" Men get naughty at four zero forty " is a line that I have recited times without number, while conducting the Tombola. The truth behind this saying was however realized by me when travelling by the Rajdhani Express recently. When one travels by this elite train's air conditioned chair car, it is unusual for one to look at the scenery outside. The windows are fixed type and can not be opened. The window glasses are translucent and in any case, the blinds are drawn. One is therefore inclined to concentrate on the scenery inside.
Opposite to me sat a lady who was much too serene for my mood of the moment. It appeared that she had made peace with herself. God bless her. A man sitting behind her had a " Teach yourself Spanish " book. A few moments of chit-chat with him on the subject exhausted all my stock of conversation on the subject of Latin Languages. Discussion on Cricket with a few young and not so ma young men, perusal of a journal, exchange of a few inane remarks on the weather and the like and I was left to my own devices.
It was then that I noticed this adolescent girl Marilyn Monroeing her way to the toilet. What struck me about her was the fact that she was well rounded in all directions and had a gyratory motion. Adumpling of tender meat. I mentally named her Miss Dumpling. i was anxious to make her acquaitance. My inhibitions about being a family man prevented me from following my natural instincts, which except from a freudian angle, were entirely honourable. I was trying to kill my instincts therefore. Fortunately, an opportunity presented itself.
Miss Dumpling, a younger boy accompanying her and a couple of young men started playing cards. After a while, I sauntered over that side even though the game was over. On that first trip, my courage failed. On the next however, I asked her younger brother, for that is what the younger boy accompanying her was. The question was rhetoric, for I knew that he had. By that natural instinct with which the female of the species is endowed, she understood that the question was addressed to her. It was she who replied in the affirmative. I lingered. She sensed my wish and also my inhibition.
" Would you like to play ? ", she asked.
" Yes, what games do you play ? "
" Rummy "
Rummy would have been too slow a game for me at the given time. i offered to teach her a new game, whose name is variously given as graduates or eights or five cards. I call it blow for blow. The fun of the game lies in playing a similar card as the other person till at an opportune moment, you trip him up after having roused his expectations. a management game. Or rather a political game.
The same group except a young Sardarji who had till then been her beau for the journey, gathered to play. Sardarji was perhaps feeling jilted. Can't blame him. Might have felt the same way, had I been in his place. A South Indian young chap, a rival to the Sardarji, was wiser. He joined in. Probably thought my age would bar me. He was partly right, for Miss Dumpling called me uncle. He was largely wrong however for she picked on me as her chosen enemy. All the penalty cartds were given to me only. That is ironically, the way of showing her preference.
After a while, she excused herself to make herhair, she said. Wanted to make herself presentable. I took it as a compliment. she took just the right amount of time to make her absence felt. Came back with a hair do which made her look even more rounded. Would have made a good model for Leonardo da Vinci.
She rejoined the game. It seemed that she had decided to like me even more than before, during her reflection in the toilet. she wreaked even more vengence on me.
" Here you are, uncle " she would say venomously as she gave me the penalty cards. I would retaliate with samples like,
" Take this Miss Dumpling ( Yes to her face ).
" Two lovely cards for my Rajdhani niece "
" A gift from a doting uncle "
" Come on, Tai "
" Well, well Akka Raje " ( She was a Maharashtrian )
" Just you wait, my dear Eliza ".... ( A touch of Prof. Higgins )
.......and so on. The game was exhilirating and I was feeling younger than ever. Ayurvedic, Unani, or Allopathic systems have not yet invented a better aprodiasic or rejuvenator than the forbidden fruit.
Good old New Delhi came. My spirits werte buoyant. On the platform, I wished to bid her a fond farewell. She averted her eyes however. Her proper looking parents were with her. I understood. She was mod in the train. Had to be a good girl in front of her parents. Two faces of Eve ! Why blame her ? I am myself like that.
A hippie at heart, I am a square by force of habit. My hippie seilm hero, " Good bye, Miss Dumpling, phir kabhi milenge ". Just then, I saw my wife. The gay mood persisted nevertheless. I ran, swept her in a torrid embrace. She was delighted. Poor wives ! If they knew the mental mischief, husbands get into, in their absence !
Showing posts with label Self discovery. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Self discovery. Show all posts
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
A BUS JOURNEY
The queue was long and winding one. I was worrying whether I would ever get a ticket. Funny, how little things make you fret. Just when I had resigned myself to a long wait, the bus company's employees had a change of heart. They opened one more window for issuing tickets. alf the queue, the more alert half, defected. This brightened my chances of getting a ticket. I was happy. it takes as little to make you happy as it takes to make you fret.
I now started to pay attention to people in my queue. There was this bearded chap with flowing locks and terrylene Kurta-Pyjama of saffron colour. Wondered if his faith in God and interest in sex were as little or as much as mine. All the same, some in the queue seemed to venerate him.
Then, there was a family who like some celebrated political families had a representative in each camp. Father in my queue and mother in the other. Son was on the look out for the opening of the third window of the 'Trinetra' booking office of the bus company.In the meanwhile, he was shuttling between parents, giving the latest odds on the mother's making it to the father and vice versa.
Soon, I got on to the ticket window and then on the bus. The driver and the conductor arrived and the bus started. Hardly had it moved a few yards when it was stopped by a chivalrous passenger. A couple of ladies ran and caught hold of the bus. The younger one helped the bulk of the older one into the bus and then herself climbed in. The chivalry of the bus-stopping chivalrous passenger did not extend beyond stopping of the bus. He did not offer his seat. The ladies therefore stood. At the next stop, a seat near mine fell vacant and mama mia spread herself onto it.
I started observing the younger female who was standing close by. Large dark glasses covered her eyes but a sidelong glance revealed her foolishness. Such beautiful eyes ! Why did she need to hide them ? As if sensing my thought, she removed the darkies and put them in her compact. A stunning profile. A shapely burgeoning bosom that was almost an affront to my masculinity. My hands itched in revenge.
Instinct told her of my interest in her. She turned herself and all her charms towards me. Perhaps took me to be a fall guy. She gave me a concentrated look of male ego boosting admiration which would have encouraged a lessr male to scale the peaks of Himalayas just for her sake. However, all that she wanted was for me to offer her my seat. I returned her compliment by giving her my best feminine vanity boosting look, keeping the eyes rivetted at the proper places, making her feel like a Helen of Troy. No seat however. I was just not in a chivalrous mood, you see. She did not 'Touche'. She simply moved ahead, obviously in search of a more likely quarry. Wise girl ! I was sorry for her though and for the cessation of an interesting battle of the sexes that could have continued for some more time, to mutual benefit.
Before boredom could take hold of me, at the next stop, a coy little woman entered. She was shrinking her body from non-existing males around her. By this time, the passenger next to me had alighted and she compressed herself into a half seat out of the full seat next to mine. She had very delicate features and was dressed in even more delicate clothes. One feels afraid even to breathe hard in such company for fear of blowing the flmsy thing off.
For a while, I was carried away into shrinking in my seat. Soon however, my instincts took over. Such women always bring out the hunter in a male just as a veiled woman brings out a Peeping Tom in a man. I was remimded of an incident in my childhood.
It was a colonial type, split level bunglow that we lived in. My mother was very fond of good crockery. My father, with that air of an England-returned Brown Sahib, had bought a set of champagne glasses to please her. There seemed to be no other reason for that purchase, since the only use that we made of them was for eating ice cream, when grandma was away. Champagne, of course, was unthinkable in an orthodox household. These glasses were extremely delicate with artistic etching on them. Touching them was strictly forbidden. They used to be stored on the topmost shelf of the crockery case adorning our dining room.
One sunday afternoon, the rest of the family was enjoying a siesta and the servants had retired to their quarters. I was at a loose end. While passing through the dining room, my eyes fell on those champagne glasses. All my pent up desire sprang up to take full advantage of the opportunity. I leaned a dining chair agaist the crockery case, put a stool on it, climbed up and took one champagne glass. With great fury, I crushed it. Blood came out of my hand but I had a great sensual pleasure.
A similar urge arose in me in the bus. I do not know if the champagne glass relished what I did to it but I was sure, however, that this dainty dish, would, after an initial cry of anguish, hugely enjoy a similar crushing experience. And savour the memory ever after. Alas ! at forty and above, one gets content with only mental hunting. One is apt therefore, to leave shrinking females, however tantalizing they may be, to shrink in their corners instead of giving them what they are sub-consciously asking for !
The passengers standing in the aisle had alighted by this time. Now I got a clear view of a couple of manes belonging to foreigners. I was a little curious to know why they were riding this Janta bus. These two females however did not wear the standard hippy undress. They were sitting most unobtrusively and passively in a way similar to the way most of our peasants and Adiwasis do when travelling by any modern conveyance.
About one stop from the terminus, these people started getting down. I was shocked to see that one of them, whom I had taken for a female, was flat chested with a delicate beardless face from which an occasional hair peeped out. I strained my eyes and peered closely at 'her'. The see through shirt told the story. It was a boy or at least not a girl. If 'it' was a boy, it had a very high f.q. (feminine quotient). If a girl, it had a very high m.q. (masculinity quotient).
While I was wondering about them and mulling over various theories on what had brought them together, the conductor rudely shook me. The terminus had arrived and the bus was empty except for me. I marshalled my tired limbs garbed by an invigorated mind to my destination.
I now started to pay attention to people in my queue. There was this bearded chap with flowing locks and terrylene Kurta-Pyjama of saffron colour. Wondered if his faith in God and interest in sex were as little or as much as mine. All the same, some in the queue seemed to venerate him.
Then, there was a family who like some celebrated political families had a representative in each camp. Father in my queue and mother in the other. Son was on the look out for the opening of the third window of the 'Trinetra' booking office of the bus company.In the meanwhile, he was shuttling between parents, giving the latest odds on the mother's making it to the father and vice versa.
Soon, I got on to the ticket window and then on the bus. The driver and the conductor arrived and the bus started. Hardly had it moved a few yards when it was stopped by a chivalrous passenger. A couple of ladies ran and caught hold of the bus. The younger one helped the bulk of the older one into the bus and then herself climbed in. The chivalry of the bus-stopping chivalrous passenger did not extend beyond stopping of the bus. He did not offer his seat. The ladies therefore stood. At the next stop, a seat near mine fell vacant and mama mia spread herself onto it.
I started observing the younger female who was standing close by. Large dark glasses covered her eyes but a sidelong glance revealed her foolishness. Such beautiful eyes ! Why did she need to hide them ? As if sensing my thought, she removed the darkies and put them in her compact. A stunning profile. A shapely burgeoning bosom that was almost an affront to my masculinity. My hands itched in revenge.
Instinct told her of my interest in her. She turned herself and all her charms towards me. Perhaps took me to be a fall guy. She gave me a concentrated look of male ego boosting admiration which would have encouraged a lessr male to scale the peaks of Himalayas just for her sake. However, all that she wanted was for me to offer her my seat. I returned her compliment by giving her my best feminine vanity boosting look, keeping the eyes rivetted at the proper places, making her feel like a Helen of Troy. No seat however. I was just not in a chivalrous mood, you see. She did not 'Touche'. She simply moved ahead, obviously in search of a more likely quarry. Wise girl ! I was sorry for her though and for the cessation of an interesting battle of the sexes that could have continued for some more time, to mutual benefit.
Before boredom could take hold of me, at the next stop, a coy little woman entered. She was shrinking her body from non-existing males around her. By this time, the passenger next to me had alighted and she compressed herself into a half seat out of the full seat next to mine. She had very delicate features and was dressed in even more delicate clothes. One feels afraid even to breathe hard in such company for fear of blowing the flmsy thing off.
For a while, I was carried away into shrinking in my seat. Soon however, my instincts took over. Such women always bring out the hunter in a male just as a veiled woman brings out a Peeping Tom in a man. I was remimded of an incident in my childhood.
It was a colonial type, split level bunglow that we lived in. My mother was very fond of good crockery. My father, with that air of an England-returned Brown Sahib, had bought a set of champagne glasses to please her. There seemed to be no other reason for that purchase, since the only use that we made of them was for eating ice cream, when grandma was away. Champagne, of course, was unthinkable in an orthodox household. These glasses were extremely delicate with artistic etching on them. Touching them was strictly forbidden. They used to be stored on the topmost shelf of the crockery case adorning our dining room.
One sunday afternoon, the rest of the family was enjoying a siesta and the servants had retired to their quarters. I was at a loose end. While passing through the dining room, my eyes fell on those champagne glasses. All my pent up desire sprang up to take full advantage of the opportunity. I leaned a dining chair agaist the crockery case, put a stool on it, climbed up and took one champagne glass. With great fury, I crushed it. Blood came out of my hand but I had a great sensual pleasure.
A similar urge arose in me in the bus. I do not know if the champagne glass relished what I did to it but I was sure, however, that this dainty dish, would, after an initial cry of anguish, hugely enjoy a similar crushing experience. And savour the memory ever after. Alas ! at forty and above, one gets content with only mental hunting. One is apt therefore, to leave shrinking females, however tantalizing they may be, to shrink in their corners instead of giving them what they are sub-consciously asking for !
