New Year Greeting

A true friend...

Anyone who had ever set eyes on him,
will always remember the way,
he used to greet you(read sniffing and jumping up and down) .
Never a hesitation,
a open heart and
no grudges ever.
The kind who'd always want to play ,
no matter how tired or exhausted he'd be,
if you are game then so am i would be his word if he could talk.
A friend who would let you be the kid you are and at the same time allow you to feel uninhibited.

Very rarely would you catch him sitting calmly, when its not his resting time, a voracious appetite and ready to spare all the time he had for you. Well that my Dog, Jhonty, a true, cuddly and a selfless friend.

Everyone needs a name to be called by and believe me he too has had his share with auric, goldie, monty being the top runners but the superior fielding prowess of the world best fielder Jhonty Rhodes shifted our preference to his name and added to this it rhymed with our aunt's old lab, Monty.

Jhonty began life known as Pasha's Pup a thoroughbred with irish ancestors, the first time we saw him was a day after my aunts 50th birthday, when my brother adamantly refused to let go of the offer of gettign a new pup. A quick call back home confirmed that we could have the pup and off we set out to get it. From his early days, he proved to be a crowd puller, proof of this attested by all my cousins aunts and the billions of relatives who've ever had the good fortune to meet him.

We brought him from bangalore by train wher he again caught the attention of our fellow passengers and ofcourse the ticket collector who wanted to see the ticket for the pup. How are you supposed to know that a ticket is required for a dog? but a little cash on the side solved the problem and we got him safely home. A bit apprehensive at first on dash's(our oter dog) reaction to the new addition to the household. Suprisingly they both got along just fine. Take it as a lesson on the art of negotiating.

A few months down the line Jhonty outgrew dash buy several inches but still had the same respect he had when he was just a wee bit of a baby, the respect continued till the day he passed away. Never once could you actually find the two of them sulking around the bad blood between them were sorted out within minutes and they were back to being happy and gay... pun intended!

Jhonty grew up around a lot of people who loved pets of any kind and yes this made him a spoilt little brat. Often the idea of doing things his way had to be curbed and the next second you can find him under the dining table looking all morose and sad, you just cant stay angry any longer. Man you should actually see the look of innocense he was capable of exhibiting it was just out of this world. Bet not even the greatest actor of our era can replicate that look.

His constant companion was his lovable toys(read ball and ring). very rarely would he be seen without it and if they were not available then it would be carpets, gunny bags, slippers, coconuts and logs. Well its better the Ball, whatever the cost maybe, than to that long list anyday. Two secrets Jhonty ever had was his constant fear of injections, which invariably made the doctor his nemsis, and the fact he absolutely had no intrest in mating. A sad fact cause if he knew, then he'd have left back someone to carry on his legacy.

I know the list can go on and on but then I would not want to bore a lot of people with several mundane details that are actually of interest to me, but can bore the rest of you. No matter how much you write on someone you like and is your true friend and family, it just isn't enough. The memories stay with you, only to burden your heart on the loss of a loved one, but it also gives you glimpses of the times you've shared and enjoyed.

Jhonty you'll be truly missed my friend.

A song…

They say there is a song for every mood… we sing when we are happy, when we are sad, when we are embarrassed, when we celebrate, when we are bored, etc etc…..

I happened to enjoy an hour and half of enthralling folk music which I must honestly say that without the sub titles would actually be Greek and Latin to me, but never the less enjoyable. The theme of the hour was like I said folk music and it was an absolute revelation when you can actually depict the countries plight through music. The music/poem having the distinct local flavor, heartfelt and to the core dealt with the problems of a particular region sung in the dialect and yet in its own subtle way help you understand and feel/sympathise with the singer.

The musical began with a poem or rather sur about a slum dweller, whose mother happens to be a prostitute, and this little slum dwellers life from birth to death. In the beginning he has a carefree life then during his teenage years he asks who his father is, the mother tells him something and in his 20’s as an angry adult the mother rudely asks him if she is going to remember who his father was among her several thousand long list of clients. This further aggravates the youth and turns him against the city and all that it represents, namely wealth. The poem shifts drastically against the term wealth and all that it stands for, the young lad sees it as the cause of all his problems. Looking at it from his point of view the kid’s very existence or rather his presence in the city is because of money. Then it is followed by the usual melodrama of the mother passing away and the youths aimless existence in this world until the day he to passes away carrying with him and his ideas of the cruelties of wealth.

From this realistic yet materialistic world the focus shifts to a the heartland of the nation where an old man sits in a very small living space teaching a small yet really loud group of kids the lines of why there is indifference in this world and who is going to resolve them. The question asked is who would eradicate the world of inequalities? The elitist’s? The government? Education? The question remains unanswered.

This unanswered question is what provides entry for the next poem from the cotton fields of Andhra. A man puts forth a question with this solo on caste based separation. Why is it, he asks, there a different rule for a person of a lower caste and a totally different set for another? The song takes the path of a question format imploring the people to give answers to the questions raised. Questions like if you wash your hands after touching a lower caste person would you rather stop breathing in the air we so need for our sustenance. The song goes on to comment that there are a set of people who think themselves above the law and that they do what they please as and when they please and then happily hide behind the law coz they are the privileged. Well of course they are even if you actually thought the law is blind and we frequently see the blindfolded lady with the scales sitting mighty pretty in any court of law, the law doesn’t shun the people based on their caste but the society does.

Does it sound right if the society thinks it is wrong to do something and it automatically becomes right, that when the law is the same for all? This is the inequality that the person in the song was pensively humming out, an inequality based on the caste systems of our country. Some of the very thoughts we stick on to so vehemently is sadly what denies us the freedom to think and act like we like to. A point the person sing the song was particularly concerned about was that the elite cotton farmer and his offspring (touché) had no qualms about satisfying his sexual needs with a person of a lower caste. Now with all this talk about an upper caste and a lower caste why not this time? Beats me too. Double Standards?

With talks about the inequalities in wealth and inequalities in caste the scene slowly but cleverly shifts to the conflicts of the north - eastern states. Namely the Nagas and the Manipuris…. Don’t know if I am using the term right. The shot of the people who have given up their lives fighting for a cause they believed in and the supporting songs by the theological society actually makes you feel sorry for the people. The very idea of the fight is still a mystery to me. Well that’s just my opinion but then if one state actually fights over the central government claiming their independence then it isn’t too far behind when the other states to follow suit. Times come and times go but then the very action the British Rulers put into action before our independence is what is being witnessed in these present time. The policy of, “Divide and Rule”. How long do you think a small state like Nagaland is going to hold out against a mightier power once they attain their freedom? Just my opinion.

Thinking about all the emotions that a simple song, evoked in someone like me, is actually quite enough to understand the power of a song. What is a song but a few lyrics and some strong emotions? I for one must agree with Kalil Gibran when he said that in my soul is a wordless song. Hmmm just hoping that the song in me never dies but renews itself every day.

Leaving you in the words of EY Harburg, “Words make you think a thought. Music makes you feel a feeling. A song makes you feel a thought”.

The Naya Theatre.

