he would be given a signal by the group infront and he would go into hiding by the goat-pen. A sniper would take out a terrorist if he came out alone/accompanying the inmates after giving making sure that the man gave his companions an all-clear signal. For it was clear that only confusion could give us the edge here. Once the man outside was taken out, we would storm the house within five seconds; one team through the front and the rear. The confusion was the only way we could save the inmates in a hostage-situation.The two teams split, me among the one going via the front, the other circling outwards to the rear. The approach now was even more measured; no one knew if there was a sentry lying in wait. The house came into view and no sentry was spotted,perhaps they thought that the snow was enough to keep away visitors; if they were there that is. We found cover facing the house and the sniper got into position. Munnah circled around to the goat-pen taking care not to disturb the goats until he was in position. He was to try and ascertain by listening at the windows the location of the enemy if there were any, and signal to the captain by hand signals, who would then relay the info to the team at the back by radio. It was a two room house and the location of the enemy would greatly help the operation. The localites had been educated to show distress signals if they were in situations like this. Vital info including the number of men inside and locations if possible could be conveyed by simple waving of hands and such. So if Amjad/Rani got out and if they were under duress they would signal discreetly in hope that someone was watching - that was our only hope of this ending fast. I said a silent prayer - asked God to save us and the family inside. The moonlight was filtering through the trees and the snow, giving a diffused light and eerie look to the whole scene. Everyone trained their breathing, it was vital we concentrated to the hilt, and getting our hearts to beat easy was vital.<br />
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All eyes saw the house through the view points of their rifles, each a different location, ready to strike. The snow was falling heavily now and it was really difficult to see anything. I thanked my strenuous training - there was a time this snow and the hours of sitting in a position would have broken us - but not now. As we squinted through our scopes, the captain's whisper broke through the dead-silence only barely audible "Munnah says he can't hear anything. The glass and the walls must be too thick. I'm relaying the info to the bravo team. All eyes on their target area. Dhillu(he was our sniper) the door!" "Yes sir. All set sir." Five whispers back. I could her the capt. relaying the info to bravo team. Munnah would start disturbing the goats in a 25 sec window which would probably get over now. As the goats started bleating I saw the front door opening and Rani walking out. She was carrying a kerosene lamp and as I watched she covered and uncovered the lamp in quick succession. Damn, that was the distress signal! She was followed by a man in an overcoat a few steps behind. Munnah had seen this from his position and taken cover. Rani got the goats to stop and the man looked around to make sure it was safe. He turned back and yelled "koi nahin". As the duo turned back to the house, Rani in front, Dhillu got his man. Clean, and as he fell Rani jerked and turned around but continued on inside - brave lady, but there was probably something going on inside that she couldn't leave - probably a hostage situation. As she reached the front steps though, we saw someone reach the front door, it was too quick and there was a cry of alert and she was pulled inside - they had seen the body. There was a hail of gunfire as we tried to gun him down. The door slammed shut. Even as the capt. roared into his radio to 'bravo' "surprise out plan B", there came shots from inside.<br />
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The windows were flung open and bullets rained towards all directions from inside . We launched our reply each man taking a specific area, praying that he didn't hit one of the inmates and leashing out hell. The rear was a picture of silence, not a bullet came from the bravo team - that was plan B. Snow flew in all directions as bullets zipped into it. The still mountain air was broken by the rattle of semi-automatics and the tree trunks around us shattered as bullets sank into them. We dug in deeper and returned fire. For five to ten minutes, I don't know it seemed like eternity, it was pure hell. Shards of rocks and bark flying and snow too and we kept to our positions. It was then that it happened - there was a loud explosion from inside and then - bhaamm! fire was seen through one of the windows. Either one of us had hit something explosive or they had done it. As we looked at the capt. for instructions, each man dreading the same thing - what of the ones