The passengers standing in the aisle had alighted by this time. Now I got a clear view of a couple of manes belonging to foreigners. I was a little curious to know why they were riding this Janta bus. These two females however did not wear the standard hippy undress. They were sitting most unobtrusively and passively in a way similar to the way most of our peasants and Adiwasis do when travelling by any modern conveyance.
About one stop from the terminus, these people started getting down. I was shocked to see that one of them, whom I had taken for a female, was flat chested with a delicate beardless face from which an occasional hair peeped out. I strained my eyes and peered closely at 'her'. The see through shirt told the story. It was a boy or at least not a girl. If 'it' was a boy, it had a very high f.q. (feminine quotient). If a girl, it had a very high m.q. (masculinity quotient).
While I was wondering about them and mulling over various theories on what had brought them together, the conductor rudely shook me. The terminus had arrived and the bus was empty except for me. I marshalled my tired limbs garbed by an invigorated mind to my destination.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
THE MATURING OF A YOUNG GEOLOGIST
As boys, Dilip and I lived in a small Railway colony consisting of about 15 bunglows, a dispensary and a club-house. Dilip had a lot of books in his house. We read them together. We were both dreamers. We were named " Late Latifs " by Dilip's father as we were always late for any occasion.
Explorers were a rage with us. We fancied that we could find some hitherto undiscovered substance that would revolutionise the world. As a first step, we dug up the club-house ground and found to our great pleasure white lumps that could write like chalk. We called the place our chalk mine. we paid no heed to the club-boy who maintained that our findings were in fact, the leavings of the white-wasing gang that had white washed the club building a couple of years back. We discounted this fact as we felt that such disclaimers were faced by all big explorers at start before the world accepted their greatness. We had made a big start and that was the most important thing.
As often happens, our respective fathers were transferred out and we almost lost track of each other. While I drifted into Civil Engineering, Dilip became a geologist. For his Ph.D., he chose the Rajasthan desert as his field of operation. While he was doing field work, his guide, an old Professor of Geology decided to visit him. To receive him, Dilip broke camp early in the morning but found to his dismay that the bi-weekly bus that passed by his camp had left the Late Latif alone. Fortunately, a ship of the desert was passing by. He hailed it. After due negotiations with the camel driver in regard to the hire charges to and fro the nearest railway station, he mounted the camel.
The camel driver taught him how to sit on the camel with his legs tightly clasped to the camel's side and to sway synchronously with the camel's swaying. It was an exhilirating ride at first but soon he was aching all over. He realized the wisdom of the camel driver's advice as to the correct posture after trying various permutations and combinations in this regard. Soon they reached the railway station.
The train arrived. The old professor duly alighted. After an exchange of pleasantries, he enquired of Dilip as the arrangements for reaching the camp. Dilip told him somewhat proudly of his camel ride and gave out tha he wanted the professor to have the same priviledge.
The old man at once launched into a discourse on the geology of Mount Fujiyama. Dilip was a little disconcerted as Fujiyama had nothing to do with the thesis he was working on. Out of politeness, he kept quiet. When the discourse was over, the professor begged off saying that he had an upset stomache. he therefore re-boarded the train he had alighted from and left.
Dilip came out of the railway station to find the camel driver having his lunch. After telling him to follow him and catch up. Dilip started walking. while walking, he was wondering as to the significance of Mount Fujiyama in his work. He could not find any geological resemblance between Rajasthan deserts and the Mount Fujiyama however hard he tried. Slowly his mind wandered into other aspects of Mount Fujiyama such as the Japanese folk tales he had read about this legendary mountain.
He remembered a saying about Fuji. It seems there are two kinds of fools in this world. The first kind is one that has never climbed Mount Fujiyama even once. The second kind of fool is the one who have done so more than once ! Wise men climb the mount only once. Perhaps the old professor Dilip surmised, had ridden a desrt camel once already.
When the camel driver finally caught up with Dilip, he paid the latter his fare and politely refused the ride back to the camp. The camel driver laughed and said, " You are indeed a wise man ".
Certain follies, be it marriage, be it climbing Mount Fujiyama or be it a desert camel ride - they are committed only once. The young geologist had matured.
While walking in the desert, he suddenly found the desert talking to him. It told him of the caravans that had passed through it, the caravans that had perished, the ocean that had once existed there and so on. Slowly, he found that other minearals also talked to himm. He found that like humans, stones could be liars, they could be mixed up kids, they could be tantalizing beauties and they could be ugly murderers.
When he started studying gems, he found in them, a very fascinating world. The world of kings, emperors, rich men, their women, their slaves, their lives and times. The gems had their own grandiose visions, their own desires to dominate and motivate their fellow beings while themselves remaining comfortable.
Recently, I met Dilip after a lapse of thirty years. " Why did I not pursue our common childhood dream of becoming an explorer ? ", Dilip enquired. " Well, like climbing Fuji or riding a camel, may be, a wise man, in his cycle of births and re-births, becomes so only once ! ' was my repartee.
Explorers were a rage with us. We fancied that we could find some hitherto undiscovered substance that would revolutionise the world. As a first step, we dug up the club-house ground and found to our great pleasure white lumps that could write like chalk. We called the place our chalk mine. we paid no heed to the club-boy who maintained that our findings were in fact, the leavings of the white-wasing gang that had white washed the club building a couple of years back. We discounted this fact as we felt that such disclaimers were faced by all big explorers at start before the world accepted their greatness. We had made a big start and that was the most important thing.
As often happens, our respective fathers were transferred out and we almost lost track of each other. While I drifted into Civil Engineering, Dilip became a geologist. For his Ph.D., he chose the Rajasthan desert as his field of operation. While he was doing field work, his guide, an old Professor of Geology decided to visit him. To receive him, Dilip broke camp early in the morning but found to his dismay that the bi-weekly bus that passed by his camp had left the Late Latif alone. Fortunately, a ship of the desert was passing by. He hailed it. After due negotiations with the camel driver in regard to the hire charges to and fro the nearest railway station, he mounted the camel.
The camel driver taught him how to sit on the camel with his legs tightly clasped to the camel's side and to sway synchronously with the camel's swaying. It was an exhilirating ride at first but soon he was aching all over. He realized the wisdom of the camel driver's advice as to the correct posture after trying various permutations and combinations in this regard. Soon they reached the railway station.
The train arrived. The old professor duly alighted. After an exchange of pleasantries, he enquired of Dilip as the arrangements for reaching the camp. Dilip told him somewhat proudly of his camel ride and gave out tha he wanted the professor to have the same priviledge.
The old man at once launched into a discourse on the geology of Mount Fujiyama. Dilip was a little disconcerted as Fujiyama had nothing to do with the thesis he was working on. Out of politeness, he kept quiet. When the discourse was over, the professor begged off saying that he had an upset stomache. he therefore re-boarded the train he had alighted from and left.
Dilip came out of the railway station to find the camel driver having his lunch. After telling him to follow him and catch up. Dilip started walking. while walking, he was wondering as to the significance of Mount Fujiyama in his work. He could not find any geological resemblance between Rajasthan deserts and the Mount Fujiyama however hard he tried. Slowly his mind wandered into other aspects of Mount Fujiyama such as the Japanese folk tales he had read about this legendary mountain.
He remembered a saying about Fuji. It seems there are two kinds of fools in this world. The first kind is one that has never climbed Mount Fujiyama even once. The second kind of fool is the one who have done so more than once ! Wise men climb the mount only once. Perhaps the old professor Dilip surmised, had ridden a desrt camel once already.
When the camel driver finally caught up with Dilip, he paid the latter his fare and politely refused the ride back to the camp. The camel driver laughed and said, " You are indeed a wise man ".
Certain follies, be it marriage, be it climbing Mount Fujiyama or be it a desert camel ride - they are committed only once. The young geologist had matured.
While walking in the desert, he suddenly found the desert talking to him. It told him of the caravans that had passed through it, the caravans that had perished, the ocean that had once existed there and so on. Slowly, he found that other minearals also talked to himm. He found that like humans, stones could be liars, they could be mixed up kids, they could be tantalizing beauties and they could be ugly murderers.
When he started studying gems, he found in them, a very fascinating world. The world of kings, emperors, rich men, their women, their slaves, their lives and times. The gems had their own grandiose visions, their own desires to dominate and motivate their fellow beings while themselves remaining comfortable.
Recently, I met Dilip after a lapse of thirty years. " Why did I not pursue our common childhood dream of becoming an explorer ? ", Dilip enquired. " Well, like climbing Fuji or riding a camel, may be, a wise man, in his cycle of births and re-births, becomes so only once ! ' was my repartee.
Monday, August 22, 2011
WHY I HATE LIQUOR ?
As I was waiting in the P.M.'s office, there was a flutter. My heartbeats reached bursting point when in strode a red faced, bespectacled young man of 82. I knew I should get up but just could not. As if understanding my predicament, he said, " Keep sitting young man ". I suddenly felt very old. Slowly, his vigour started to infect me and I came to my normal spirits.
" You say, you are a journalist, is it ?
" Well, actually I am a civil engineer but I have come to take your interview for our company's house journal ".
" Now look here young man, either you are a journalist or you are not. In the latter case, I have no time for you ".
" Well, here I am a journalist ".
He seemed to chafe at the word "here" but let it pass with a gesture of looking at the watch.
" We have given you press people all the freedom you want. I don't understand why you want to confine yourself to this room even for a few minutes. Why don't you indulge like the rest of your colleagues in free flights of fancy ? "
" Actually, Sir, as I am working for the public sector undertaking, I am already used to working within certain confines. I came here to discuss Prohibition with you "
" Aren't my views welknown ? What is there to discuss ?
" Well, it would seem that you have a pathological hatred for liquor "
" I don't know what you mean. I have no bias against anything in accordance with the teaching of the Gita ".
" Sir, Prohibition has been tried in other developed countries and it has not succeeded ".
" Is that any reason why it should not succeed here ? "
" No, but the point is that human nature is the same everywhere and what fails in one place is very likely to fail in another place also ".
" You are talking in terms of only three dimensions. You seem to forget that there is a fourth dimension called time. What fails in one place at one time may succeed at the same place at another time. So, why should a policy that failed in the early part of this century in one place, fail in the latter part of this century in another place ? "
" You have a point there, sir, but then there are other dimensions such as the energy levels on the earth, the planetary positions, solar flares and so on ".
" This is the trouble with you chaps. You go on cluttering up your mind with all sorts of fancy things. I tell you, you people are unable to stand my guts because you drink liquor whereas I drink urine ", he started authoritatively.
Continuing in the same vein, " Now I shall tell you why I hate liquor. In terms of value, liquor is very low. Urine is higher in terms of value. Water is still higher and air is the highest. By imbibing liquor, your mind and body degenerate to a lower level. Your body elements have to work to upgrade the liquor in you qualitatively. With liquor in you, you are only slightly higher than an animal ".
' Sir, you said sometime back that the fourth dimension is important. Is it not possible that what you say may not be true at the present juncture " ?
" No ! You see I am able to stride faster than you, can work longer hours than you and can silence you in an argument. All this would not be possible if I were not right at this moment. Truth alone gives strength ".
" You mean to say that nature has chosen you to be its representative for India and what you say is right for Indians ? "
" I would not put it that way. Nature guides everybody and those who follow nature, find their path easily. I happen to be the Prime Minister and I am strictly guided by nature. Nature guided me to the Prime ministership and in the conduct of state policies. I, therefore, am of the opinion that prohibition is right for India at the given time ".
" One last question Sir,. Is it true that the spirit, if you will excuse my using the word, of Aurangzeb has entered you ? "
Laughingly he said, " Why don't you say I am Aurangzeb in person ? "
On this happy note, I ended the interview. While coming out, I felt that there was something in what the man was saying but taking the totality of the universe and the time in its infinity, into account, something seemed to be lacking. Shall we allow the fourth dimension in nature to teach us all including Shri Morarji Desai, the truth in the matter ?
" You say, you are a journalist, is it ?
" Well, actually I am a civil engineer but I have come to take your interview for our company's house journal ".
" Now look here young man, either you are a journalist or you are not. In the latter case, I have no time for you ".
" Well, here I am a journalist ".
He seemed to chafe at the word "here" but let it pass with a gesture of looking at the watch.
" We have given you press people all the freedom you want. I don't understand why you want to confine yourself to this room even for a few minutes. Why don't you indulge like the rest of your colleagues in free flights of fancy ? "
" Actually, Sir, as I am working for the public sector undertaking, I am already used to working within certain confines. I came here to discuss Prohibition with you "
" Aren't my views welknown ? What is there to discuss ?
" Well, it would seem that you have a pathological hatred for liquor "
" I don't know what you mean. I have no bias against anything in accordance with the teaching of the Gita ".
" Sir, Prohibition has been tried in other developed countries and it has not succeeded ".
" Is that any reason why it should not succeed here ? "
" No, but the point is that human nature is the same everywhere and what fails in one place is very likely to fail in another place also ".
" You are talking in terms of only three dimensions. You seem to forget that there is a fourth dimension called time. What fails in one place at one time may succeed at the same place at another time. So, why should a policy that failed in the early part of this century in one place, fail in the latter part of this century in another place ? "
" You have a point there, sir, but then there are other dimensions such as the energy levels on the earth, the planetary positions, solar flares and so on ".