The synopsis of the documentary read as the enthralling theatrical journey that happens when a pipe-smoking urban sophisticate like Habib Tanvir travels via Europe to return to his homeland – in Chhattisgarh - to create an essentially Indian theatre…

Well this in short was one of the documentaries that I got to see or rather watch and absorb in a dark auditorium with a few known and several unknown film lovers and critics. The documentary shot in the very raw documentary style show cases the trials and tribulations of a director par excellence trying hard to sustain the very essence of Indian Cinema.

The visual impact or the visual history of the whole documentary spanned only over two years where the director took us through the making and back screen preparations of the theater troupe preparing for the production of a play based on Sanskrit Classics and even some plays the adaptations of Shakespeare and Brecht. Interesting as the topic may seem equally majestic was the interpretation of the themes and the style in which each topic was directed.

The documentary twists and turns itself around the directorial excellence of Habib shahib as he takes on the task of bringing out the artistic skills of the unschooled and uneducated villagers. Each shot of the documentary wound itself around the topic, “ The Naya Theatre “and the man behind the success of the theatre, Habib Tanvir. Simple takes and excerpts from the very people he works with and the glimpses of the long list of celebrity admirers get you to hold on to your seats wondering what’s next. It’s also of great pride when you come to know that this director actually took his bunch of rural artiste’s to berlin and won the competition, in a land where no one knew the dialect and also the music.

In many ways being a critic is easy, we risk very little and yet enjoy a position of the people who offer up their work and their work to our judgment. We thrive on negative criticism that’s fun to write and to read. But what we critics often must realize is that in the grand scheme of things the average piece of junk we read and hear is often more meaningful than our criticism designating itself. Not trying to impose myself with the position of being a critic in any way, since I neither have the understanding nor the experience of actually making a critical statement, it doesn’t really stand in the way of me passing a comment o something that is put together beautifully.

The documentary was followed by an interactive session with the director Ranjan Kamath who shared his experience on making the film and also the difficulties. The very first thought going into the making of the film in itself explained the fate or in fact the plight of the Indian Theatre scenario. Asked as to why he made this documentary on the Naya Theatre, his only reply was for my children. For a person who spent the better part or the whole of two years documenting a theatre troupe to make that statement is grave. Well who wouldn’t think so. The pays poor in fact it sucks (@ Rs. 2000/- per month), the hours long and the attendance decent, great only when known persons take the helm. With hardly any encouragement this is one form of entertainment that is nearing its last days. Several other questions later you also come to another revelation that is although the whole of India liked it and applaud its humble origins it has been entered into over 30 film festivals and never once been in the list of films being shown as it lacked international elements. Funny when you actually take in the international films into our nation and one to many of us sit and watch the show blissfully unaware of what’s happening and if at all we are asked whether you understood anything we simply reply oh of course every bit when in reality it’s all gone swish over your head.

Naya theatre is truly an eye opener in terms of the very little we have conceived of the notion of Indian Theatre.

Are we one?

Well strange as it may seem this query is something that has been nagging me ever since I started commuting in Bangalore. Pretty often I’ve even had my sympathies shared cent percent by people I have discussed the problem with and all this to an incredulous question shot right back at me, “why the hell are you paying a road tax, When you initially purchase a vehicle?” No matter what I give as an explanation it never actually suffice as a good enough an explanation.

A few friends got together and we were discussing on this topic and it so happened that everyone had a story to tell; each one of us was stopped at some point or the other by a policeman asking us for our papers. Well not of identification but rather our bike or car papers. In spite of all the other papers being in order the only hindrance being that the Karnataka road tax was not paid. Well to be fair, each one of us were let off with a warning and sometimes a light fine. Now the circumstances all point to one, that the very people who claim to have our unity at the very highest of importance is in fact giving it the least priority, the politicians.

It is noticed that the taxes of this state is seemingly higher than that of the other states but come-on there’s no need of an economics lesson to state why one state can levy a tax that is somewhat higher than what it is charged in other states would a uniform tax system solve the problem better. This when the most advanced city in the state is not even in a tier classification of the cities that entitle for a higher tax quotient. (Whew now that’s like a lot of Greek and Latin even for me!).

Now some may get the argument together and even be able to convince people as to the virtues of having a slightly higher tax rate but then take for instance the fighting going on in Maharashtra, one man’s eccentricity for a land belonging to a state, saying other state people cannot stay there! I must rather say if that chappie went way back to his ancestral root he would in fact learn that he was part of another state himself. Further looking or after deeper thought he would realize that the very development of his state is because of people from other states.

Each one of these incidents only leads us to wonder whether we are truly living in a country calling itself the largest democratic nation bound by a single law and government!

Working Spirituality...

An early morning schedule reason enough for irritable behaviour. Braving the chill to attend a workshop, one that had little importance to what we are doing and striving for, isn't exactly something that one looks forth to with eager anticipation. The previous days session was intense enough to actually foretell the fate we were in for the next day. Going on in a steady pace i finally reach the venue and hunt for a shady spot to park my bike.

With a car being parked there i didn't necessarily think it would be too much of a problem if i too followed the same. This unfortunately did not agree with a couple of oldies. the arguement was dont park there but move to a designated parking for bikes. A further glance at the spot indicated only added to the irritation as it was in bright sunlight. An arguement broke out between the two of us, me telling i will not budge it to the spot indicated as it was sunny and him(a senior official; aparently the site manager) aying that it is the only possible area where you can park. A lot of heated exchanges later i tell him that i am moving to a spot where several others from our company had parked their cars.

This incident lay forgotten till lunch time when i bumped into the chappie fromthe morning debate. this time he was a bit more amiable and the usual apologies followed. Some of my collegues standing along with me I think latched on to the plot much before i did and cleverly retreated to other areas safe and far from the two of us. I realised it a bit too late for any action. One thing led to another and pretty soon even before i could realise it i was talking about spirituality. With absolutely no idea of what i am going to talk about i blabber something or the other.

To be truthful i think the other guy actually found my arguments worth discussing about and that the topic we were on something interesting and in his domain. Not usually supportive of topic that have a potential to lead me to violent arguments and moments of brief irritation, i actually find this conversation leading neither here nor there. Much to my surprise the conversation actually helped in creating religious halo over my head and dwelling on topics far from the heart with clarity.

His very idea was that religion is just a platform that allows you to reach a level that in its own way allows you to dwell into a deeper state of being making you feel at peace and listen to your subconscious. Well rather than arguing i thought this time i might as well ,play the listener and for once it worked like a charm.

For a day that began with irritation, gloom and anger this must have been a fitting tribute to an end where a new relationship is founded. I dont think i did meet the other person after that much and neither did i think that he would remember me, but surprises they say are worthwhile and i did get one when i bumped into the same person a few days back bringing into mind the day when we had a working session filled with spirituality. He did recognise me and i releaved that there was no bad vibes with the guy about me. Much to my relief.

Pretenses...

Pretenses! The very definition says: The act of giving a false appearance. Pretending with intention to deceive.

Another question that really tingles your senses is, why do people put forth false appearances? The reason why i am i am begining it this fashion is.... simple i have absolutely no clue to the same question.