inside?, he signalled-"wait" and seemed for a few seconds to be listening. There it was - gunfire from the rear. Those cheap bastards!! they had tried to distract our attention and tried to make a get-away. With that the capt. signalled us, three to the front, and two to the sides to make a 'cleaning-up' run. None of the bastards should escape. Me and two others ran to the front in zig-zags. We were to storm inside and rescue the hostages if any and 'clean-up' if required. We slung low as we ran to the door getting no gunfire. One of the guys kicked the door down as two of us stood guard on either side. We swung in from either side and scanned the house. There were no signs of any terrorists, but we were recieved with a blast of the burning inferno. We could see the family hunched over at one of the corners, tied to a shelf which was already burning. We rushed in and as we crossed into the room parts of it started falling, burning. I reached them first and I cut the ropes of the trembling couple and unconscious child with my 'khukri'. As my partners helped the couple up I swung the unconscious kid onto my shoulder and started to make my way out when it happened. A part of the wooden beam broke off and the burning embers fell onto my hand. I jerked my arm free and managed to shift the child out of reach but my shirt caught fire. I ran out of the house with the child and putting her onto the ground sank my hand into the snow. I managed to put out the fire on my shirt but I did get burns - the marks of which you see now.<br />
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All in all the mission was a success. The cowards - six of them including the one we gunned down in front in the beginning, had come over in the dark a few days before just when the blizzard started, and had captured the house and forced the family into submission. As we thought, they, after being alerted by the body, had tied up the family and started firing. When it seemed that they were outnumbered they fell for our plan and thought there was no one in the rear and could make an escape. That's when they blew up a petrol bomb to create a diversion and ran outside from the rear. Of course bravo team had let them take a few steps to get the whole gang outside before clinically gunning them down. They had talked of raising terror in the valley and beyond from what the couple told us. The child had been knocked unconscious after she had been slapped by one of the gunmen while tying her hands and probably from the shock of the final explosion. She responded to our first-aid and we swung into putting out the fire immediately. We did help in rebuilding their house and became good friends with the family and with young Shamjana in due course. Nice kid she was. Ha! that's that, but beti that is how I got these burn marks on my fore-arm."<br />
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"Wow uncle mujhe pata nahin kya kahna he. Aap ki kahani kafi thrilling aur katharnak hei. Aap ke jaise jawan log hi is desh ko ab bhi suraksha kar rahe hein. Thank you."(Wow uncle I don't know what to say. You story was thrilling. It is army people like you who are keeping this nation safe still. Thank you.)<br />
"haha kuch nahin beti. yehi hamara kaam hei aur jeene ka maksat bhi"(That's alright beti. That's our job and our goal too, what we live for.)<br />
<i>Lost track of time. That was some story and to hear it from someone who was actually there! What a treat! Ah the lights are coming on - goodness its already seven, how time has flown.</i><br />
"To fir aap chef kaise bane?" (How did you become a cook?)<br />
"In 2000 I decided to take voluntary retirement. I was good friends with the cook in our unit- Balu a South Indian. He too left with me. It was he who suggested that we could set up a business in partnership in Chennai. And that is how 'Noodle Shop' was set up with some of the cash we got from our retirement money. I brought some friends and relations from Nepal to work in our venture and he has some people he knows working there too. Altogether it has been a good venture so far. We have very recently got orders to either send chefs or supply to one of the 3-star hotels in the city."<br />
"oh woh to acha hei" (that's nice)<br />
<br />
"Hmm..life has been good so far....There is one thing I haven't told you though. And the more I see you the more I think of her. I have a daughter Kusum and she looks very much like you. You are probably of the same age I think. She is going to college, studying B.Sc at Chennai. And it is for her that her grandma has sent all this food here(points to his bag)..haha..loves her...infact wait..I have something for you too. Here (opening the bag and taking a packet)-Nepali noodles, you should have them as a gift from me."<br />
"No mein yeh le nahin sakthi aur yeh apke beti ke liye hei."(No I can't accept this. Besides it is for your daughter.)<br />