" This is the trouble with you chaps. You go on cluttering up your mind with all sorts of fancy things. I tell you, you people are unable to stand my guts because you drink liquor whereas I drink urine ", he started authoritatively.
Continuing in the same vein, " Now I shall tell you why I hate liquor. In terms of value, liquor is very low. Urine is higher in terms of value. Water is still higher and air is the highest. By imbibing liquor, your mind and body degenerate to a lower level. Your body elements have to work to upgrade the liquor in you qualitatively. With liquor in you, you are only slightly higher than an animal ".
' Sir, you said sometime back that the fourth dimension is important. Is it not possible that what you say may not be true at the present juncture " ?
" No ! You see I am able to stride faster than you, can work longer hours than you and can silence you in an argument. All this would not be possible if I were not right at this moment. Truth alone gives strength ".
" You mean to say that nature has chosen you to be its representative for India and what you say is right for Indians ? "
" I would not put it that way. Nature guides everybody and those who follow nature, find their path easily. I happen to be the Prime Minister and I am strictly guided by nature. Nature guided me to the Prime ministership and in the conduct of state policies. I, therefore, am of the opinion that prohibition is right for India at the given time ".
" One last question Sir,. Is it true that the spirit, if you will excuse my using the word, of Aurangzeb has entered you ? "
Laughingly he said, " Why don't you say I am Aurangzeb in person ? "
On this happy note, I ended the interview. While coming out, I felt that there was something in what the man was saying but taking the totality of the universe and the time in its infinity, into account, something seemed to be lacking. Shall we allow the fourth dimension in nature to teach us all including Shri Morarji Desai, the truth in the matter ?
SOMA, THE UNUSUAL MAN
Soma was a farm labourer who fell in love with his master's daughter. Unlike in Hindi films, there was no hitch and he married her. In fact, his story is so unlike hindi film stories that I am tempted to narrate it as a story. For men like Soma are these days found in stories alone.
After marriage, he did not consider it fit to continue his job with his father-in-law. He therefore moved to a nearby town. He found a job with the Railways. As was the practice in those days, he was chosen to be attached to an officer of the Railways to do the latter's household work. Being directly attached to the boss was considered to be a prestigious position. When my father was posted to that town, Soma began to work for us. It was a spacious bunglow with a large compound. The bunglow had servants' quarters in which Soma lived with his family. He had a son and a daughter by the time we moved to that bunglow. His aged father too lived with him.
Soma's duties included all the household chores such as cleaning utensils, washing clothes and sweeping and mopping the floors. We were a large family. Apart from my parents and grandparents, we were six siblings. As was the practice in those days, one or two cousins too lived with for their schooling. In addition to the duties outlined earlier, one of his duties was to walk with us to the school which was a good 5 K.M.s away and non-availability of any public transport. Apart from all these, Soma's love for farming and gardening impelled him to look after our garden. We grew our own vegetables, fruits and flowers. There was one more servant to share his burden. His wife also lent him a hand.
One sunday in a month saw Soma turn into a barber. He dressed the hair of all the male members of his family. Twice a week, he shaved his father's beard apart from attending to his own on a daily basis. Twice a year, Soma would turn into a tailor and stitch clothes for his entire family with the help of a sewing machine borrowed from my mother. He believed in complete self reliance and practised it in toto.
The way he started training his son Vitthal was remarkable. Vitthal used to come to school along with us. As soon as Vitthal mastered the three 'R's to Soma's satisfaction, he was taken off from the school. He would have come to the secondary stage, had he continued. the boy was hardly ten years old. We all protested but Soma did not flinch. According to him, he did not want his son to become a softie with a lot of gas in his head.
Vitthal was first apprenticed to Soma's brother-in-law who hawked newspapers at the Railway station. On our way to school, Soma would explain to us his logic. The boy, he said, must first learn to speak boldly to strangers and learn how to deal with public. He must also learn to handle money and keep accounts. As the amount involved on a daily basis was not large after the departure ofa train, loss if any, would not amount to much. In the time interval between one train and the next, he would read the newspaper and keep himself abreast of what happened in the world around him. Once he formed a habit of reading the newspaper, for the rest of his life, he would remain uptodate with the latest information.
Vitthal picked up and did his job so well that his uncle-cum-boss gradually started leaving all work to Vitthal. Hardly a year had passed and Soma took Vitthal off that job. His employer protested vehemantly, even offered a share in the business but Soma stuck to his guns.
Next, Soma apprenticed Vitthal to a tailor, a barber, a mason, a carpenter and so on. He would explain to us that the boy should become deft with his hands and be able to look after his and his family's requirements himself. He can then choose any of the trades that he had picked up as his profession. He would never lack for work as he would be an asset to any employer. If he chose, he could even be an entrepreneur himself. The concept of multi-trade was taught to me by Soma. Vitthal, I realized, would never join a trade union as he would never have grievances. If something did not suit him, he could easily switch over.
Soma's wife became pregnant and Soma acted as the midwife without any fuss. We knew of the child birth only because Vitthal did not go to work that day and took care of his younger siblings. On being pressed, Vitthal gave out the story. Even such an event did not make much difference to his routine work He merely adjusted his timings. Later, he explained to us how he learnt the work of a midwife. For the birth of his first child, a midwife was hired on the condition that Soma would remain present during delivery and learn all about it. During the second child's birth, the midwife was hired not for the actual delivery but for monitoring Soma's performance. For the third delivery, he did not need any help.
The only incident that I remember in connection with Soma that had some excitement was when Soma's wife complained to him that a neighbour's servant had insulted her. Soma flew into a rage and ran after the offender. We were afraid Soma would have taken some weapon along, but no ! Soma had just gone off like that. After a chase, Soma caught hold of the man by his hair, shook him, slapped him on both cheeks and told him how to behave with women. When Soma came back, he was his usual self and without a moment's delay, continued with what he was doing earlier.
It is now nearly half a century since I set my eyes on Soma. This is a belated tribute to you, Soma, the unusual man ! I am sure, you would have been happy wherever you have been, since you know how to be happy by yourself. No Gurus or psychiatrists for you !
After marriage, he did not consider it fit to continue his job with his father-in-law. He therefore moved to a nearby town. He found a job with the Railways. As was the practice in those days, he was chosen to be attached to an officer of the Railways to do the latter's household work. Being directly attached to the boss was considered to be a prestigious position. When my father was posted to that town, Soma began to work for us. It was a spacious bunglow with a large compound. The bunglow had servants' quarters in which Soma lived with his family. He had a son and a daughter by the time we moved to that bunglow. His aged father too lived with him.
Soma's duties included all the household chores such as cleaning utensils, washing clothes and sweeping and mopping the floors. We were a large family. Apart from my parents and grandparents, we were six siblings. As was the practice in those days, one or two cousins too lived with for their schooling. In addition to the duties outlined earlier, one of his duties was to walk with us to the school which was a good 5 K.M.s away and non-availability of any public transport. Apart from all these, Soma's love for farming and gardening impelled him to look after our garden. We grew our own vegetables, fruits and flowers. There was one more servant to share his burden. His wife also lent him a hand.
One sunday in a month saw Soma turn into a barber. He dressed the hair of all the male members of his family. Twice a week, he shaved his father's beard apart from attending to his own on a daily basis. Twice a year, Soma would turn into a tailor and stitch clothes for his entire family with the help of a sewing machine borrowed from my mother. He believed in complete self reliance and practised it in toto.
The way he started training his son Vitthal was remarkable. Vitthal used to come to school along with us. As soon as Vitthal mastered the three 'R's to Soma's satisfaction, he was taken off from the school. He would have come to the secondary stage, had he continued. the boy was hardly ten years old. We all protested but Soma did not flinch. According to him, he did not want his son to become a softie with a lot of gas in his head.
Vitthal was first apprenticed to Soma's brother-in-law who hawked newspapers at the Railway station. On our way to school, Soma would explain to us his logic. The boy, he said, must first learn to speak boldly to strangers and learn how to deal with public. He must also learn to handle money and keep accounts. As the amount involved on a daily basis was not large after the departure ofa train, loss if any, would not amount to much. In the time interval between one train and the next, he would read the newspaper and keep himself abreast of what happened in the world around him. Once he formed a habit of reading the newspaper, for the rest of his life, he would remain uptodate with the latest information.
Vitthal picked up and did his job so well that his uncle-cum-boss gradually started leaving all work to Vitthal. Hardly a year had passed and Soma took Vitthal off that job. His employer protested vehemantly, even offered a share in the business but Soma stuck to his guns.
Next, Soma apprenticed Vitthal to a tailor, a barber, a mason, a carpenter and so on. He would explain to us that the boy should become deft with his hands and be able to look after his and his family's requirements himself. He can then choose any of the trades that he had picked up as his profession. He would never lack for work as he would be an asset to any employer. If he chose, he could even be an entrepreneur himself. The concept of multi-trade was taught to me by Soma. Vitthal, I realized, would never join a trade union as he would never have grievances. If something did not suit him, he could easily switch over.
Soma's wife became pregnant and Soma acted as the midwife without any fuss. We knew of the child birth only because Vitthal did not go to work that day and took care of his younger siblings. On being pressed, Vitthal gave out the story. Even such an event did not make much difference to his routine work He merely adjusted his timings. Later, he explained to us how he learnt the work of a midwife. For the birth of his first child, a midwife was hired on the condition that Soma would remain present during delivery and learn all about it. During the second child's birth, the midwife was hired not for the actual delivery but for monitoring Soma's performance. For the third delivery, he did not need any help.
The only incident that I remember in connection with Soma that had some excitement was when Soma's wife complained to him that a neighbour's servant had insulted her. Soma flew into a rage and ran after the offender. We were afraid Soma would have taken some weapon along, but no ! Soma had just gone off like that. After a chase, Soma caught hold of the man by his hair, shook him, slapped him on both cheeks and told him how to behave with women. When Soma came back, he was his usual self and without a moment's delay, continued with what he was doing earlier.
It is now nearly half a century since I set my eyes on Soma. This is a belated tribute to you, Soma, the unusual man ! I am sure, you would have been happy wherever you have been, since you know how to be happy by yourself. No Gurus or psychiatrists for you !
THE URGE TO MANAGE
When Adam and Eve lived in the garden of Eden, there was peace and tranquility everywhere. The asp could not stand this and whispered something to Eve. She tempted Adam with an apple and as if that was not enough, donned a fig leaf in a strategic location. Eve thus became the first manager. the term 'manager' is apt for nothing ages more than a woman.
Then came Abel and Cain. Cain slew Abel for fear that he would inherit only half the earth. Thus when a lack is felt, a manager springs up. Insecurity is an important causative factor in a person's need to dominate his fellow beings. Just as it is very difficult to be idle for a long time or to sit consciously without thinking, it is very difficult not to dominate, not to manage.
The urge to manage is a "Rajasi Guna". Though not a "Tamasi guna", it is not a "Satvik Guna" either. One can not be saintly so long as one has a compulsive need to manage others. One who has this urge is basically a weaker person than his fellow beings. You do not envy managers, you merely sympathise with them.Love good managers as you love good women. Do not hate bad managers as it does not behove a man to hate woman.
The extent to which we wish tomanage others, bears a fair co-relation to the extent of feminity in a person. No man is all masculine barring the mythical Arjuna.
Now, the point is how not to manage ? Management schools take two years to teach people how to manage even though the motivation to do so is present in most weak men. i shall tell you how not to manage. Like all habits, trying to kick the habit can cause repressions. Do not therefore try suddenly not to manage. The best way to cure yourself of this habit is to manage fully to your heart's content till you reach the highest position on the earth if not the universe. Fear of being dominated by others will take you higher and higher.
Once you have reached your level of incompetence, you would rise no further. You might have become the Chairman of a company but you would chafe under the glare of president of a bigger and mightier multinational company.
Once you have managed everything, the downgrade would start. However hard you try, you may not succeed. If you have been the President of the United Nations, you might have to be satisfied with merely the Presidency of a country.
On the contrary, if you try to avoid managing even what comes to your lot, you would find yourself a harassed man. If you do nothing, you may find yourself managing a lot more than you did when you were active.
a realization would then dawn on you that happiness in totality is the same for everyone. You would then do whatever comes to your lot with happiness and all that Gita or for that matter, any religious scripture preaches, would come naturally to you to practise.You would enjoy managing those to be managed by you and enjoy being managed by those who can not help managing yoYou might well ask me if I am not trying to manage the managers by writing this. The answer is yes and no. Yes, to those who however hard I try, are not going to believe me. No, to those who would believe me, when I say that I wrote this primarily for my enjoyment. If you too enjoy it, I would have reason to respect you !
Then came Abel and Cain. Cain slew Abel for fear that he would inherit only half the earth. Thus when a lack is felt, a manager springs up. Insecurity is an important causative factor in a person's need to dominate his fellow beings. Just as it is very difficult to be idle for a long time or to sit consciously without thinking, it is very difficult not to dominate, not to manage.
The urge to manage is a "Rajasi Guna". Though not a "Tamasi guna", it is not a "Satvik Guna" either. One can not be saintly so long as one has a compulsive need to manage others. One who has this urge is basically a weaker person than his fellow beings. You do not envy managers, you merely sympathise with them.Love good managers as you love good women. Do not hate bad managers as it does not behove a man to hate woman.