(I was dwelling on this question for some time, which inturn, actually got me into a study of the behavioural patterns of the human race and the believe me it is not a small area to swim in. so cutting short to make it more readable and précis, well atleast trying to, i did happen to chance in on another fellow bloggers article with the same dilemma.)

The use of the word "pretenses" here is perhaps slightly confusing to a modern reader since "pretense", in the modern sense of the word, is the conscious creation of fiction, but in the former sense of the word, as it was borrowed from the French language, it simply meant "claim" or sometimes "belief".

Below are some instances of people not being themselves
a) people are trying their best to create attention
b) people are saying " i will try my best to make it to the party or to that place (where invited)", when they simply cannot make it
c) people pulling in their tummies when a woman walks by
d) people saying good about one person and saying bad the next minute behind their backs
e) people show off in front of people that they like A PERSON but in their hearts of heart they do not
f) people who actually act busy when in reality they aren't
g) people who wish you well when you actually want the inverse to happen
h) people who project a different character when they are infact a totally different person

in this sojourn of mine on earth i strive, and I end this topic with a question hoping, to get an answer for this.

what is it that drives people to change their identity?

Zephyrs of Change

An idyllic day, simple in its very dawn, splattered with a few errands and queries, one culminating into a full fledged argument, the victory though sweet still has a touch of discomfort. Must be due to the fact that an overdose of high adrenalin tends to raise your blood preassure a notch too high for your comfort. But then the satisfaction is derived on the winning. Well worth the effort and especially if you take into account the benefits of getting something done free. Riding over bumpy roads is bound to give any rider a sore bottom, here being no different.

A couple of hours later i find myself at a friends place and from there over a healthy lunch we hatch a plan of driving down to a forest nearby... the front runners being, coorg, ooty, bandipur, mudumalai, masinagudi, kerala. debating over the financial aspects and ease of accessibility along with the fact of maximum coverage we zero in on masinagudi. Masinagudi, a rusty little village town often poofed about or zipped passed by travellers to Ooty. A town that is generally just a blur out of the window as people whizz past in a hurry to get to ooty with the ocassional car stopping to tank up on goodies and liquids. The drive through masinagudi actually allows you to go through the bandipur forest and added to that you also get to cross the state border. The forest famed for the its abundance of wildlife viz; panthers, leapords, Elephants, Deer, Gaurs and monkeys.

A lot of people actually take this route to enjoy the lush paradise and even get closer to the calls of nature. but rarely does one stop over at this place to actually stay and chill out in.

We coax ourselves to get past the major part of the wait and after a decent enough wait we pack and are all set to go. stacked high on the electronic front we proceed to the jungle. The first hurdle presents itself with the starting itself in the form of a concrete jungle each one of us have come to inhabit so lovingly called the garden city, Bangalore. The traffic strong and the pace hypnotic. Inching our way past the evening rush of the city, turning into by-lanes and through narrow lanes with pot holes the size of truck we finally hit the Mysore highway. The going from there get really smooth and fast.... in no time we reach Mysore.

Reaching Mysore we head to a hotel called parklane, and as the name suggests it is a hotel that has the outside replicated inside. Well atleast thats what it was the last time i went there. Expecting the same the three of us go in only to walk into a lobby suitable for a three star hotel... Well what the hell we still go to the restaurant and i still remember it as the first floor of the previous time. the theme totally changed and the food still cheap. Have our fill both intellectually and nutritionally, guess you must be wondering why. Well, we were there discussing on the after effects of the world economy and why its been happening that way and each one of us trying to explain to the other two his version of the situation. Hilariously i must say time does fly when you are actually engrossed into such matters.

But then again no dinner is complete without dessert, not interms of diet but verbal. This time the issue was smoking in public. we asked for the ashtray only to be told that the premisis cannot be used for smoking and its banned, ridiculously only a few tables down sat a motley group of locales happily enjoying a drag. But what enraged us was that the waiter denied the very fact that they were smoking and said that he could not see it. This clearly got us hot and voices were raised only then did the maitre d' come and tell us that they were locals and they did not want any problems...

Apparently the smoking ban goes by the ration card. If you are a local apparently the ban is not effective. Wow, it happens only in India!!!

Putting all that aside we did not want to spoil the whole fun and we carry on to Masinagudi. The path interspersed with good roads, decent roads, bad roads and no roads make for tough driving conditions yet enjoyable. we finally hit the forest and actually manage to catch a pair of wild elephant at close quarters, dont know if tere where any around us but hell the very thought of getting to seeing on is absolutely high on the adrenaline. In no time we hit the border checkpost where we were asked for Rs. 20/- never actually having heard about such an arrangement i enquire as to the reason only to be told its a leaving fee. What?! refusing to buy the story it gets changed to pooja donation, I tell him i dont do pooja and this time it changes to tea money! Wow the stories people go to make a quick buck. We get by not paying anything. after another 30 minutes we hit another check post this time i go and make the mistake of actually picking on an argument with the cop on duty.

The cop claimed to have put up a hoarding some 10 kms back and we claim to not have seen any. this infuriates the cops even more as it now seems that the statement shows him in a bad light. to top it all there goes another friend of mine clicking pictures of the checkpost boards. APparently photography isn't allowed there and below it written in marker pen is the warning for a fine if caught with a trigger happy finger. A lot of coaxing and arguements later we continue on our way to masinagudi. Expecting a long drive we shortly discover that masinagudi is about two stones throw from the checkpost. The town wears a deserted look, but then what do you expect at 3:00am? we continue uncertian of our destination, ooty or masinagudi? A bit of a dilemma at the wee hours of the morning. finally our senses get the better of our adventerous streak and we return back to Masinagudi.

At masinagudi we are greeted with a light drizzle that soon truns into a heavy downpour, heavy enough to take our car with the force of the flow. Knocking at lodges at such an ungodly hour can be unpleasant and added to our woes is the heavy downpour. BRRRRRRR...... a helpful intervention saves the conseirge of a lodge from be mauled to death by my hands. So we go to the place suggested only to be told that another set of stranded travellers have just booked in rendering the lodge full. Enquiring further we are directed to another resort and ther we find refuge from the wrath of nature finally at 4:30 in the morning.

Since our day had already begun we get up from our nap and re-energising ourselves with a hot cuppa tea we move on back to mysore all set to explore the city, zoo, culture and most of all the dussera festivities. Reaching Mysore early noon we head for the zooand to what seems like a three kilometer walk encompassing a varied collection of fauna and flora. as the day comes to an end we are ushered out of the zoo premises and we head to the Mysore Palace all decked up in tune with the festivities. It is really a sight to see. the only downside is the crowd but then again the crowd and the varied crossection of people jostling for a glimpse of the whole works only adds to the fun and the experience of the spirit of celebration...

Getting late we head out of the city and head back to electronic age heady with a healthy dose of heritage and the wild. The holiday rush catching up with us back on our way to Bangalore, we sit and look back on all the small instance that make every journey special and different. The joys, hardships and decisions each playing its own relative part in making a holiday magical.

A tryst with delicate might

Another day dawned late, the after effects of the previous day’s activities still reeling in my mind I start the day uncertain to the chain of events that are yet to be unraveled.