"haha use to kafi baki hei aur woh jab chahe mujhse bana leti hei. tumein dhek kar usi ki yaadh aa rahi hei. yeh leejiye mere aur se ek chota tofa..na mat kahiye."(haha..she has enough left. Besides she makes me make her these whenever she wants. You remind me of her. You should have this as a small gift from me. Please don't say no.)<br />
"Dhanyawad."(Thank you)<br />
"Boil it with water and eat. No masala required. Its all there. It will be the best you have ever eaten. My mother- her grandma is a fine cook"<br />
"oh..ok"(grinning from ear to ear)<br />
<i>Must get up to wish 'uncle' goodbye at Chennai.</i><br />
"Good night uncle"<br />
"Good night beti"<br />
<br />
<i>Ah! Chennai at last.</i><br />
"Beti hum jha rahe hein. Apna kyal rakna. Fir kabhi milenge(beti Iam going. Take care. Will meet again someday.)<br />
"Bye uncleji. Fir milenge. Apne beti ko bhi mere shubhkamnayein dhena jaroor."(bye uncle. Will meet again. Give my regards to your daughter too.)<br />
And like that he was gone. And next I woke up to my alarm vibrations as the train was nearing Coimbatore. As I pushed my way out of the train and to my waiting parents, I realised that his story will stay with me forever.<i><br /></i></div>
</div>leohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16646094477296614362noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4318314356879743583.post-25053695397160855462011-11-22T10:02:00.001-08:002011-11-24T11:45:38.060-08:00My love-escapades with Saturn<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I have an on-and-off deal with Saturn a.k.a <i>shani</i> for Indians and I am positive that he loves me more than I love him. He does have this tendency of returning back like an illicit lover and like every illicit lover has his whims, and 'gifts' that he likes to shower on me to show that he has returned. Well he chose last Monday to return and boy was he fretful when he returned!</div>
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I should have taken signs from the weather to know that something was up, but I didn't. The temperatures had plummeted the previous night and the cold was biting at my bones as I tried to pull the blanket around me in a desperate attempt to get in a position to keep warm. I looked at the watch on the table "6:30". <i>Damn</i>! and I could hardly see four feet out of the window. The world was just a mass of swirling white outside my window. I got up in bed and leaned over to switch off the fan and flopped down into 'warm' position again. I decided to sleep for a little more to get the sun shining outside. Next I opened my eyes, the watch showed 9:45. I jumped up in bed-<i>those morons at the mess-counter have a tendency of-late to pack things off when the clock strikes ten.</i> The chill had crept into the room, and my toes wanted to curl and get back under the blanket. After much debating about what to do, the situation was under control when I thought about what would happen when I faced 11o'clock at the Lion's den. It is much better to face the Lion with at least a full belly if not a full brain to go with it. At least you have the satisfaction that your physical body is intact when your mental part takes a beating. So after more choice curses I creep out of bed and painfully complete brushing my teeth. As I returned yawning away(<i>I hate over-sleeping</i>), and regarded my watch again "10:15". <i>Where had time raced?Surely there must be some mistake?</i> Not proceeding to think, I grabbed my sweatshirt and ran to the mess. I saw that the counter-guy had removed everything and was cleaning the counter. The mess-clock showed 10:17(<i>damn now I'll have to beg and plead</i>). I approached the counter-guy.</div>
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"Bhaiyya chai he kya?"(Is there tea?<i>I tried starting from the bottom and moving onto more important things</i>)</div>
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"Nahin. Sab katham ho chuka hai bhaiyya" (no everything is finished.)</div>
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<i>What? The mess people hadn't started having food. Surely there's more of everything left? This guy is messing with me. </i>I continued as if I hadn't comprehended what he said<i>.</i></div>
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"Bhaiyya mein dhooth ki baath nahin kar raha hoon. Chai he kya?"(I'm not talking of milk. Is there tea left?)</div>
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"Nahin bhaiyya sab katham ho chuka he."(No everything is over)</div>
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"tho aap log kya piyoge?"(Then what will you people drink?<i>I was getting angry now. I knew I was late and had no right to get anything, but this prick had always been a pain in the arse and he was really getting on my nerves today.</i>)</div>
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"Dhikayiye kaun pi raha he. Idhar kaun pi raha he"(Show me who is drinking here. No one is drinking tea.) <i>That does it. This guy has stepped over the bloody, fucking line. Not only did he have the nerve to say lies, now he had the impudence to challenge me.</i></div>