The extent to which we wish tomanage others, bears a fair co-relation to the extent of feminity in a person. No man is all masculine barring the mythical Arjuna.
Now, the point is how not to manage ? Management schools take two years to teach people how to manage even though the motivation to do so is present in most weak men. i shall tell you how not to manage. Like all habits, trying to kick the habit can cause repressions. Do not therefore try suddenly not to manage. The best way to cure yourself of this habit is to manage fully to your heart's content till you reach the highest position on the earth if not the universe. Fear of being dominated by others will take you higher and higher.
Once you have reached your level of incompetence, you would rise no further. You might have become the Chairman of a company but you would chafe under the glare of president of a bigger and mightier multinational company.
Once you have managed everything, the downgrade would start. However hard you try, you may not succeed. If you have been the President of the United Nations, you might have to be satisfied with merely the Presidency of a country.
On the contrary, if you try to avoid managing even what comes to your lot, you would find yourself a harassed man. If you do nothing, you may find yourself managing a lot more than you did when you were active.
a realization would then dawn on you that happiness in totality is the same for everyone. You would then do whatever comes to your lot with happiness and all that Gita or for that matter, any religious scripture preaches, would come naturally to you to practise.You would enjoy managing those to be managed by you and enjoy being managed by those who can not help managing yoYou might well ask me if I am not trying to manage the managers by writing this. The answer is yes and no. Yes, to those who however hard I try, are not going to believe me. No, to those who would believe me, when I say that I wrote this primarily for my enjoyment. If you too enjoy it, I would have reason to respect you !
PREETY, OUR HOUSE MANAGER
Preety, our daughter is a spastic. I might enlighten all those of you who do not know what a spastic or a patient of Cerebral Palsy is.
A spastic is an individual who is fully developed mentally. In some respects, they are perhaps even more developed than average human beings.The word spastic owes its origin to the word 'spasm' or jerky movement. Muscular co-ordination is lacking in spastics. Their movements are jerky and quite often they can not make the smooth normal movements of their feet or hands or for that matter any of their limbs including the tongue.
Our brain has many departments. Some control our vision, some smell, some memory and so on. There is one that controls the co-ordination of voluntary muscles. We have voluntary muscles and involuntary muscles. Involuntary muscles are those, for example that come into play when we instictively withdraw our handswhen we accidentally touch a hot object. Voluntary muscles are those that we use consciously for carrying out some task. The centre of the brain that co-ordinates our voluntary muscles i.e. the one that makes the limbs to do what we want them to do is the one that is affected in the spastics. It does not work properly. As per present knowledge, when this function is paralysed due to one or more of any number of reasons, the person becomes a spastic.
My guess is that they either belong to a different species than the ones from which the present day human beings evolved. It is also possible that they are humans belonging to a different time scale, something on the lines of extra-terrestrial (ET) beings. We may call them extra-chronological (EC) beings.
Whatever it be, Preety is a spastic. She can not stand up, walk, sit up properly, eat or dress by herself. She can not even speak. Communication with her is by gestures or by asking questions whether this is what she means. By shaking her head she indicates yes or no. We have to find out what she wants by the reductio ad absurdum method!
She is either in bed or in a wheel chair all the time. She is fond of current Hindi film music, likes to listen to the radio or watch TV. Her reactions to films shown on TV are quite normal for a girl of her age. She likes the company of girls of her age, is extremely fond of her brothers and makes no bones about being partial to our elder son.
Whenever anything is misplaced in the house, we only ask her and as she observes everyone in the house, she is able to tell us where the misplaced article is. When a particular maternal aunt of mine visits us, she immediately instructs her mother to bring tea and Paan. Similarly, when my paternal aunt visits us, she is never allowed to go without partaking of a meal. The reason is that the aunt like her own self is a daughter of the family and traditions must be observed. She recognizes the steps of my elder brother on the staircase and makes a sound reserved only for him.
We can not scold anyone younger than her as it is her prerogative. the hierarchy must be maintained. If we intervene in any quarrel between her and her brothers, even if we take her side, she turns against us. she makes use of all the tricks at her command to see that her brothers study.
She remembers the birthdays of everyone in the family and begins planning the guest list, the menu and so on much in advance. The birthday boy or girl as the case may be must be kept out of all the planning as the celebration and the birthday gift must be a surprise. The gift has to be handed over by none other than herself.
Her sense of timing is very good as if a watch is implanted in her brain. She asks us to switch on the radio or the TV for her favourite programs without looking at the clock and is always right when she says that it is time for a particular program.
Previously she tried to manage the entire household whether it was cooking or looking after the guests. gradually, it has come down and now she tries to manage only those activities that are relevant to her. her every action tells us that she has perhaps been a manager in a previous form or birth.
Sometimes I wonder if our present day managers or leaders in any walk of life or for that matter our politicians would become spastics in some future birth. Think over. Similarities are many.
In reality, she is like a piece of modern abstract art. Only the painter knows what it is and that too at the time of painting it. In her case, God, our maker alone knows or knew while making her. It surely is not common to be a common man.
A spastic is an individual who is fully developed mentally. In some respects, they are perhaps even more developed than average human beings.The word spastic owes its origin to the word 'spasm' or jerky movement. Muscular co-ordination is lacking in spastics. Their movements are jerky and quite often they can not make the smooth normal movements of their feet or hands or for that matter any of their limbs including the tongue.
Our brain has many departments. Some control our vision, some smell, some memory and so on. There is one that controls the co-ordination of voluntary muscles. We have voluntary muscles and involuntary muscles. Involuntary muscles are those, for example that come into play when we instictively withdraw our handswhen we accidentally touch a hot object. Voluntary muscles are those that we use consciously for carrying out some task. The centre of the brain that co-ordinates our voluntary muscles i.e. the one that makes the limbs to do what we want them to do is the one that is affected in the spastics. It does not work properly. As per present knowledge, when this function is paralysed due to one or more of any number of reasons, the person becomes a spastic.
My guess is that they either belong to a different species than the ones from which the present day human beings evolved. It is also possible that they are humans belonging to a different time scale, something on the lines of extra-terrestrial (ET) beings. We may call them extra-chronological (EC) beings.
Whatever it be, Preety is a spastic. She can not stand up, walk, sit up properly, eat or dress by herself. She can not even speak. Communication with her is by gestures or by asking questions whether this is what she means. By shaking her head she indicates yes or no. We have to find out what she wants by the reductio ad absurdum method!
She is either in bed or in a wheel chair all the time. She is fond of current Hindi film music, likes to listen to the radio or watch TV. Her reactions to films shown on TV are quite normal for a girl of her age. She likes the company of girls of her age, is extremely fond of her brothers and makes no bones about being partial to our elder son.
Whenever anything is misplaced in the house, we only ask her and as she observes everyone in the house, she is able to tell us where the misplaced article is. When a particular maternal aunt of mine visits us, she immediately instructs her mother to bring tea and Paan. Similarly, when my paternal aunt visits us, she is never allowed to go without partaking of a meal. The reason is that the aunt like her own self is a daughter of the family and traditions must be observed. She recognizes the steps of my elder brother on the staircase and makes a sound reserved only for him.
We can not scold anyone younger than her as it is her prerogative. the hierarchy must be maintained. If we intervene in any quarrel between her and her brothers, even if we take her side, she turns against us. she makes use of all the tricks at her command to see that her brothers study.
She remembers the birthdays of everyone in the family and begins planning the guest list, the menu and so on much in advance. The birthday boy or girl as the case may be must be kept out of all the planning as the celebration and the birthday gift must be a surprise. The gift has to be handed over by none other than herself.
Her sense of timing is very good as if a watch is implanted in her brain. She asks us to switch on the radio or the TV for her favourite programs without looking at the clock and is always right when she says that it is time for a particular program.
Previously she tried to manage the entire household whether it was cooking or looking after the guests. gradually, it has come down and now she tries to manage only those activities that are relevant to her. her every action tells us that she has perhaps been a manager in a previous form or birth.
Sometimes I wonder if our present day managers or leaders in any walk of life or for that matter our politicians would become spastics in some future birth. Think over. Similarities are many.
In reality, she is like a piece of modern abstract art. Only the painter knows what it is and that too at the time of painting it. In her case, God, our maker alone knows or knew while making her. It surely is not common to be a common man.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
NAMITA, THE BORED BAMBINA
Fleece white as snow, shaggy wet haired, early teens, she stood among a group of four girls at the bus stand. The condition of their hair being similar to ours, I presumed that they too were returning from the swimming pool. What attracted to me was voice. A languid, bored voice, she managed to impart that quality to her tone even when talking animatedly.
I broke the ice and introduced ourselves - my wife and myself. They in turn, did likewise. " We are Chaturvedis from Rajasthan, pure brahmins ", she said in amplification of her surname. I told her that I too belonged to the most impure among humans, the pure brahmin breed known as Nagars fro further south - west.
The bus arrived and we got in. we had standing room only. I sensed a pair of eyes boring through my back. Instinctively, I looked back and met them. For a fleeting moment, heat radiated through the air gap between us and all was normal again.
Thereafter we met daily. Each time, I would give her a different name. Naomi, Manyeta, Natasha, Water Nymph, Bathing Beauty ...... and so on. Every time, except for a slight ripple, she would maintain her cool. Sometimes, I would tease her or pay handsome compliments. " Tell me Namita, how many boys have told you that you are a lovely girl ? " I asked her once. In a brief moment of weakness, she shook her mane, rolled her lips and said " Quite a few ".
" Good for them, otherwise i would have had a very poor opinion for Delhi boys ", I countered. By then she was cool again. ever smiling and though otherwise lithe and active, inherently she is more like a lioness who treats even the king of the jungle with a bored indulgence.
I once asked her to race with me in the pool. Like a typical female, she let me win. When diving together, I would point out her any flaws in her style as they appeared to me In response, she however, always praised mine even if she had not even watched my dive. Her attitude was that of a lioness encouraging a not too strong cub.
Namita, the bored lioness, has yet to graduate to being a playful dolphin. When she does, she would, I am sure, be a joy for the Gods themselves !
I broke the ice and introduced ourselves - my wife and myself. They in turn, did likewise. " We are Chaturvedis from Rajasthan, pure brahmins ", she said in amplification of her surname. I told her that I too belonged to the most impure among humans, the pure brahmin breed known as Nagars fro further south - west.
The bus arrived and we got in. we had standing room only. I sensed a pair of eyes boring through my back. Instinctively, I looked back and met them. For a fleeting moment, heat radiated through the air gap between us and all was normal again.
Thereafter we met daily. Each time, I would give her a different name. Naomi, Manyeta, Natasha, Water Nymph, Bathing Beauty ...... and so on. Every time, except for a slight ripple, she would maintain her cool. Sometimes, I would tease her or pay handsome compliments. " Tell me Namita, how many boys have told you that you are a lovely girl ? " I asked her once. In a brief moment of weakness, she shook her mane, rolled her lips and said " Quite a few ".
" Good for them, otherwise i would have had a very poor opinion for Delhi boys ", I countered. By then she was cool again. ever smiling and though otherwise lithe and active, inherently she is more like a lioness who treats even the king of the jungle with a bored indulgence.
I once asked her to race with me in the pool. Like a typical female, she let me win. When diving together, I would point out her any flaws in her style as they appeared to me In response, she however, always praised mine even if she had not even watched my dive. Her attitude was that of a lioness encouraging a not too strong cub.
Namita, the bored lioness, has yet to graduate to being a playful dolphin. When she does, she would, I am sure, be a joy for the Gods themselves !
MOON IS A CAT
3 year old Roopa is an imaginative child. Often she would be lost in her web of imagination and then sometimes she would suddenly speak out her thoughts, without any preface. To a bystander, not used to her ways, she was an enigma.
Lying in bed and looking out through the window, one moonlit night, she suddenly said, " Look Papa ! Look at the 'C', I mean See-A-Tee Cat " Her father, lying next to her and in the process of trying to lull her into sleep looked but failed to find any feline presence. Where a normal father would have shrugged it off as a senseless patter of a child not yet feeling sleepy, Roopa's father did a little mental sleuthing. He discovered that moon, the only object visible from the window that night, was indeed in the shape of the third letter of the alphabet 'C'. It was the third night of the brighter fortnight that day. When he connected this with the third page of Roopa's K.G. class English Primer, he understood the significance and felt himself humbled since no poet before Roopa had ever connected moon with the cat.
Lying in bed and looking out through the window, one moonlit night, she suddenly said, " Look Papa ! Look at the 'C', I mean See-A-Tee Cat " Her father, lying next to her and in the process of trying to lull her into sleep looked but failed to find any feline presence. Where a normal father would have shrugged it off as a senseless patter of a child not yet feeling sleepy, Roopa's father did a little mental sleuthing. He discovered that moon, the only object visible from the window that night, was indeed in the shape of the third letter of the alphabet 'C'. It was the third night of the brighter fortnight that day. When he connected this with the third page of Roopa's K.G. class English Primer, he understood the significance and felt himself humbled since no poet before Roopa had ever connected moon with the cat.