A late start to a beautiful day, uncertainty and boredom the only co-passengers on my ride. Its then that I decide why waste a good day travel a bit more and at least visit the much spoken about National Park at Bannergattha. Having no clue as to whereabouts of the national park I continue down the Bannergattha Road thinking it will lead me to the park automatically. Well I did find out that the park is approximately 40 kms on the outskirts of the city. Other than this my knowledge of the whole area is "ZILCH".

I keep going down the road and I keep going on and on for nearly 60 kms but no sight of the park. Well I guess it must have been due to the much clichéd fact of male genes, for not asking questions that I kept going. After 60kms I swallowed my male pride and asked a passerby as to the directions of the national park. Guess what, in his broken tamil and fluent kannada I get to know that the park is around 23kms behind me.

I go back and find the park. Park my bike and proceed to the ticket counter. As I exit the parking lot I get to a queue and I am like hello where are the ticket booths!!! I ask a lady in front of me if this is the queue to the entry to the zoo. Well as perplexed as I was so was she! The long queue snaked a course along the walls of the national park and the lady in front of me actually finished two ears of corn before we actually got beside the wall. Whew upon entering the park, thinking the worst is over, I discover that I thought too soon. Here I was pushed into a queue, one longer than the one I just got past.

Whew! I am pushed into a pathway just enough to accommodate one adult. This queue actually had me thinking if all this was worth but a call from a friend assured me that no matter what the sight of the cats is worth any queue, stench and pain. After an hour of waiting in the queue I finally get to board a bus bypassing a whole line, around two bus load of people as I was the only single guy there awaiting a glance of the mighty jungle cats. Who else but the biggest cat to be your first sight. The mighty lion as usual resting under the shade provides for the perfect photo session. Hmmm. From then on each sighting only got better. The dosage of the cats just too much, also combined to this is the enthusiasm of the people, going from one side to another. The force in which this happens only wants you to pray god please don’t let the bus tip over to the other side.

Secretly well I did wish the tigers or the lions actually charged the bus to actually liven the whole trip but well that still remains as a wish. Hope someday it does happen!!

We get back to the main park area and from there I head straight to the butterfly conservatory… I know a lot of you will ask what is there in a butterfly conservatory to actually be of any interest. My sentiments exactly but once you enter the conservatory you feel like you have entered a totally different world. The greens combined with the high domed glass roof dotted with conical pods for the butterflies, think they are the pods that serve as the hatchery for the eggs, and the carefree flutter of the delicate butterfly, wow its just too much to explain and something you got to actually see to ever get to know what I am talking about.

Well after a walk with my flutter counterparts in this stage called life I must get back although I would have loved to spend the whole day there, learn more and live amongst them. The concrete jungle beckons me to live another day amidst the concrete blocks with manmade colors, making me want to visit the natural world to enjoy its fruits undisturbed and with a better understanding…

Inexcusable behavior…

Well there comes a time when what you give is what you get. Well I especially should have been aware of this fact better than anyone because it’s a policy that I stick on to religiously.
Then what is it that makes you behave otherwise? Complex as it may seem I think it is what makes us more human otherwise we would have on saints walking around without any human to actually give credit to the proverb, to err is human and to forgive divine…
Well that’s it for now but what the heck still trying to figure out the answer to this problem and I am sure I will update this topic.

I did tell that I was going to update this topic whenever I could figure out what it is that actually provokes us into doing or saying the things we almost always regret right afterwards.

There are times when you actually feel that you have become the worst of yourself. Feeling sometimes that you have opened up a pandora’s box of all your hated traits; your anger, your spite, your condescends. When someone or something provokes you, you instead of smiling and moving along actually take them on.

Once the confrontation is over all you are capable of doing is going back home and spend the rest of your time tossing and turning over thinking of all the things you could have said but end up regretting the thing you said. There may be a few of you out there who would actually argue that it’s a way of getting rid of your temper, calming down, letting your steam out etc etc… it only ends up causing a lot more damage than actually help you blow your steam off…

Well blame it on human behaviour (again it’s so typical isn’t; we always manage to find someone else to put the blame on), like we are all taught to from our infancy… Pun Intended.

Hmmm, you finally realize that when you have the pleasure of saying the things that you mean to say at the moment to mean to say it, remorse inevitably follows.

60 an hour…

A while back I was riding back in a car with my cuz and grandmother when we had to halt at this very busy traffic signal. Like all busy traffic signal, each a host to several wild but absurd ideas of making a quick buck, this one too had its share of the pie. Well each one of us gets caught in this seemingly harmless waste of time, nonnegotiable, unavoidable and always in the eye of the big belly of law…

Well I know not many would have got it and quite a few will term it a PJ in every sense once the explanation is over….. Okay here goes… I basically took law as the long arm and the cops the big belly as the physique needed to be a cop in India is a big belly… looks like the classification/cadre of the Indian police force is determined by the size of the stomach.

Coming back before I deviate any further, our car windows were knocked on by several vendor, a guy selling sunglass’ of a reputed brand , another selling magazines, a couple of small kids doing a mini but poorly orchestrated show and another with a yellow cloth, apparently its supposed to be for the car windscreen. After rejecting all the above said participants of global marketing and entertainment in about 30 seconds we have the national job of all lazy Indians, Begging.

Off late a new dimension has been added to this scenario. The armless and lame man has already become passé/cliché. Now it’s the turn of the mother. True enough it wasn’t long before a knock made me turn to my side of the window. I look to my cousin and with looks communicate what’s to be done. She nods a refusal and I shake my head at the woman and she carries on.
After she had gone a couple of cars down my sister reveals something that shocks me. Well everybody in the car I must say. Apparently a couple of days back she read in an article in some newspaper, which covered a very weird topic. Apparently the article stated that these women who come to your car knocking for some change is actually not the mother of the child. We were like, WHAT!!!!

The article went on to state that the city cops had arrested a gang who were giving out babies on hire. The gang ran a crèche for the upper lower class and the lower middle class people the ones where the folks were both bread winners and did not have enough to put their kid in a play school. The gang was exposed, when one day a parent was not feeling well and happened to return early to collect the child and the people at the crèche started making excuses trying to delay the return of the child. Initially the parent accepted the reasons and waited for half an hour but growing weary the parent started getting suspicious and demanded the return of her child. Helpless when the crèche people did not cooperate she sought the help of the police and that’s when they got to the bottom of the whole affair.

Apparently the couple who ran the crèche were renting out the children they were taking care of. Imagine the very thought of a parent travelling in a local bus and while looking out you look into the eyes of your toddler lying limb in the hands of a stranger and think, “poor kid looks so much like my but thank heavens mine is safe in a crèche”. How wrong you are….

Apparently the running rate was Rs. 60 an hour.

Silhouettes on the roof…

Every evening as I walk upon my terrace I get a distinct feeling that I am being watched. Really wish it were the ones out there… but nah!