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When I say challenge, the reader shouldn't read that we follow a feudal set-up here. Quite on the contrary, while the mess-workers(most of them) treat us with respect, we reciprocate and treat them with respect as well.</div>
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<i>Claanggg. </i>The plate I held only a second earlier went flying onto the counter. I turned and walked back as counter-guy continued to blabber on. Pride in full and upto the brim, tummy quite without, I was fuming as I stomped back to my room. I didn't notice anything as I threw stuff into my bag and flew out of the room and began my cycle journey to the lab.<br />
I should have paid attention to the sudden change in circumstances then, but I didn't. Silently cursing the mess-guy with all my might, I braced myself against the heavy fog and cycled on. The weather had taken a sudden dip since the past two days, but today was extra special. The fog circled everything like a white blanket never letting go and I hunched low on my cycle to keep warm and drove on. Today was one of 'em bad days, ah but they come and they go, what's to fuss about.<i> Oh no Leo, you are speaking too soon son</i>. Anyway as I cycled into the Academic area and swung into the corridor like I always do, I noticed that the corridor was pretty wet from the dew condensing on it. It is out of bounds for cyclists, but I hate using the paved path instead. Reason-Oh I want to get to the lab without my private parts getting bumped all the way, Thank you. And thinking what oafs people were to take the brick-paved road I cycled on. Past Leo's corner(that's a different story), I remembered to slow down considering the damp corridor. See I knew this was one of those days. And on I went thinking how many days it would be before I get into trouble and have to explain my very 'valid' reasons to the professors. As I reached the last bend on the corridor near the library I slowed down and swung into the bend. The next I knew my cycle went flying. It was like someone had swept it out from under me. I saw myself falling. I don't know why, but every time I have taken a fall in these IIT corridors I have loved it(ahem not the 1st time, glad you noticed). So in mid-fall I realise that Iam falling and I don't do anything to break my fall. Iam so captured in the beauty of the fall that I fail to do anything.<i> Oh no Leo!</i> So I hit chest first onto the bricked floor with my bag falling on top of me. I don't know when any of my limbs touched ground zero, but I seem to remember thinking that my head wouldn't hit the ground. Baammm!!! <i>thought too soon baby</i>, my head hit the ground chin first and then the side of my face, so hard that it practically numbed me. Maybe that was why I lay there kissing the ground for a few seconds before the brain regained control and sent emergency panic messages to every nerve in my body. I jumped up to hear thumping footsteps and saw that some passer-by had come running to help me up. I saw that my the jacket had a dark patch of dust near the chest region from where it had taken most impact. That fall would have done Christiano Ronaldo proud; of course he makes sure there is very less impact when he 'falls', but mine had so much of flight involved that I'm sure he would have loved it. And any ref would have given a free-kick and would have booked the other guy without so much as a second thought had it been a football match. But sadly this was no football match and there were no die-hard supporters jumping up and down and booing the other guy in unison, no one shaking their heads at the atrocity levelled, no cries for punishment, just silence and the passer-by who looked at me as if I were the first guy he had seen falling. <i>What a disappointment! </i>As my head was still quite numb, I turned to the Good Samaritain who had come running.<br />
"chehre pe chot tho nahin he?mujhe kuch lag nahin raha he".(Is my face bruised? I can't feel anything.)<br />
"Hmmm..nahin re. kafi lucky ho hero"(no. you are lucky 'hero')he replied after an inspection.<br />
"Thanks. to fir mein chalta hoon." (Thanks. Then I will be on my way.)<br />
I picked up my cycle and seeing that there was nothing wrong with it(<i>Really Leo? Was there nothing wrong with it?</i>), I cycled back to the lab. Now I was quite certain it was one of those days. But to think that it was a re-visit by <i>Shani</i>?, no I didn't think it was that yet(<i>oh Leo you poor idiot</i>). As I walked into the lab, Lion gave me a look as if to say "now what have you been doing?". The day passed onto lunch time with nothing much accomplished, yet the fog outside stood guard in the form a mild chill. As I started to cycle back I still had the hairs on the back of my neck up-something more had to happen.As nothing happened I felt a bit warm cycling back. I avoided the corridor-ha! I wouldn't fall for that a second time!<br />