Saturday, August 20, 2011
CRIMINALS
The other day, we had been to the Agri expo 1977 fair. In one of the pavillions, some khadi clad V.I.P.s accompanied by the usual paraphernelia of chamchas and cops in uniform, walked in.
Since the faces were not quite well known locally, the question on the lips of all V.O.P.s like us was, ' Who are these people ? " As if sensing this, a small boy spoke out rather loudly, " Must have done something really bad ! Look at all those policemen following them everywhere !
FOOTNOTE :- Was he making a prophecy of the era of Anna Hazare when that became the common perception of the common man ?
Or was he making a statement of fact that we were then, not aware of ?
I donot know.
Since the faces were not quite well known locally, the question on the lips of all V.O.P.s like us was, ' Who are these people ? " As if sensing this, a small boy spoke out rather loudly, " Must have done something really bad ! Look at all those policemen following them everywhere !
FOOTNOTE :- Was he making a prophecy of the era of Anna Hazare when that became the common perception of the common man ?
Or was he making a statement of fact that we were then, not aware of ?
I donot know.
THE GANG OF FOUR
I had just shifted to a retreat that I had built with many dreams. Some of those cherished dreams have not come true and some have gone awry due to change in circumstances. Nevertheless, a certain peace even if of the numb kind had descended on me when the encounter with the gang of four took place. No ! It was not the dreaded Chinese gang of four. Then, what was it ? Wait ! You will soon find out.
Evening of a holiday. I am sitting in the drawing room with its weather beaten, transfer seasoned, out of date furniture. My teen age sons keep me company to compensate for the loss of one whom I had dearly loved. Suddenly, Santosh our eighteen years old son got up and strode up to the door. He was welcoming some visitors. The curious smile on his face indicated that the visitors were unusual. His repeated welcoming gestures and monotones whetted my curiosity. I was however totally unprepared for the attack when it came.
The gang of four trooped in. Shy, hesitant smiles on their faces. Ajay, Amit, Pramod and Jenu. I welcome them forgetting the churning stomache that tormented me. Introductions follow. Ajay and Amit turn out to be twins. They are all trilingual - products of the trilingual formula and aged about five years.
Jenu and Pramod in turns occupy my lap while the twins stand. I talk to them in all the three languages but they talk to me in only one - the language in which they talk to their parents and such other backward people.
I start my standard ploys. I offer to play Antakshari but they plead innocence of all versified stuff. No ! Not even nursery rhymes. This despite the fact that only that afternoon, I had heard one of them singing a song from one of the latest Hindi films.
" Alright, Let's play the guessing game ". They nod agreement. They must think of a person whom I know and must answer questions only in either the affirmative or the negative and I would tell them who was the person they had thought of. They do so in turns and after a few questions, I tell them who the person was, with the air of a Houdini.
Then, I think of a person and ask them to pose questions to me. Suddenly they are all dumb. " Would you be able to tell me without asking questions ? " I prod them. In answer they all troop out. A short while later, I hear screams of delight that attract my attention. They come from the house opposite, abode of not a single member of the gang but that of a newly acquired teen age friend of my sons - the person I had thought of. Not only that . He was right there with them. This was the gang's way of telling me that they could read minds, a much higher form of communication than mere speech.
Next day, on my return from work, I am greeted by them in a language other than the one that they resrve for their parents. I still do not know whether they consider me more backward or more forward. In reply, I merely fondle their heads. If I speak, I am afraid of being labelled as backward while I am still being sized up.
Children, particularly nuclear age children, do not take long to size up people. i am dying to know the verdict that this gang of four passes on me. And I hope that I will be able to understand it in the form in which it is passed.
Stop Press :- The verdict has just come as this is being written. Jenu, the only female member of the gang has come to watch our TV and is lovingly snuggled in my lap ! I seem to have passed muster. Hallelujah !
Evening of a holiday. I am sitting in the drawing room with its weather beaten, transfer seasoned, out of date furniture. My teen age sons keep me company to compensate for the loss of one whom I had dearly loved. Suddenly, Santosh our eighteen years old son got up and strode up to the door. He was welcoming some visitors. The curious smile on his face indicated that the visitors were unusual. His repeated welcoming gestures and monotones whetted my curiosity. I was however totally unprepared for the attack when it came.
The gang of four trooped in. Shy, hesitant smiles on their faces. Ajay, Amit, Pramod and Jenu. I welcome them forgetting the churning stomache that tormented me. Introductions follow. Ajay and Amit turn out to be twins. They are all trilingual - products of the trilingual formula and aged about five years.
Jenu and Pramod in turns occupy my lap while the twins stand. I talk to them in all the three languages but they talk to me in only one - the language in which they talk to their parents and such other backward people.
I start my standard ploys. I offer to play Antakshari but they plead innocence of all versified stuff. No ! Not even nursery rhymes. This despite the fact that only that afternoon, I had heard one of them singing a song from one of the latest Hindi films.
" Alright, Let's play the guessing game ". They nod agreement. They must think of a person whom I know and must answer questions only in either the affirmative or the negative and I would tell them who was the person they had thought of. They do so in turns and after a few questions, I tell them who the person was, with the air of a Houdini.
Then, I think of a person and ask them to pose questions to me. Suddenly they are all dumb. " Would you be able to tell me without asking questions ? " I prod them. In answer they all troop out. A short while later, I hear screams of delight that attract my attention. They come from the house opposite, abode of not a single member of the gang but that of a newly acquired teen age friend of my sons - the person I had thought of. Not only that . He was right there with them. This was the gang's way of telling me that they could read minds, a much higher form of communication than mere speech.
Next day, on my return from work, I am greeted by them in a language other than the one that they resrve for their parents. I still do not know whether they consider me more backward or more forward. In reply, I merely fondle their heads. If I speak, I am afraid of being labelled as backward while I am still being sized up.
Children, particularly nuclear age children, do not take long to size up people. i am dying to know the verdict that this gang of four passes on me. And I hope that I will be able to understand it in the form in which it is passed.
Stop Press :- The verdict has just come as this is being written. Jenu, the only female member of the gang has come to watch our TV and is lovingly snuggled in my lap ! I seem to have passed muster. Hallelujah !
TRANSFORMATION OF AN ' ENGLISH ' GIRL
Rati was born in England of Indian parents. When she was about five years old, her parents returned along with her to India. Soon, a brother was born. Having been born and brought up in England, she was " English " whereas her brother who was born in India was an Indian.
As if the contrast between England and an Indian city was not enough, her father got a job on the construction site of a public sector unit in one of the most backward areas. Bewilderment of Rati in this place was complete.
Rati had however not forgotten the manners and social graces learnt by her in one of the smaller towns of England. She could be depended upon to stir out of the house in only the most proper dress for the purpose of the outing, all neatly ironed and starched. When meeting someone on the road, instead of sheepishly smiling like other Indian children, she would boldly greet an adult with a " Good Morning or Evening, Mr. or Mrs. or Miss so and so ".
If you were to call on her parents, she would answer the doorbell, greet you properly, a pleasant surprise written all over her face. She would usher you in the sitting room and after making you comfortable, inform her parents of your arrival. Then, like a good child, she would withdraw, leaving the grown - ups to their grown - up talk. Among us construction people in that small settlement, Rati was indeed a wonder, an example quoted by some mothers of what a good child should be.
Rati's little brother was however her despair. He was inclined to be merry, to be talking louder than in whispers and to be wearing ill-matched clothes. If she was not wary, Ravi would sneak out wearing only his slippers. Why ! She had once seen him playing barefooted. And horror of horrors ! Ravi had once openly and unashamedly expressed a desire to swim in a pond that the villagers used for bathing, and washing clothes as well as utensils.
Ravi was indeed a great burden for Rati's frail shoulders. Whenever and wherever possible, she attended to his attire, his manners and so on. But the moment her back was turned, Ravi lapsed into a behaviour that Rati had started thinking of as his " Indianness ". The more she tried to cure him of it, the more he lapsed into it. The strain on her mind was beginning to tell.
It was during this period that I went to Rati's house on some business. Her father was away but was expected back soon. I was therefore having a chat with Rati's mother in the meantime. Rati could be seen reading a book in the adjoining room.
Just then, Ravi barged in her room as was his wont, clothes splattered with mud, hair disheveled and a wild look of joy on his face. He shouted " Look ! Didi ! what I have brought for you ! Rati looked and found a small garland of wild flowers for Rati's hair.
For once in her ten years of existence, she forgot to notice her brother's untidy appearance, his abominable manners and even omitted to scold him. Instead, she broke one of her own rules. She walked into the drawing room, garland in hand and said excitedly, " Mother ! Look ! What Ravi has made for me !
No sooner she said it, she realized that an outsider was present. She was about to apologise and withdraw but the look of total approval on both the adult faces changed her mind. When I pulled her towards me, she came unresistingly and sat on my lap as naturally as the rest of the children in that small settlement did, her pyjamas notwithstanding. Ravi's genuine affection had after all overcome her inhibitions.
She was later to realize that one's behaviour corresponded to one's development on a number of planes, apart from time and environment. Behaviour natural to youself can never be considered as boorish except by boors or half-baked copycat people. Social graces that come from within and are a part of one's personality are what count. Acquired manners like gilded ornaments can last only as long as the gilt takes to wear off. The only way to be happy and to go up is to be true to yourself and the world would eventually be true to you.
By now, Rati is a big girl. Call her Indian, call her English, no matter what !
As if the contrast between England and an Indian city was not enough, her father got a job on the construction site of a public sector unit in one of the most backward areas. Bewilderment of Rati in this place was complete.
Rati had however not forgotten the manners and social graces learnt by her in one of the smaller towns of England. She could be depended upon to stir out of the house in only the most proper dress for the purpose of the outing, all neatly ironed and starched. When meeting someone on the road, instead of sheepishly smiling like other Indian children, she would boldly greet an adult with a " Good Morning or Evening, Mr. or Mrs. or Miss so and so ".
If you were to call on her parents, she would answer the doorbell, greet you properly, a pleasant surprise written all over her face. She would usher you in the sitting room and after making you comfortable, inform her parents of your arrival. Then, like a good child, she would withdraw, leaving the grown - ups to their grown - up talk. Among us construction people in that small settlement, Rati was indeed a wonder, an example quoted by some mothers of what a good child should be.
Rati's little brother was however her despair. He was inclined to be merry, to be talking louder than in whispers and to be wearing ill-matched clothes. If she was not wary, Ravi would sneak out wearing only his slippers. Why ! She had once seen him playing barefooted. And horror of horrors ! Ravi had once openly and unashamedly expressed a desire to swim in a pond that the villagers used for bathing, and washing clothes as well as utensils.
Ravi was indeed a great burden for Rati's frail shoulders. Whenever and wherever possible, she attended to his attire, his manners and so on. But the moment her back was turned, Ravi lapsed into a behaviour that Rati had started thinking of as his " Indianness ". The more she tried to cure him of it, the more he lapsed into it. The strain on her mind was beginning to tell.
It was during this period that I went to Rati's house on some business. Her father was away but was expected back soon. I was therefore having a chat with Rati's mother in the meantime. Rati could be seen reading a book in the adjoining room.
Just then, Ravi barged in her room as was his wont, clothes splattered with mud, hair disheveled and a wild look of joy on his face. He shouted " Look ! Didi ! what I have brought for you ! Rati looked and found a small garland of wild flowers for Rati's hair.
For once in her ten years of existence, she forgot to notice her brother's untidy appearance, his abominable manners and even omitted to scold him. Instead, she broke one of her own rules. She walked into the drawing room, garland in hand and said excitedly, " Mother ! Look ! What Ravi has made for me !
No sooner she said it, she realized that an outsider was present. She was about to apologise and withdraw but the look of total approval on both the adult faces changed her mind. When I pulled her towards me, she came unresistingly and sat on my lap as naturally as the rest of the children in that small settlement did, her pyjamas notwithstanding. Ravi's genuine affection had after all overcome her inhibitions.
She was later to realize that one's behaviour corresponded to one's development on a number of planes, apart from time and environment. Behaviour natural to youself can never be considered as boorish except by boors or half-baked copycat people. Social graces that come from within and are a part of one's personality are what count. Acquired manners like gilded ornaments can last only as long as the gilt takes to wear off. The only way to be happy and to go up is to be true to yourself and the world would eventually be true to you.
By now, Rati is a big girl. Call her Indian, call her English, no matter what !
Friday, August 19, 2011
MAY BE, SHE WILL FIND OUT
I first met Neetu a few years back. She was a neighbour. I remembered her as a sweet talking kid, rather a favourite of my wife. Recently, she came to our office with her dad. Dad was busy, so she was rather at a loose end. So was I. So I invited her upto my cabin. She said, she woiuld come as soon as she finished the coffee that had been ordered for her.
Returning to my cabin, I had almost forgotten about her. When she came in, she had a smile and an expectancy on the face as is proper for a girl out on her first date. We talked about the old days. Did she remenber our neighbours ? She did, except only us. she was however prepared to accept my assertion that we too were her neighbours. Establishment og friendly relations was not at all difficult. Very soon, she was cosy in my lap, chatting gaily and laughing a lot.