Every dwelling in Bangalore basically resembles a square or a rectangle and rarely do you actually come upon a weird shaped dwelling. This in-turn allows for one to actually have a pretty decent terrace one that allows for you to take a stroll, dry your laundry or just host that random get together with your buddies. Well sound fascinating doesn’t it the last part especially, who wouldn’t give an arm and leg to actually spend time or rather let ones hair down after a really tensed, or boring, or lackadaisical day.

Hmmm well that’s not really what I am trying to get to here…

The other day I was standing on my balcony, since its elevated it overlooks quite a lots of neighboring flats, each ones roof just a hops away from my balcony. All of a sudden a shadow creeps by one such window and I was like, hey what was that? With your blood urging for that little bit of mystery mixed with fear I watch closely and the shadow moves again. This happen another time and as curiosity got the better of me I watch with sincere concentration…

Any guess’ on what I saw? Well it was a guy on a mobile phone walking up and down his balcony. I go to my roof top and one by one I get to see that every rooftop is dotted by folks on their cell phone… talking to their parents, lovers, friends, business associates, call centers(for help), restaurants, wife, etc.

Each roof had a silhouetted human form doing a similar motion to the guy/girl on the next roof. Each silhouette moving in a very non hurried manner with a carefree bliss catching up on things just before the day winds up… silhouetted in the dusk.

A CIRCLE in a SQUARE

Well I was the other day reading an article that appeared in a not too well known but a relatively classy magazine, when I say classy it’s not just in price but in actual content and contributors, each chipping in a little about life in a manner you do not expect from them. (Looks like I am deviating from the t check myself coz I often do it. Guilty as charged.). The article dealt with the plight of manholes in todays world.

The immediate reaction to this is quite predictable. What’s a manhole got to do in this modern era? Well my sentiments exactly and I continued reading. Interestingly enough the article actually managed to show a totally different perspective of the term manhole. These seemingly insignificant obstructions in our daily path are like small windows to a seamy under city that we are connected to but yet know very little about.

These maladjusted manholes add to the chaos of our daily routine in several ways that we rarely comprehend or rather come to realize. It is not very uncommon to notice a manhole stand out like a stub in a carriage. A seemingly innocent bump in the road that turns into a traffic jam, somewhere along the way we have infact become conditioned to accept such minor deterrents with a shrug over the shoulder and say, ”athu saramilla, athindae chittum poiyal mathi”(it not a problem, just go around it). Though seemingly harmless they are and can be cause of grave accidents.

If it is the traffic jams caused by these manholes that is a cause of concern then I think it would be a better idea if you are to look below and into these cavernous network of tunnels that transport the sewage of our city. A jarring truth that hits us in the face is the very fact that we lack planning. It is only the reason of maladjusted drainage do the manhole intrude into the footpath and roads turning out to be the root cause for all our daily problems.

Identifying the manhole is never a problem it nothing but a simple circle in a square.

A call to civility.

Well it’s the first time I’ve ever tried it and I must say it is painful…. Whew never knew that a needle prick could cause so much pain!!!

Yeowww….

The preparation to the whole process although a bit slow I must say was effective enough to hide thr gory truth. The intention although good enough and healthy I am told, the pain unbearable. Well since its my first time trying a hand at all this who am I to be a judge of events.

I know that you may not have realised or rather comprehended the topic I am writing about, well it is blood donation. The actual process of blood donation although noble in words and action is no way near the suffering one goes through whilst doing it… hardly one to comment on it as the process I did was platelet donation. I am told blood donation is far more easier and less painful.

From the time the news actually came for the donation I really don’t know how I got into the whole affair. Whew reaching the hospital I did have second thought about going along with the whole scene or act. Well I think it is the attitude of never give in instilled I me from a very young age(the motto of a rival school) that made me stick around and also a sense of civic duty. The frustrating part of the whole day I think is the form filling part which I think in todays world is and absolute joke.

Come to think of it we are forever yapping about the fact that we need to take the next step towards an electronic world blah blah blah….. and here we are even today with all the technology at our fingertips, filling forms. The irony of the situation is that a preson is lying just a few floors above waiting for us to donate so that he can live.

We are done with al the formalities and a long wait later we are escorted to the test lab. One look at my report and a glance at thedoctors gleeful face I knew for certain that a scapegoat was indeed identified. I was again given a form to fill in something authorsing the blood bank the rights to poke me with needles and extract my life fluids. The machine itself looked like a spacecraft that has just landed.. out of this world design… in a word WEIRD.

Got myself stabbed with a needful, one that went really deep, deep enough to actually inflict pain, excruciating as it may be to the onlooker it is but and innocent prick. The hour and a half I had to lie down infact did teach me a few things….
a. Being aware that O+ve is a universal donor - actually is not
b. Platelet transfusion is one pain in the wrong place
c. People with my blood composition is pretty rare.

After the whole thing was over and the needle pulled off your arm,It really is a relief. This I must say is not an experience that I am looking forward to in a very long time…. Very long time!!

Bringing in a cheeky thought to it – the applauds to the action really take you to cloud nine but would have rather, it had not happened. Cheerio!!!

A little mite with great might.

Like i was pondering and pillaging though the dustbin of my memory trying to chronologise my thought in he right order i think this is another one that i thnk is worth metioning.

my previous article, quite evident my dear waston, i did mention about an amazing bug. Well here it is and coincidently as it may seem i just finshed reading an article on the use of insecticides to destroy this bug. Well the bug in itself is so tiny it is rather difficult to actually spot the little bugger.... An apt useage would be little sucker... Not that it gives me pleasure in wanting to be too offensive, it is the nature of the bug! too small to be easily visible to the human eye but the effects of which is not only visible to the human eye but devastating to a plantation. Honestly speaking i have no clue to its biological name, genre, cadre, origin and cycles.

This little fella lives within the branches of the coffee plant and makes a meal fo the xylem and phylem of the plant. As a result of this the whole branch turns brown ie; dead. the feast does not end there. the bug actually makes its way through the branch and finally into the coffee bean and eats up the seed. the deceased coffe bean looks almost similiar to a ripe one but the difference is easily noticable.

After a few days of witnessing this i happen to read an article on how now-a-days coffee is better with the nose and not the mouth. the article even had a good tag line to it. It went something like this "have you ever wondered why they say wake up and smell the coffee and not drink it!!!

I would not really be a favoured reader of the article but it did have one reference to the amazing bug we are on right now. apparently the indian armer uses a pestcide called Lindane to get rid of this insect borers, a chmical banned in 55 countries across the world! wow that was an interesting insight and also as you kow th article kept going on and on and on on the harmful effects chemicals and the reasons it is bad for humans.....

Well like i began this is one little mite that is in possession of great might.
postamble();

Quite Evident Dear Watson....

Every time we walk past a tree or a bush have you ever wondered "it just a simple bush". Well then consider yourself just like a million of us normal people who are just too busy to take into consideration the living world around us. A few days back i was in coorg, know for its coffee estates and vst expanses of greenery. On the surface everything looked just mundane and normal. My brother and I after an hour of driving halt at the edge of our estate and decide lets jut walk for a while. Taking a dip in the river Cauvery, famous for the unresolved conflict between two states, i guess it refreshed us to continue walking. As we go though the thick foilage offered by the coffee plants and the shade of the uniform Silver oak we were pretty much amazed by how much everyone of us is missing in terms of interacting with nature. Every plant that we stopped at, some to inspect some to pose and some to learn, nature always had a changing plot going on.