I was about to cross the atm junction a few yards from the hostel when it happened. Two girls on a cycle, one riding pillion were about to cross from up ahead. Remembering the way of things I swung over to the side to let them cross. <i>Oh wait! why are they shifting to my direction too? Damn idiots! why don't you just cross dammit!</i> I clutched the brakes with all my might. <i>WHY THE HELL AREN'T THEY RESPONDING?</i> The brakes just wouldn't hold well. <i>The cycle had been quite ok after the crash in the morning eh smartass?</i> <i>Very smart you were then eh?</i> I had been in quite a good mood seeing that nothing had happened and was at a steady pace when this happened you see. It was like those knight-fights you see in the movies, where they ride towards each other with spears outstretched-except here we were two 'knights' who were trying our maximum to avoid getting any closer. I could see the whites of her eyes-the one in front, pretty much like the knights did when they got pretty close. And I am pretty much she saw the veins in mine as well in those 'slow-motion seconds'. But just before the crash I shut my eyes real tight and hoped we would just pass by without crashing. <i>Oh God please don't let me crash, just let her swing to the side! </i>I have to agree with those chaps in <i>Inception</i>. The brain just processes such a lot of information so damn fast when it needs to. In dreams which last only a few seconds entire worlds are created; as for me those few seconds or split seconds before the crash my brain was on over-kill. As I closed my eyes another thought dawned on me. <i>What if I opened my eyes and she is lying in my arms?</i> Iam no pervert, and it was not a romantic feeling that I had, but if Shahrukh can get that happening in that many movies, it stands to reason that I can imagine it happening. I mean c'mon it will probably be next only to the girl-next-seat dream that guys have. You know when you go on a journey alone and you wish that some girl your age sits next to you. Its just one of those things and as I rightly read in some FB update, Indian Railways has some weird 'magic' shit going for it that this never happens. Just a wish that someone your age from the opposite sex sat next to you rather than 'uncle' who looks as grumpy as his age and who eats from the start of the journey to the end of the journey conveniently fed by 'auntyji' from next seat. I wonder how they can eat continuously, all the while complaining about sons,daughters,and the respective in-laws, the neighbourhood kids, the neighbours, the state of affairs in general, the country going to waste. I look at the floor; the pile of ground-nut shells and vegetable droppings and other paraphernalia 'slipping' from the couples' hands have begun to cover their feet. "And the children of today...no responsibility..look at the one infront, rotten no doubt. They grow up, they forget parents, no manners, creating problems...." I force myself to not break out laughing. Oh where am I, ahh..so it is understandable if someone wants a person from the opposite sex of his age for companionship on a long journey-just practical nothing crass about it. But in my knowledge only once has this event ever occured- to my friend on a bus journey from Coimbatore to Kochi. For it is not important just to get a girl sitting next to you, she has to be someone who doesn't treat you like you have the plague, and actually wants to have a conversation. Someone who is not weird for a change. And the friend afore-mentioned has been the only recipient of this honour. If you are reading count yourself lucky you idiot! Anyways I thus imagined with a sense of pure wonder if that would happen. Bammmm!! I felt my cycle's handle pumping into my tummy and the air going out. I opened my eyes and struggled to stay on my legs. It was an almighty crash and no-no girl lay in my arms. The one in front was picking herself up while the one riding pillion had gone flying from what it looked. The bag she carried had probably aided and both had gone flying and lay equally sprawled in the middle of the road.I nursed my hurt stomach and was thankful that nothing else had happened. I wasn't that sure about the girls though.<br />
"I'm really sorry. Are you hurt? I really couldn't do anything. I had pulled over to let you pass"<i>(How could I tell them the Shani story anyway?)</i><br />
"No it is ok. I'm fine"girl-in-front spoke. I wasn't so sure about her companion though. But she helped herself up as well, gingerly, and nodded her head to my enquiries about her health and well-being. So I assumed it would be best to leave the surroundings.<br />