" What do you do in office ? " was a question that stumped me. I do not know how they do it but most children including my own, find out soon that all this talk about working hard in the office is actually a lot of humbug. So everytime that they ask this question, I am wary. " I read, sometimes I write and talk to people ' was my guarded answer. " Humphhh... " was her sole response which could have a variety of meanings. In the present case, it meant, " Well, you are a bit of alright. After all, you did not act superior and say I wouldn't understand. "
" Can you cook ? " I asked her.
" Well, I can make tea ".
" What about Rice or Chapatti ? "
" No "
" How did you learn making tea ? "
" Well, there was this Didi living next door to us and her mother was busy, so Didi let me make tea in her house. That was when I was young. I was only seven then. "
"How old are you now ? "
" I am eight ", making it sound like eighteen.
" Can you roast a papad ? "
" I have never done it but it is fairly easy. You buy a pair of tongs similar to the ones you use for picking up ice cubes and use them " , displaying her power of observation.
" Would you roast a papad for me when I come to your place ? ".
She nodded assent and our next date was made.
While this tete - a - tete was in progress, some people came into the next room and a rather loud discussion ensued among them. We had, therefore, to make our dialogue in some other form. Picking up a sheet from the desk calendar that she had carefully dusted earlier with her handkerchief, I made a doodle of a girl in pigtails and captioned it Neetu. I passed it on to her. In reply, she started to make one of me but did not succeed, so she gave it up. Picking up one more sheet, I wrote, Neetu is a naughty girl. She wrote back. No, I am not a naughty girl. Thank you.
After trading a few more insults, she came up with what she thought was an ultimate insult. She wrote, " You are my ontie ". I returned the paper merely correcting her spelling to Auntie. Disappointment and disbelief were writ large on her face. She was still unable to decide whether I was really feminine enough to accept her insult or whether the poisoned dart had made no dent in my armour when her father walked in to fetch her. May be, she will find out if and when she roasts that papad for me.
Returning to my cabin, I had almost forgotten about her. When she came in, she had a smile and an expectancy on the face as is proper for a girl out on her first date. We talked about the old days. Did she remenber our neighbours ? She did, except only us. she was however prepared to accept my assertion that we too were her neighbours. Establishment og friendly relations was not at all difficult. Very soon, she was cosy in my lap, chatting gaily and laughing a lot.
" What do you do in office ? " was a question that stumped me. I do not know how they do it but most children including my own, find out soon that all this talk about working hard in the office is actually a lot of humbug. So everytime that they ask this question, I am wary. " I read, sometimes I write and talk to people ' was my guarded answer. " Humphhh... " was her sole response which could have a variety of meanings. In the present case, it meant, " Well, you are a bit of alright. After all, you did not act superior and say I wouldn't understand. "
" Can you cook ? " I asked her.
" Well, I can make tea ".
" What about Rice or Chapatti ? "
" No "
" How did you learn making tea ? "
" Well, there was this Didi living next door to us and her mother was busy, so Didi let me make tea in her house. That was when I was young. I was only seven then. "
"How old are you now ? "
" I am eight ", making it sound like eighteen.
" Can you roast a papad ? "
" I have never done it but it is fairly easy. You buy a pair of tongs similar to the ones you use for picking up ice cubes and use them " , displaying her power of observation.
" Would you roast a papad for me when I come to your place ? ".
She nodded assent and our next date was made.
While this tete - a - tete was in progress, some people came into the next room and a rather loud discussion ensued among them. We had, therefore, to make our dialogue in some other form. Picking up a sheet from the desk calendar that she had carefully dusted earlier with her handkerchief, I made a doodle of a girl in pigtails and captioned it Neetu. I passed it on to her. In reply, she started to make one of me but did not succeed, so she gave it up. Picking up one more sheet, I wrote, Neetu is a naughty girl. She wrote back. No, I am not a naughty girl. Thank you.
After trading a few more insults, she came up with what she thought was an ultimate insult. She wrote, " You are my ontie ". I returned the paper merely correcting her spelling to Auntie. Disappointment and disbelief were writ large on her face. She was still unable to decide whether I was really feminine enough to accept her insult or whether the poisoned dart had made no dent in my armour when her father walked in to fetch her. May be, she will find out if and when she roasts that papad for me.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
BLACKIE, MY PET
We were enjoying Holi, the colour festival on the terrace of a house in our street. We had just moved in this neighbourhood and but for the shaking off of the inhibitions caused by the Holi festival, we might have taken some time to get acquainted with the neighbours.
After having played Holi among ourselves, we started ambushing the passes-by in the street with balloons filled with coloured water. We noticed the same activity from other terraces in the street as well. When there were no passers-by, we would fling balloons at people in adjacent as well as opposite terraces.
One little girl on the opposite terrace was valiantly trying to throw a balloon at me. Every time, her throw would fall short of me and i would encourage her to do better with the next one.
Next day, I found her standing in the street and crying. Asked what the matter was, she said that her father had not returned from the office and she did not have the key. I took her to our home. That ios how I acquired a new friend or how she came to adopt me and my family. She took to coming to our house every day and became more or less a member of the family. This is what happens wherever I am posted. Some or the other child gets attached to us and becomes an additional temporary member.
Her name is Shyamala and I call her Blackie. Blackie is 8 years old and very worldly wise for her age. Her mother, it seems, was away for quite some time and she lived alone with her father or " Fawther " as she would pronounce the word while referring to him. The father sometimes worked till late hours and Blackie would stay in one or the other house in the street awaiting his return. More often than not, ours was the house chosen by her.
By and by she took to helping my wife in the kitchen. Everyday she would come with a comb in her hand to get her hair dressed by my wife. She would play one or the other game with me. Mostly, it was cards.
Once I scolded her for some minor thing. Thereafter for a few days, she would address me as ' somebody '. If she was asked to enquire from me, if I needed tea, she would say " Does somebody need tea ? " If she wanted to play cards, she would say, " I shall play cards with everyone except " somebody ". Her feminine logic meant that I should force her to play as she associated coercion with masculinity. I would ignore her or try to placate her in a grandfatherly fashion or even cajole her in a little boy's fashion. This did not suit her. She wanted me to be a teen-aged male dominating his female playmate. My wife and mother would sometimes hint at the course to be adopted or rather not adopted with her but I would not budge. Finally we came to a compromise and she resumed speaking to me.
Once she seemed to suspect me of prying into her affairs. she assumed the role of a counter-espionage agent. Her first test on me was to bring a Panchtantra comic containing a story of a monkey who got his tail wedged below a heavy falling tree while prying into others' affairs. She expected me to behave in a mollified manner after this broad hint. I asked her bluntly why she wanted me to read this particular story. Why didn't she come out openly and say what she wanted. Her doubts dissolved, she served me my dinner to make up for her error of judgement.
I once told her that I wrote little pieces on women and children. " Would I write one on her ? " was her querry. " May be " I replied. Well, here it is, Blackie. Read it if you can find it, especially since you have gone into hiding expecting me to chase you like a Hindi film hero !
After having played Holi among ourselves, we started ambushing the passes-by in the street with balloons filled with coloured water. We noticed the same activity from other terraces in the street as well. When there were no passers-by, we would fling balloons at people in adjacent as well as opposite terraces.
One little girl on the opposite terrace was valiantly trying to throw a balloon at me. Every time, her throw would fall short of me and i would encourage her to do better with the next one.
Next day, I found her standing in the street and crying. Asked what the matter was, she said that her father had not returned from the office and she did not have the key. I took her to our home. That ios how I acquired a new friend or how she came to adopt me and my family. She took to coming to our house every day and became more or less a member of the family. This is what happens wherever I am posted. Some or the other child gets attached to us and becomes an additional temporary member.
Her name is Shyamala and I call her Blackie. Blackie is 8 years old and very worldly wise for her age. Her mother, it seems, was away for quite some time and she lived alone with her father or " Fawther " as she would pronounce the word while referring to him. The father sometimes worked till late hours and Blackie would stay in one or the other house in the street awaiting his return. More often than not, ours was the house chosen by her.
By and by she took to helping my wife in the kitchen. Everyday she would come with a comb in her hand to get her hair dressed by my wife. She would play one or the other game with me. Mostly, it was cards.
Once I scolded her for some minor thing. Thereafter for a few days, she would address me as ' somebody '. If she was asked to enquire from me, if I needed tea, she would say " Does somebody need tea ? " If she wanted to play cards, she would say, " I shall play cards with everyone except " somebody ". Her feminine logic meant that I should force her to play as she associated coercion with masculinity. I would ignore her or try to placate her in a grandfatherly fashion or even cajole her in a little boy's fashion. This did not suit her. She wanted me to be a teen-aged male dominating his female playmate. My wife and mother would sometimes hint at the course to be adopted or rather not adopted with her but I would not budge. Finally we came to a compromise and she resumed speaking to me.
Once she seemed to suspect me of prying into her affairs. she assumed the role of a counter-espionage agent. Her first test on me was to bring a Panchtantra comic containing a story of a monkey who got his tail wedged below a heavy falling tree while prying into others' affairs. She expected me to behave in a mollified manner after this broad hint. I asked her bluntly why she wanted me to read this particular story. Why didn't she come out openly and say what she wanted. Her doubts dissolved, she served me my dinner to make up for her error of judgement.
I once told her that I wrote little pieces on women and children. " Would I write one on her ? " was her querry. " May be " I replied. Well, here it is, Blackie. Read it if you can find it, especially since you have gone into hiding expecting me to chase you like a Hindi film hero !
IN PRAISE OF THOSE WHO CONFORM
Whenever I rebel against an event
Or a phenomenon.
I am only admitting that I do not
Comprehend the causes
Underlying that event.
The stronger my rebellion
The farther away am I
From the truth in the matter'
When I finally understand
What caused the event
I revolted against,
I hit upon the axiom
" What happens is right ".
For, what happens, is
A resultant of all the Forces
Of nature acting together.
And since even time, the
Fourth dimension has
participated, the result
Has got to be right.
Or a phenomenon.
I am only admitting that I do not
Comprehend the causes
Underlying that event.
The stronger my rebellion
The farther away am I
From the truth in the matter'
When I finally understand
What caused the event
I revolted against,
I hit upon the axiom
" What happens is right ".
For, what happens, is
A resultant of all the Forces
Of nature acting together.
And since even time, the
Fourth dimension has
participated, the result
Has got to be right.
IN DEFENCE OF THE NON - ELITE
Neither can art be eaten
Nor culture clothe a man.
It is farming that feeds one
And craft that covers him.
When food, clothes and shelter
Are adequate, can finer things come into play.
Priorities have to be given
What comes first at a given time ?
What indeed comes first ?
The tree or the seed ?
The hen or the egg ?
In the answer to that question
Relevant to the time, place and
Your circumstances, lies happiness galore.
Nor culture clothe a man.
It is farming that feeds one
And craft that covers him.
When food, clothes and shelter
Are adequate, can finer things come into play.
Priorities have to be given
What comes first at a given time ?
What indeed comes first ?
The tree or the seed ?
The hen or the egg ?
In the answer to that question
Relevant to the time, place and
Your circumstances, lies happiness galore.
Monday, August 15, 2011
PANTS DON''T MAKE A BOY
Four year old Preety is a delectable dumpling sweet enough to eat. She laughs a lot. She has also a lot of variety in her laughters. Only the discerning can understand what she means by each kind of laughter. She walked into my life one day last year, accompanied by her parents and a baby brother. Since then, she has been enchanting me with her laughters.
On that first meeting, I asked her, her name. " Preety " she said and laughed. This laugh meant, " Look at this silly uncle ! He does not even know that I am Preety. The next day, as I was about to leave for the office, there was a knock on the door. I opened the door and found Preety at the threshold. She looked at me and feeling that I had not paid sufficient attention to her, laughed. Now this laugh could only mean, " Wow ! Aren't you glad that I have come ? " naturally, i had to make amends for my behaviour. I picked her up and announced her arrival to my wife.
Another day, I started telling her that I too had a daughter also called Preety and that she was in Delhi. " Then whose am I ? " she asked bluntly. I had to reply that she too was mine. To this, she laughed meaning " So now you have come round, eh ? "
Once she came in when we were having snacks. I asked her if she would like to join us. She gave no reply but walked upto the dining table, picked up a banana, peeled it, took one bite and laughed. This time it meant, " How amusing ! Soes one behave so formally with one's own ? " And with that laughter, she adopted my wife and myself as her own.
I have yet to see a person with such an expressive laughter. Each and every laughter of hers has a different ring, different meaning to it. Once she returned from a longish vacation. We came across each other in a public gathering. On seeing me, she gave me a " So glad to see you after such a long time " titter. Partly because she had changed somewhat but majorly because I was lost in a reverie, I responded with an automatic smile that was a bit synthetic. She seemed to sense this and laughed again. This laughter sounded different and my reverie was broken. Previously I had only looked at her but now I noticed her. it was then that her second laughter registered on my mind as " Is it so long that you do not even recognize me ? "
Her most memorable laugh was given when we all were going to a party together. She came in, dressed in pants and a bush shirt. " So, you have become a boy ! " I exclaimed. She smugly said " Pants don't make a boy " and laughed.