Along with us came the estate writer, who patiently answered any of our queries and ocassionaly had a private boast. Well i guess he must have often wondered to himself, "hmmm, here's two city clowns squatting, climbing and inspecting things that are mundane here". Fortunately he held his thoughts to himself, a lesson in self preservation...

As i was walking past an arecanut tree i chanced upon this light brown insect holding on to the bark of the tree. on closer inspection i was actually amazed at the fact that it was only a shell and the actual insec had crawled out. A point pointed out to me by my brother. So there we were two ordinary blokes who had no knowledge discoverng a discarded body suit of some insect.

We take the shell along with us and on our way back to the farmhouse we think up situations or i'd rather say concote stories with the shell. We were like the shell would contain a dna of the insect which by mistake would get injected to the body and i would turn into a viscious looking insect and take wings. I would then swoop down on the nearest human suck him dry and then wear his skin to walk among teh human race undetected satsfying my hunger with the odd unsuspecting commoner. Well for the films buffs around it would not be too difficult to figure out a movie with a similiar script. ha ha ha i guess i must be getting better with my PJ's as my friends would like to concur....

As we go on further ahead we are met by our writer who says that the shell we are holding so protectively is actually the shell of the cricket.... and insect that goes creep creep to attract its mate.... a lovely soothing sound so lost in todays concrete jungles. He then actually goes ahead and catches a live cricket with such effortless ease, an ease a city dweller would in a supermarket, demonstrating the very source of the mating call of the cricket. i must say that although it is a pretty soothing sound at the begining it tends to get irritating after you have heard it or a coule of minutes at close quarters. whew!!! i must confess tht i'd never have thought that a cricket was so huge an insect, as i had always pictures it to have the build of a grasshopper. Speaking of grasshoppers, although i pity the males, the next incident involved them

A few footsteps ahead, the carpeted green pathway, was the scene of a gruelling murder of a grasshopper. Quite cleverly camfoulaged blending with the blades of grass sat the lazy grasshopper (Like in the ant and the grasshopper, really dont know why the grassopper is called lazy never could figure that part out), unaware of the predator hovering just a few feet above it. A wasp with its wings rotating at about thousand flutters a second yet seemingly quite and patient, waiting for that one instant of unawareness. It was not too long before it swooped down and stung the grosshopper to death.

KAAACHAAAK!!!! KAAACHAAAk!!! KAACHAAAK!!

The grasshopper went numb in second and the wasp went on with the gruelling task of carrying its victim to it rightful place. The dining table!!! the scene would have been," so its grasshopper BBQ for dinner eh? Jeeves?".

With all this happening he curious devil in me was aroused and I kept investigating all the surrounding for every minute detail as to discover more nature. Got to see a horned butterfly and another amazing bug. This in itself is another topic and will ponder more on it in the next topic.

Isn't it true that we tend to ignore the best and free thngs in life things that are quite evidently happening in front of our eyes and things that we disregard not beause we chose to but simply because we are too busy to stop and take notice. Like Sherlock holmes would say its quite evidet my dear watson the the world is becoming too hectic that the simple pleasures in life is often overlooked....

SORRY SAM, WE INDIANS NEED TO HANG OUR HEADS IN SHAME

The passing away of the only Indian to be appointed Field Marshal when in active service has been remarkable for the warmth of the ordinary men and women, who queued up to say meebeenamet to the adorable dikra who put his life on the line for them.It has also been remarkable for the complete lack of grace and gratitude, civility and courtesy, decency and decorum on the part of the bold-faced names rapaciously grazing the lawns of power in Delhi and elsewhere, for the brain behind India's only decisive military victory.Sam, the Bahadur, had been unwell for a while now. From about 1000 hours on June 26, reports of his being 'critically ill' had appeared in the media. Yet, when the 'expected tocsin' sounded at 0030 hours till the guns were fired in salute around 1500 hours on June 27, 'civil society' chose to show its incivility.
Pratibha Patil, the commander-in-chief of the armed forces with all the time in the world: Absent
Hamid Ansari: Vice-president releasing books and writing reviews of books by fellow-travellers: Absent
Manmohan Singh, the prime minister who could do with a bit of the field marshal's charisma and heroism: Absent
Sonia Gandhi: daughter-in-law of the woman the field marshal called 'sweetie': Absent
L K Advani: prime minister in waiting of the party which would like to do to Pakistan what Manekshaw did: Absent
M Karunanidhi and Surjit Singh Barnala: chief minister and governor of the state which Manekshaw had made his home for 35 years: Absent
Politicians may have their reasons. They always do. Maybe, there are issues like protocol. Maybe, this is one way in which 'civil India' shows the armed forces its place. Maybe, this is why we are not as militaristic as Pakistan. Maybe, the knees are just too old to climb the hills.But what about the armed forces itself?
A K Antony: the defence minister 'now behaving like the chairman of the confederation of the armed forces' trade unions: absent 'due to prior political engagements'.
The chief of army staff: absent (away in Russia)
The chief of navy staff: absent
The chief of air staff (incidentally, a Parsi): absent
The fact that the defence minister was represented by his deputy Pallam Raju, the fact that the navy and air staff sent two-star general rank officers, shows that however high or mighty, however rich or powerful, civilian or military, if you should die as you must, you should do so somewhere in the vicinity of New Delhi -- or Bombay. Or else, they must have some use for you.Or else, too bad.As he rightly surmised once: 'I wonder whether those of our political masters who have been put in charge of the defence of the country can distinguish a mortar from a motor; a gun from a howitzer; a guerrilla from a gorilla -- although a great many of them in the past have resembled the latter.'
The contrast couldn't be starker:
When Amitabh Bachchan was ill after being socked in the stomach during the shooting of Coolie, Indira Gandhi flew down to Bombay to show her concern.
When Dhirubhai Ambani died, L K Advani cut short his Gujarat tour to pay his respects to an 'embodiment of initiative, enterprise and determination'.
When Pramod Mahajan was shot dead by his brother, Vice President Bhairon Singh Shekawat had the time to attend the funeral.
Our VIPs and VVIPs have time for dead and dying celebrities, charlatans, fixers. Not for a field marshal?In his biography, K M Cariappa, the only other field marshal India has had (and who too died at age 94), writes of his father's cremation in May 1993:'Honouring him in death as they did in life were Field Marshal Manekshaw, the three service chiefs all of whom belonged to the same course and at whose passing out parade from the joint services wing father had presided, the gracious chief minister M Veerappa Moily and C K Jaffer Sharief, Minister for Railways representing the President as the supreme commanded of the armed forces.'
Somebody should have told the geniuses in Delhi that Sam, the Bahadur, passed away in Wellington, Ooty, not Wellington, New Zealand. The nearest civil airport is Coimbatore, just 80 km away.If this is how we say goodbye to Field Marshal Sam Manekshaw, any wonder why Rang de Basanti could successfully tap into the angst of an entire generation?