He likes me. He really does-<i>Shani</i>; and this is his usual way of showing love for all the days he has missed me. I get this from time-to-time, so its no big deal. But you have to admire his handiwork. He does it with such panache that you just fall for it everytime-<i>oh Shani!</i> I sometimes end up feeling relieved that I'm alive and all my limbs are in working condition. Many times I don't get the latter satisfaction you see- so it pays to be thankful for small mercies. And for the times that your life structure hasn't changed by his sudden outburst of love for you. Oh such love!!<br />
PS: It was revealed on inspection that the crash in the morning had actually smashed the brakes and there were no brake-pads to speak of. <i>Shani</i> had designed it so well so that the fun lasted till the afternoon. <i>Damn you.</i></div>
</div>leohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16646094477296614362noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4318314356879743583.post-56483907095348073622011-11-02T21:20:00.000-07:002011-11-02T21:24:17.377-07:00Chachan and I went Trekking...(Epilogue)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b></b></div>
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<b><i>To @ with love</i></b> </div>
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<u><b>Epilogue</b></u></div>
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<b>The trek back</b></div>
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The next day it was a long trek of about 23 kms. straight to Chidwasa our first spot, that awaited us. We had breakfast and said our final good-byes to Nandanvan and the mountains around. It was a joyous lot that made their back. We had achieved what we had set out for and the trek back was mostly downhill so there wouldn't be much of a strain. We clambered over the rocky section and Chachan was fortunate for having not made it with one limb less when Shuttle upset a one-ton-or-so stone. We set off at a terrific pace and we had wonderful conversation along the way. Chachan and I discussed everything under the sun. When we stopped for a break DK Bose showed us the fun ain't over anymore by stepping into what seemed like quick-sand. He was knee deep when we pulled him out, but he insists he had found a foot-hold..maybe he did. We passed people on the way after Goumukh and Bhojwasa. And I was cheeky enough to wish a French dude '<i>salut</i>' after he gave me a '<i>namaste</i>'. Someone ought to tell these guys that <i>namaste</i> is virtually unheard of nowadays and they look really funny bowing and saying '<i>namaste</i>' as though we don't know a word of English. Small kids nowadays are taught to wave and say 'bye-bye' or 'hello', but hey its nice to hear a namaste once in a while. I wouldn't score high if my French ma'am heard that I wished him an informal '<i>salut</i>'. But it was part cheek and part bro-hood on these mountains, so French guy if you are reading-"<i>salut</i>". We reached Chidwasa by evening, but Dude was nowhere behind. He was limping somewhere far behind, given company by a tired Kaanta. When he finally made it to camp, the whole camp cheered for its only 'lady'. Hey but he did brave the boils a long time. The next morning I made sure my last dump on the mountains was memorable by selecting a good spot like before. After this I went over to the river-bank to pay my respects to the river one last time. It was a solemn affair, and that was when I got the idea to get you what I got you-@. It was tough finding, but it was worth the trouble and Chachan helped too. After breakfast we made the last stretch back to Gangotri. Me and Chachan met a group of Malayalees on a pilgrimage and were treated as heroes for having been to Nandanvan and Vasuki-Tal. Our small moments of pride; it was nice to meet people from back home. On the way back to Uttarkashi it was more heart-clinching turns by bus and more camaraderie. We got back day after to the insti saying goodbyes to Jhansi & c.o and Kaanta 2 at Haridwar. It was the day after we started from Uttarkashi when we dragged our tired arses into SAC.</div>
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<b>Final Words</b> </div>
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It was a trek I'll remember for a life-time. It had so many incidents, so much thrill, so many mishaps, so many heart-stoppers, that it truly reflected the name Adventure and Trekking (club). Right from the start to the very end it was a nerve-trying, gut-wrenching ride and in between all this fun. It was a trek in which I was reborn-twice, with many near-death experiences. Like Kaanta said "in sab mein hamein seekhne ki bahut sare cheezein hein"(There's a lot to learn in all this). It was something which made me think more of you-@, everything connected to me, and life in general. I shall never forget the new friends I made on this trek. Guys, the time we spent together will remain with me forever. Hope we could do another one soon. Waiting for that and the memories it will bring....</div>
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THE END.</div>
</div>leohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16646094477296614362noreply@blogger.com3