On that first meeting, I asked her, her name. " Preety " she said and laughed. This laugh meant, " Look at this silly uncle ! He does not even know that I am Preety. The next day, as I was about to leave for the office, there was a knock on the door. I opened the door and found Preety at the threshold. She looked at me and feeling that I had not paid sufficient attention to her, laughed. Now this laugh could only mean, " Wow ! Aren't you glad that I have come ? " naturally, i had to make amends for my behaviour. I picked her up and announced her arrival to my wife.
Another day, I started telling her that I too had a daughter also called Preety and that she was in Delhi. " Then whose am I ? " she asked bluntly. I had to reply that she too was mine. To this, she laughed meaning " So now you have come round, eh ? "
Once she came in when we were having snacks. I asked her if she would like to join us. She gave no reply but walked upto the dining table, picked up a banana, peeled it, took one bite and laughed. This time it meant, " How amusing ! Soes one behave so formally with one's own ? " And with that laughter, she adopted my wife and myself as her own.
I have yet to see a person with such an expressive laughter. Each and every laughter of hers has a different ring, different meaning to it. Once she returned from a longish vacation. We came across each other in a public gathering. On seeing me, she gave me a " So glad to see you after such a long time " titter. Partly because she had changed somewhat but majorly because I was lost in a reverie, I responded with an automatic smile that was a bit synthetic. She seemed to sense this and laughed again. This laughter sounded different and my reverie was broken. Previously I had only looked at her but now I noticed her. it was then that her second laughter registered on my mind as " Is it so long that you do not even recognize me ? "
Her most memorable laugh was given when we all were going to a party together. She came in, dressed in pants and a bush shirt. " So, you have become a boy ! " I exclaimed. She smugly said " Pants don't make a boy " and laughed.
THE UNSUNG BREADMAN
I call him Breadman because he gave people their daily bread. he was a cook employed by the son-in-law of our neighbour. Whenever the daughter and son-in-law of our neighbour paid a visit, they brought him along. He was a deaf-mute and hence could not be left alone. He could not hear even a temple bell rung next to his ear and could only make incoherent sounds.
Barring this handicap, he was in excellent health. He was a good cook with a strong sense of smell. He got a lot of pleasure when the food cooked by him was appreciated. His eyes would light up like a pair of diamonds and he would make guttural sounds. He was great fun to us children.
If he was annoyed, he would drop metallic utensils on the floor or start playing music with a roller pin on metal containers. We would rush to the kitchen and ask him to stop the noise. " What noise ? " he would gesture, thereby indicating that what disturbed us had no effect whatsoever on him. Very often, he would go on doing the work in hand without the slightest sign of disturbance.
Once, we were playing cricket in the compound. He came and watched us for a while. Then he asked us what we were doing. I wrote in the dust with the help of my finger that it was a game called cricket. " Can I play ? " he gestured. We were too happy to get a good fielder whom as a batsman, we could easily dismiss, being a novice.
Most of us thereafter, malingered in the fielding. The cook would gleefully hop in long strides to the ball anywhere in the field. he took a special pleasure in catching the ball in the air. he was at first perplexed as to why the batsman was not given out everytime he caught the ball in the air. It took us some effort to explain to him the rule that the ball had to be caught in the air before it touched the ground after leaving the bat. he violently disagreed with the LBW rule on the ground that being hit in the legs was sufficient punishment to the batsman. By the time his turn came for batting, he had learnt all the rules of the game even if he disagreed with some of them. He was the last to bat and we vied with each other to bowl to him in the hope of earning a cheap wicket.
One after another, we bowled. Leg spin, off spin, googly, pace and so on. He held the bat like a club raised above his shoulders. Unerringly, he would smack the ball whether it was short pitched, good length, over pitched or full toss. As we grew tired, we started bending the rules, then making new rules such as the batsman having to field the ball, if it crossed the boundary line and finally outright cheating. nothing worked. By this time, the news had spread and some college going boys joined in. The distance between the stumps was surreptitiously reduced. The older boys had even lesser compunction than us in regard to the rules. They threw the ball at him instead of bowling. The deaf-mute batted on.. It was getting dark and we appealed for bad light. He rejected our appeal on the ground that he could still sight the ball. Finally some bright chap suggested to him that it would be a great honour if he retired. he did so with a K-R-E-E G-A-H kind of sound.
Instead of us chairing him, he chaired us, two on his shoulders, one on his back and two in his arms. He romped his way to the kitchen and deposited us on the floor simply by shaking himself.
There and then we resolved that we might hazard being on the wrong side of Sir Donald's bat but never again, would we ask this breadman to play with us. How about sending such a one to rescue our tiring, tiring, tired players on their losing forays abroad ?_
Barring this handicap, he was in excellent health. He was a good cook with a strong sense of smell. He got a lot of pleasure when the food cooked by him was appreciated. His eyes would light up like a pair of diamonds and he would make guttural sounds. He was great fun to us children.
If he was annoyed, he would drop metallic utensils on the floor or start playing music with a roller pin on metal containers. We would rush to the kitchen and ask him to stop the noise. " What noise ? " he would gesture, thereby indicating that what disturbed us had no effect whatsoever on him. Very often, he would go on doing the work in hand without the slightest sign of disturbance.
Once, we were playing cricket in the compound. He came and watched us for a while. Then he asked us what we were doing. I wrote in the dust with the help of my finger that it was a game called cricket. " Can I play ? " he gestured. We were too happy to get a good fielder whom as a batsman, we could easily dismiss, being a novice.
Most of us thereafter, malingered in the fielding. The cook would gleefully hop in long strides to the ball anywhere in the field. he took a special pleasure in catching the ball in the air. he was at first perplexed as to why the batsman was not given out everytime he caught the ball in the air. It took us some effort to explain to him the rule that the ball had to be caught in the air before it touched the ground after leaving the bat. he violently disagreed with the LBW rule on the ground that being hit in the legs was sufficient punishment to the batsman. By the time his turn came for batting, he had learnt all the rules of the game even if he disagreed with some of them. He was the last to bat and we vied with each other to bowl to him in the hope of earning a cheap wicket.
One after another, we bowled. Leg spin, off spin, googly, pace and so on. He held the bat like a club raised above his shoulders. Unerringly, he would smack the ball whether it was short pitched, good length, over pitched or full toss. As we grew tired, we started bending the rules, then making new rules such as the batsman having to field the ball, if it crossed the boundary line and finally outright cheating. nothing worked. By this time, the news had spread and some college going boys joined in. The distance between the stumps was surreptitiously reduced. The older boys had even lesser compunction than us in regard to the rules. They threw the ball at him instead of bowling. The deaf-mute batted on.. It was getting dark and we appealed for bad light. He rejected our appeal on the ground that he could still sight the ball. Finally some bright chap suggested to him that it would be a great honour if he retired. he did so with a K-R-E-E G-A-H kind of sound.
Instead of us chairing him, he chaired us, two on his shoulders, one on his back and two in his arms. He romped his way to the kitchen and deposited us on the floor simply by shaking himself.
There and then we resolved that we might hazard being on the wrong side of Sir Donald's bat but never again, would we ask this breadman to play with us. How about sending such a one to rescue our tiring, tiring, tired players on their losing forays abroad ?_
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
The Surrender
On a sunday evening, I felt suddenly tired and bathed with perpiration during a set of tennis. Walked out without playing any more. Went home, supped and slept. Woke up in the middle of the night, perspiring despite the winter. No sleep thereafter.
Saturday story was repeated on Sunday except that I was playing cricket with my kids and their cronies when it happened. Sunday night competed with Saturday night in keeping me awake. The result was a close tie. Something like the Brisbane Test Match.
Monday morning blues ! Without living up the weekend ! Never in my three year old friendship with Insomnia, did I feel so down and out. Rang up the doctor. Doctor was annoyed on hearing about pain in the chest and left arm. Actually more annoyed as I did not report earlier in the weekend. Ordered my admission to the hospital. I thought, maybe the doctor was himself suffering from Monday morning blues. Looked at my wife, hoping for a rescue operation. No expression. Looked again . Still no expression. Covering the phone mouthpiece, I provoked her. " Do you mind, if I go, get admitted to the hospital ? "
" You are unwell and the doctor says so. Therefore, you must. Your health comes first " said my Pativrata Nari.
" O.K. Doc ! I shall report to the hospital in an hour. " I gave in with what I thought was grace. The news electrified the house. Boys excited. Their hockey field was next to the hospital. Daughter and ma-in-law in tears. Yes, ma-in-law too ! And genuine, not crocodile ones, mind you ! Wife busy packing my earthly belongings between restrained sobs. Not having been a bride, I did not till then, understand why her family cries at the time of her departure. Now I did. I would make a bad bride though. I did not feel like crying. The bride ought to. At least good ones.
I wanted to go to hospital in style i.e. in an ambulance. Our driver foiled me however. He was ready with the ancient jeep at the gate. I hoped, as usual, it might not start. It did. I hoped as usual, it might fail on the way. It did not. And I was thus jeeped all the way to the hospital. In a most unpatient like manner. Like a bride being carried piggyback instead of in a palki. But then bad ones ought to be.
At the hospital door, I tried to act brave. After a few steps, the atmosohere got me. I started wobbling and leant on the wall for support. I was taken to my bed. Tucked in.
The hospital staff started trickling in. One brought a chair for my wife to sit on. Another wheeled in a roller coastered cabinet cum dining table. A third took my temperature and pulse. Wife left after a while. I explored around the bed. Found a bell switch. Just for the heck of it, pressed it. The bell rang. Not very musical. A tall and stately maid in a nurse's uniform appeared. I asked for water. She complied. Pressed the bell again. a sister of sweet innocence appeared. Mischief died on my lips. I asked for my lunch to be laid out. Ate, dozed off, thanks to the sleeping fraught adminstered earlier.
Woke up. Pressed the bell again. wanted to have another look at the tall and stately one. Instead, a loose limbed, languid one appeared. Asked for something. Got it. Pressed the bell again. A schoolgirlish one appeared. Hey ! Isn't there an end to this procession ? I call them Wish-Kanyas. Wish for something. Press the bell. Presto ! There she comes, even if she is not the one you wished for. All very conscientious in their duty, smiling, cheerful and making light of an obviously hard job. Kudos to them.
The matron once made an entry. She did not look matronly. Too young for that. Tried to sound like one, though. Said, I could not smoke while in the hospital. Pleaded for four cigarettes a day. She did not have the heart to say no. Weak spot there. Named her " Bokuni Di " meaning the adminishing elder sister in Bengali. She has not stopped admonishing since. Which little girl does like becoming a Didi and ordering younger siblings around ?
Night dawned. As they do for insomniacs. Switched on the light. Started reading. Night sister entered. Spoke. A tenor. Said, I ought not to read. I said, I knew. Went on reading. She brought a doze. Chloral. Knock out drops. Gave me. Expected me to be knocked out by it. I was. After two hours.
The night sister is like a speaking doll. Her brand new husband, a handsome, young, Army Jawan had come to see her on vacation from his field posting. The sister had her eyes glowing, the like of which can be seen only when women are in love. Bless her, dear God ! If and wherever you are !
E.C.G. done, blood sucked and tested, urine and stool tested, worms expelled - four of them, about 6" long (average). Aneama given, X - Ray taken. All hospital rituals over. Just when I was about to be comfortable in the hospital, wife asked me when I was getting discharged. What for ? I countered. I looked better, she said. Doctor agreed. Boss too said so. He went further - wanted me to get my head examined. By a proper head shrinker. Funny people these ! Dragged me to hospital when I didn't want to go. Want to drag me home when I am about to get set in the hospital. But then ...
That's how life is. You are but a pawn in the hands of the powers that be. Best not to struggle too hard. Fall in line.Go when you are dragged. Come when you are pushed out. Struggle a little though, otherwise even non-powers might push you around.
Saturday story was repeated on Sunday except that I was playing cricket with my kids and their cronies when it happened. Sunday night competed with Saturday night in keeping me awake. The result was a close tie. Something like the Brisbane Test Match.
Monday morning blues ! Without living up the weekend ! Never in my three year old friendship with Insomnia, did I feel so down and out. Rang up the doctor. Doctor was annoyed on hearing about pain in the chest and left arm. Actually more annoyed as I did not report earlier in the weekend. Ordered my admission to the hospital. I thought, maybe the doctor was himself suffering from Monday morning blues. Looked at my wife, hoping for a rescue operation. No expression. Looked again . Still no expression. Covering the phone mouthpiece, I provoked her. " Do you mind, if I go, get admitted to the hospital ? "
" You are unwell and the doctor says so. Therefore, you must. Your health comes first " said my Pativrata Nari.
" O.K. Doc ! I shall report to the hospital in an hour. " I gave in with what I thought was grace. The news electrified the house. Boys excited. Their hockey field was next to the hospital. Daughter and ma-in-law in tears. Yes, ma-in-law too ! And genuine, not crocodile ones, mind you ! Wife busy packing my earthly belongings between restrained sobs. Not having been a bride, I did not till then, understand why her family cries at the time of her departure. Now I did. I would make a bad bride though. I did not feel like crying. The bride ought to. At least good ones.