Sent by my father to me... really ought to rethink on how and who we should pay our respects to...

An engagement a lesson in eugenics

The outside looked all plane like every other snobby hotel in this weird city, been here over a year now yet fail to comprehend the true class behind the social values placed….

Deviating too much out is gonna get boring. After parking myself under the shady canopy of an old tamarind tree I walk to the arena of the engagement. A couple of cars pass by each filled with relatives I’ve failed to catch up with the last year past. Each one a delight to speak too and each one with their own queries and words of advice. Varied, weird and sometimes helpful but above all isn’t this, what family is all about.

Walking through, acknowledging everyone and enquiring as to their health and affairs does take time and I finally accompany an uncle to the hall booked for the occasion. Grand it is and so was the ceremony. We were welcome by the groom’s father who made himself scant thereafter. (Well no idea if that was the right word but just wanted to say that he was too difficult to spot thereafter). The ceremony was too short by normal Kerala standards but the grandeur was the same.

After several polite hand shakes and acknowledgements I finally get into this conversation with an uncle and a cousin related to me from both sides of my family. The conversation leans to this topic on Eugenics.

Well for those of you like me who have little or no knowledge of the term;

Eugenics is a social philosophy which advocates the improvement of human hereditary traits through various forms of intervention. Throughout history, eugenics has been regarded by its various advocates as a social responsibility, an altruistic stance of a society, meant to create healthier and more intelligent people, to save resources, and lessen human suffering.
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With the very little knowledge I had of the term there I was grabbing every word being spoken of on the subject trying to comprehend and catalogue what was trying to be conveyed or discussed. It all started with an uncle of mine trying to tell the cousin of mine how another uncle was related to us and not stopping there he goes a step further to explain the similarities that one can notice within the family.

This suddenly translates to a very interesting course one that goes winding through the family tree of some of the known family trees and the different characteristics brought together with the institution of marriage. This infact got me thinking whew if you look at it unknowingly quite a lot of benefit has in fact been reflected in a wide scope within the family and we have indeed ignored to actually take notice of the whole thing unwrapping itself right in front of our eyes. Be it our negligence or a busy schedule we sure are missing a lot of awfully evident stuff happening right under our noses…..

Sir – Respectable or Demeaning?

Well the other night I was having a discussion over the dinner table with my brother which soon turned out to a debate on the usage of the term ‘sir’. Well the very term in itself points the Dictionary as:

Sir is an honorific used as a title (see Knight) and in several other modern contexts. It was once used (without the person's name) as a courtesy title among equals, but in common usage it is now usually reserved for one of superior rank or status, such as an educator or commanding officer, or in age (especially by a minor); as a form of address from a merchant to a customer; in formal correspondence (Dear Sir, Right Reverend Sir); or to a stranger (Sir, you've dropped your hat).The equivalent for a woman when used as a term of address is "madam" or "ma'am".

What we were discussing was whether the term sir is still used to address a stranger or has it come to a stage where, when you use the term it actually demotes your social standing in the conversation.
It is worth a thought cause when we start to ape the west in several customs and manners, each good in its own way to the betterment of globalisation. But is it applicable in our society namely the south where the surname is usually the fathers name and calling someone by their surname will only get you a raised eyebrow or sometimes a curt reply, “I think he is sitting at home, my name is XYZ”. This would only bring down any hope of actually being in friendly terms with the other person.
Taking the situation to the hospitality industry it ought to be even more complicated don’t you think so?
The varied spectrum of people from all walks of life. People who have been brought up with a silver spoon, opportunists, freeloaders and officials. Each with their own thought and ideas… to too varied to actually satisfy. Now here is it appropriate to use the term sir? How would you actually justify the use of the term sir in addressing a person or individual. Each person or organisation has their own justification of the term but reaching an actual consensus on the use-age is never actually agreed upon.

Cruel - Sympathy

A dozen meetings in a day...
A few loving pats...
A few hasty retreats...
They are your best friends...
They are your worst enemies...
Loving, Warm, Cuddly, Cute...
Just a few words used to describe them.

Well not wanting to actually write too much on the same style i am breaking the suspense and i'm sure some would have already guessed it by now. Yes they are our four legged buddy’s. DOGS . Growing up and having them always around I was one never with a lack of unhindered love from these gentle yet true friends. They never say no to playtime. They never say no to relaxation. They never complaint when you dump their plates with excess food. They never say no to a good cuddle.

I am pretty sure everyone of us has in some point of time actually had a loving time with them. At the same time I am sure that there are the bad times too.

Well enough with this moving on to why I am writing.

Two incidents that are in total opposite to what each other making you actually see the point I am making.

One evening well it was pretty late and in spite of being warned not once but several times to go slow near dogs I travel, tearing across the tarmac. True to dogs, a couple of ‘em come charging. Being in the mood to fight I actually stop and try charging back at the dogs. This I think should be one of the worst follies of this world. Well that said and done I run towards the dog trying to chase it away. This pleases me greatly to see the dog run the opposite direction. The instant I turn my back to it, it charges back. Call it sixth sense or whatever lucky I turned back just in time to avoid its powerful jaws. The routine repeats and I charge it again only to be stopped by a couple of people advise me to go on. I get on my bike and just start when I actually realize that the crazy bugger actually managed to call in all the neighbouring dogs to his aide. Wow this really makes you realize what wonderful co-ordination, the usually territory conscious dogs actually forget their boundaries and come to aide another in his cause which is of relevance to them.
Now it is time for the attacker to retreat with his tail between his legs. The only thing I could do to actually avoid being mauled by a dozen canine canines is to get back on my bike and speed away.
Times like these actually get you to hate these creatures to the core. Funny part is you hate them only at night!

The second situation occours in a similar setting. Late one evening… out on an evening walk I happen to come to a point where right in front is a couple of strays standing some distance from another all with their watchful eyes to one point. Another stray choking on a bone or whatever. The sight is so pitiful you cant do anything but stand there watching the whole scene coloured by sympathetic undertones. Wanting to help but helpless to do so is not a situation that one looks forward to.

Squeaking around – carefree.

The last place one would want to keep company of our squeaky companions is surrounded by 72 berths and an equal number of people doping one activity or another for a journey that would last some two days and a majority eight hours.
On a journey back from home, traveling in India’s most talked about public transportation was the time this experience happened. Well not a totally unexpected experience in present day India but the reaction of passengers to the scene was totally baffling. How can people who have lived in this country actually believe something like this would not happen.
The quick hurried pace of something quickly going across from berth to another across each other, registers but faintly in ones mind. The feeling that is usually, eh? Did something actually go that way? Well a couple such moves get my inquisitiveness aroused. Shutting the book I was reading I sit down and watch what was it that went by.
Lo! behold a family of rats small ones running around happily enjoying themselves. After the initial shock its but hilarious watching the whole family merrily squeaking around the whole compartment that too in the relative comfort of air-conditioning leaving but some merry travelers petrified yet brave enough to actually sit there watching’n’waiting for the train to reach their destination.

One DAM a million DAMNED!!!

The morning of 24/11/2006, dawned cold and grey with little or no hope for a million passengers stranded on the national highway 47, connecting the neighbouring states of Kerala and Tamilnadu. Pilgrims, Truck/bus Drivers, shared a common ground with the well heeled and families on some errand or the other across the border for over a day and a half. A problem, that arose of inadequacy, of water supply between the two neighbouring states.
The stage for such a wide scale blockade shifts to the state of Kerala, to a serene town of Vandiperiyar wherein a dam called Mullaperiyar lies, built nearly a century ago by the British during their occupancy of the country. This dam though in the state of Kerala is the major irrigation water supply for another city situated in Tamilnadu called Madurai and its surroundings. Earlier this year as the story goes the Tamilnadu Govt., took permission of the Supreme Court to raise the existing level of 138 to 142 which was immediately followed by a bill passed by the Kerala Govt. halting the increase Blah blah blah blah…..
Looks like the local political bodies were lying low awaiting a chance to stir the hornets nest, but anyways there was a disruption in service between both the states and a loss too that accompanied such an action. Being there at the scene was kinda like an awakening witnessing a traffic jam several kilometers long on a stretch of road that used to be covered in less than 40 minutes, watching people live on so little stranded helpless and watch the sun streak across the sky in a blazing chariot scorching the tar and making people seek shelter in the unlikeliest of places… under a bus/truck! What a sight!
The wastage of food oh a different story altogether. Come to think of it, it was food that brought me to this scene. Transporting fresh fish from my native place to home was my relatives who were stuck in this mother of all traffic jams the two states had witnessed in the past. I was brought in to transport the fish from their stranded vehicle to my home by means of a two wheeler as they were the only means of transport that passed by freely without hindrance.
Every passing two wheeler was awarded by a scowl and furtive glance probably cursing the rider of his freedom… the really funny thing was that a one particular point there were a group of pilgrims who on a mission of peace and devotion were hurling expletives and shouting at another group, but who can blame them taking into consideration the background of every one stranded…
Truly November 26, 2006, sure dawned a cold and grey morning for every one stranded on the highway for no reason of theirs but for the whims and fancies of a few politicians with their electoral promises to fulfill.

Private no more

Pretty much a routine I today IT world is the phenomenon of hired cabs taking on the public transportation role.
In this era of fast paced everything it comes as no surprise when a person is out to make a quick buck on the company. This is a daily scenario in the life of every commuter who waits in bus stops. Well it certainly helps the public in getting from point a to point b with absolutely no hassle sans the jostle in the cab itself, but come to think of the company which pays the driver to come back to the company at the earliest. The plight of its employees is in the hands of the cab driver who is infact busy making an easy buck on the side. Well not that the person goes out of his way to transport the public but still isn’t it the companies valuable time out that is taken advantage of?
Coming to a scene I happened to witness the other day. A friend and I was standing outside a pastry shop which happened to be just beside a bus stop, a stop where people were crowding waiting for a bus to come. Then all of a sudden some of them started rushing to a mini van which had halted where a bus should have. The amount of people in that got in the van would have easily crossed his daily bata( money given to the driver per day). The van was a satyam cab. As the van pulled away in its place stood a HAL bus, followed by one of Infosys, TCS and to top it all a tanker lorry. Whew it makes you wonder ain’t there a thing called private? Another thing one wonders is where is the government run buses and how do they fare in between this stiff competition.

Decibel Demons

Riding back from my aunt’s place early this morning, the music playing a soothing tune spoiled only by the steady humdrum of my bikes engine dreaming about how my day is going to turn out I would never have thought that it would lead me to seriously think about such a topic.
Getting back to the thought that lead to this blog is me being sandwiched in between three auto-rickshaws (small, three wheeled, rear engine vehicles). Now imagine a scene where you have a walkman ear plug in your ear with a decently loud soothing music and riding atop a royal Enfield bullet. It is bound to make a ruckus no doubt. Well all this noise was suddenly drowned out in the sandwich I was stuck in… the ricks emitted an ear splitting unpleasant noise absolutely alien to any of the other states or in-fact cities/metros. My o my it was certainly a relief to the ear once I overtook the ricks.
This incident immediately jogged my mind to the previous day when a friend and I was sitting beside the road watching the world go by at a busy intersection. Here out of the hundreds of cars that passed by the traffic light the only noises emitted came from the ricks that were buzzing past shuttling passengers from one point to another. The sound was so overpowering, that the sound, after some time came to symbolize the traffic flowing smoothly at the intersection.
After coming back home I happened to glance at an old newspaper lying around and guess what staring back at me out of the newspaper was an article on the street I was sitting only a few hours earlier being judged as the loudest street in the whole city. The article even went to the extent of quoting a few shopkeepers on the sound levels of the street with the traffic and that they need to switch on to a/c mode to beat the heat. For once even the businessmen were thanking the government for passing the law that prohibited the entry of auto-rickshaws into the street.
Well the mentions of an auto-rickshaw always draws out a linguistic dialogue that is never pleasant to the ear. Never grateful ever frightful an auto driver and his ride. No one ever cares for this contraption but then why does it run, probably just to irritate the passers and make us be thankful for other means of transport.

A brawl. The perfect dessert.

Tummy full to the nostrils with a rich staple of ghee smothered rice and chutney, the cool night air gently enveloping you with its chillness and the moon peeping out of the clouds every now and then provides for the perfect setting after a good dinner.
This scene is suddenly interrupted by the hollering of two people shout some gibberish which I don’t think either of them understood. In a matter of seconds a huge crowd forms around the two people, using their fists to get the point across. After a few minutes the whole scene becomes quite clear to everyone gathered around. Apparently one among the two did something that actually offended the local and the local was beaten up really bad.
The local played upon the sentiments of an equally hot blooded local and together they start beating up the other person who incidentally happens to be a malayali. A malayali alone… not the case. Pretty soon his friends to join in and it becomes a drunken brawl. The malayalis flying is directions previously unheard off, thrown on parked bikes and pinned under bikes. Pleading for sympathy pretty hard to come by they get trashed left, right and center.
This brawl actually provided quite a number of passers by to actually vent their days frustrations on the unsuspecting youth who happened to hurt the sentiments of a local. Noticeable among the whole fight was this huge built person armed with his helmet belting the day light out of one of the youths.
Suddenly as if on cue the whole scene stands frozen in time. It takes a few second for the overseeing crowd to understand why these people have stopped. The scene relaxes with the blast from a police siren. One short burst and the whole area becomes civilized and one starts to wonder why he is actually standing there.
The police cruiser moves along and just as it turns around the corner one of the locals notice the main character of the malayali gang talking on the phone. This infuriates the local like a stone thrown at a beehive and the fighting continues with even more vigor.
Pretty soon the energy levels and the blood preassure of the participants drop several notches bring the whole scene becomes one of hugs and pardons.
Well having seen this whole scene and actually staying away watching the whole drama unfold was like taking the balcony ticket to an action scene from some movie. Now the scene getting boring by the minute has lost its charm to hold the attention of people, who were slowly filtering away going on to catch a bus, ride or drive on and walk back home.
This brawl provided for the perfect dessert to a whole some dinner. Now maybe this is what dinner with a show means.