I wanted to go to hospital in style i.e. in an ambulance. Our driver foiled me however. He was ready with the ancient jeep at the gate. I hoped, as usual, it might not start. It did. I hoped as usual, it might fail on the way. It did not. And I was thus jeeped all the way to the hospital. In a most unpatient like manner. Like a bride being carried piggyback instead of in a palki. But then bad ones ought to be.
At the hospital door, I tried to act brave. After a few steps, the atmosohere got me. I started wobbling and leant on the wall for support. I was taken to my bed. Tucked in.
The hospital staff started trickling in. One brought a chair for my wife to sit on. Another wheeled in a roller coastered cabinet cum dining table. A third took my temperature and pulse. Wife left after a while. I explored around the bed. Found a bell switch. Just for the heck of it, pressed it. The bell rang. Not very musical. A tall and stately maid in a nurse's uniform appeared. I asked for water. She complied. Pressed the bell again. a sister of sweet innocence appeared. Mischief died on my lips. I asked for my lunch to be laid out. Ate, dozed off, thanks to the sleeping fraught adminstered earlier.
Woke up. Pressed the bell again. wanted to have another look at the tall and stately one. Instead, a loose limbed, languid one appeared. Asked for something. Got it. Pressed the bell again. A schoolgirlish one appeared. Hey ! Isn't there an end to this procession ? I call them Wish-Kanyas. Wish for something. Press the bell. Presto ! There she comes, even if she is not the one you wished for. All very conscientious in their duty, smiling, cheerful and making light of an obviously hard job. Kudos to them.
The matron once made an entry. She did not look matronly. Too young for that. Tried to sound like one, though. Said, I could not smoke while in the hospital. Pleaded for four cigarettes a day. She did not have the heart to say no. Weak spot there. Named her " Bokuni Di " meaning the adminishing elder sister in Bengali. She has not stopped admonishing since. Which little girl does like becoming a Didi and ordering younger siblings around ?
Night dawned. As they do for insomniacs. Switched on the light. Started reading. Night sister entered. Spoke. A tenor. Said, I ought not to read. I said, I knew. Went on reading. She brought a doze. Chloral. Knock out drops. Gave me. Expected me to be knocked out by it. I was. After two hours.
The night sister is like a speaking doll. Her brand new husband, a handsome, young, Army Jawan had come to see her on vacation from his field posting. The sister had her eyes glowing, the like of which can be seen only when women are in love. Bless her, dear God ! If and wherever you are !
E.C.G. done, blood sucked and tested, urine and stool tested, worms expelled - four of them, about 6" long (average). Aneama given, X - Ray taken. All hospital rituals over. Just when I was about to be comfortable in the hospital, wife asked me when I was getting discharged. What for ? I countered. I looked better, she said. Doctor agreed. Boss too said so. He went further - wanted me to get my head examined. By a proper head shrinker. Funny people these ! Dragged me to hospital when I didn't want to go. Want to drag me home when I am about to get set in the hospital. But then ...
That's how life is. You are but a pawn in the hands of the powers that be. Best not to struggle too hard. Fall in line.Go when you are dragged. Come when you are pushed out. Struggle a little though, otherwise even non-powers might push you around.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Travel Diary Day 13, 14 & 15
Travel Diary - Day 13, Day14. and Day 15
We took the morning flight to Shanghai from Shenzen. Unlike the internal flights within China such as Beijing-Xian, Xian-Guilin and Guilin-Shenzen, this flight from Shenzen to Shanghai was rather longish. We were served a brunch sort of a meal. I had earlier mentioned that Cathay Pacific would be our air carriers throughout the tour. This is not factually correct as I discovered. The internal flights within China were by the domestic airlines such as Air China or Southern China airlines. This stands to reason. Domestic airlines tend to be cheaper than International airlines and there is no reason for the tour operator to bear the extra burden.
On arrival, we were whisked off bag and baggage to Bund Water Front. A nice “ Ghat “ sort of structure has been built on the edge of the water where one can saunter, sit down and rest.. An underground tunnel has been built under the Huangpu river bed for going to the other side of the river. This is an area known as Pudong. While we travelled by an electro-mobile contrivance, our bus took the surface route via a ropeway bridge to pick us up on the other side. We were then taken to a Maglev train. Maglev is the short form of Magnetic Levitation. Here, the entire train does not touch the track. The track is what looked like concrete platform. Due to magnetic repulsion, the train stays above the track by a few inches as in a Hovercraft. In a Hovercraft, the craft stays above the surface by powerful blast of the air. In Maglev, it is because of the magnetic repulsion. In both cases, the craft or the train, on account of not coming in touch with the base, has no friction to overcome. High speeds can therefore be attained. The Maglev has the advantage that an entire train of a number of bogies can be carried while the Hovercraft can at the most be of a giant helicopter size. The Hovercraft scores over the Maglev on water surfaces where magnetic repulsion is difficult to create. We covered 30 kms distance to the airport in 7 minutes flat. The highest speed attained was 431 kms per hour. Every bogie in the train has a speedometer telling you the speed at which the train is travelling at any time. We felt that the train had considerably slowed down as it was approaching a station. However on looking at the speedometer, we found that the speed was 250 kms per hour ! As fast as the bullet train that we had travelled by in Japan. That was when we got a practical lesson in Relativity. After a speed of 431 kmph, a bullet train’s speed viz. 250 kmph seemed to be slow ! Before our leftist friends start crowing that the left – China is better in terms of technology than the right – Japan, let me deflate them. The technology is German and the equipment imported from Germany. Both Japan and China are unashamedly westernizing as I had mentioned earlier.
Next we went to an ocean aquarium. I had seen the Taraporewala Aquarium in Mumbai during my college days. This one is far larger in terms of size as well as the variety of shallow and deep water ocean creatures displayed. Next, we went to the city planning office. On one floor, is a scale model of the entire Shanghai city. You can view it at the same level as the model by going around it. For better appreciation, one can go to a higher floor, where there is an opening in the floor of a size bigger than the model. From an upper floor, you get a bird’s eye view of the entire city. Go to the topmost floor and you can view the city in actuality from the viewing gallery. This was the end of the day and we retired to the Hotel for the night. With our return to the motherland within hailing distance our weary bones picked up a new spirit.
The last day of the tour ! We went to Yu- Yuan garden complex. This is perhaps a feudal lord’s palace. A number of buildings to house the family members and concubines are inter connected by water canals, giving you an impression of Venice. Along the canals rockeries made from a variety of stones are built. In the old days, perhaps access was limited but now a large Bazaar has come up to cater to the tourists and the approach is quite crowded. We visited the Jade Buddha temple where a large size statue of Buddha is sculpted out of a single piece of jade stone. This Buddha is depicted as a young person. We also went to a temple of the reclining Buddha shown while resting. Next we went to a shopping centre with a very large number of shops selling a variety of goods After a field day of intense bargaining, all of us bought articles to take home. Our last item of the day was to the Shanghai Circus where we witnessed a spectacular acrobatic show. There were no animals in the circus.
On day 15, we boarded a flight to Hong Kong, reaching there in the night. We had to change flights here. Our friends from the South of India took a direct flight from Hong Kong while the rest of us took the flight to Mumbai. At the Hong Kong airport, I bought a couple of bottles of Chinese wine. We reached Mumbai at 1-30 A.M. Mr. Agarwal, my companion from Vadodara and I had a scare during this flight. He had misplaced his Passport somewhere and it was simply not found. An announcement was made on the public address system, air hostesses of all sizes and shapes were exhorted to locate it. All toilets and passages were minutely examined but to no avail. As we were nearing Mumbai, the worry was how could we get through Immigration without the passport. There are indeed some ways out for such exigencies but that would take time and we would miss our Shatabdi Express from Borivali to Vadodara which departed at 7-00 A.M. It was impossible to relax all through the flight. Even a couple of pegs of the Chivas Regal did not help much. A senior air hostess advised us to wait in the aircraft till everybody else had vacated and then to scour the area around our seats. We did so and on lifting Mr. Agarwal’s seat cushion, the passport was located to our great relief. How he managed to insert the passport between the cushion and the rest of the seat is a mystery that shall remain unresolved for ever. Not that it matters. We waited at the Mumbai airport till 4- 45 A.M. before taking a prepaid taxi. We were at the Borivali railway station by about 5-30 A.M. Then started the bargaining with the coolies. Thinking that two old men were at their mercy, they quoted exorbitant rates. We started shifting our luggage ourselves a few feet at a time. That brought their sense to the fore and they agreed to a comparatively reasonable rate. The Shatabdi duly arrived at 7 A.M. and we boarded it. This train like the Rajdhani serves tea breakfast etc. For me this was my first journey by this elite train. Reached Vadodara at 11-15 A.M. Anuj, Shri Agarwal’s son was on the platform to receive us and dropped me home in his car, Thus ended our 15 day visit to Japan and China.
Ramesh N Desai
We took the morning flight to Shanghai from Shenzen. Unlike the internal flights within China such as Beijing-Xian, Xian-Guilin and Guilin-Shenzen, this flight from Shenzen to Shanghai was rather longish. We were served a brunch sort of a meal. I had earlier mentioned that Cathay Pacific would be our air carriers throughout the tour. This is not factually correct as I discovered. The internal flights within China were by the domestic airlines such as Air China or Southern China airlines. This stands to reason. Domestic airlines tend to be cheaper than International airlines and there is no reason for the tour operator to bear the extra burden.
On arrival, we were whisked off bag and baggage to Bund Water Front. A nice “ Ghat “ sort of structure has been built on the edge of the water where one can saunter, sit down and rest.. An underground tunnel has been built under the Huangpu river bed for going to the other side of the river. This is an area known as Pudong. While we travelled by an electro-mobile contrivance, our bus took the surface route via a ropeway bridge to pick us up on the other side. We were then taken to a Maglev train. Maglev is the short form of Magnetic Levitation. Here, the entire train does not touch the track. The track is what looked like concrete platform. Due to magnetic repulsion, the train stays above the track by a few inches as in a Hovercraft. In a Hovercraft, the craft stays above the surface by powerful blast of the air. In Maglev, it is because of the magnetic repulsion. In both cases, the craft or the train, on account of not coming in touch with the base, has no friction to overcome. High speeds can therefore be attained. The Maglev has the advantage that an entire train of a number of bogies can be carried while the Hovercraft can at the most be of a giant helicopter size. The Hovercraft scores over the Maglev on water surfaces where magnetic repulsion is difficult to create. We covered 30 kms distance to the airport in 7 minutes flat. The highest speed attained was 431 kms per hour. Every bogie in the train has a speedometer telling you the speed at which the train is travelling at any time. We felt that the train had considerably slowed down as it was approaching a station. However on looking at the speedometer, we found that the speed was 250 kms per hour ! As fast as the bullet train that we had travelled by in Japan. That was when we got a practical lesson in Relativity. After a speed of 431 kmph, a bullet train’s speed viz. 250 kmph seemed to be slow ! Before our leftist friends start crowing that the left – China is better in terms of technology than the right – Japan, let me deflate them. The technology is German and the equipment imported from Germany. Both Japan and China are unashamedly westernizing as I had mentioned earlier.
Next we went to an ocean aquarium. I had seen the Taraporewala Aquarium in Mumbai during my college days. This one is far larger in terms of size as well as the variety of shallow and deep water ocean creatures displayed. Next, we went to the city planning office. On one floor, is a scale model of the entire Shanghai city. You can view it at the same level as the model by going around it. For better appreciation, one can go to a higher floor, where there is an opening in the floor of a size bigger than the model. From an upper floor, you get a bird’s eye view of the entire city. Go to the topmost floor and you can view the city in actuality from the viewing gallery. This was the end of the day and we retired to the Hotel for the night. With our return to the motherland within hailing distance our weary bones picked up a new spirit.
The last day of the tour ! We went to Yu- Yuan garden complex. This is perhaps a feudal lord’s palace. A number of buildings to house the family members and concubines are inter connected by water canals, giving you an impression of Venice. Along the canals rockeries made from a variety of stones are built. In the old days, perhaps access was limited but now a large Bazaar has come up to cater to the tourists and the approach is quite crowded. We visited the Jade Buddha temple where a large size statue of Buddha is sculpted out of a single piece of jade stone. This Buddha is depicted as a young person. We also went to a temple of the reclining Buddha shown while resting. Next we went to a shopping centre with a very large number of shops selling a variety of goods After a field day of intense bargaining, all of us bought articles to take home. Our last item of the day was to the Shanghai Circus where we witnessed a spectacular acrobatic show. There were no animals in the circus.
On day 15, we boarded a flight to Hong Kong, reaching there in the night. We had to change flights here. Our friends from the South of India took a direct flight from Hong Kong while the rest of us took the flight to Mumbai. At the Hong Kong airport, I bought a couple of bottles of Chinese wine. We reached Mumbai at 1-30 A.M. Mr. Agarwal, my companion from Vadodara and I had a scare during this flight. He had misplaced his Passport somewhere and it was simply not found. An announcement was made on the public address system, air hostesses of all sizes and shapes were exhorted to locate it. All toilets and passages were minutely examined but to no avail. As we were nearing Mumbai, the worry was how could we get through Immigration without the passport. There are indeed some ways out for such exigencies but that would take time and we would miss our Shatabdi Express from Borivali to Vadodara which departed at 7-00 A.M. It was impossible to relax all through the flight. Even a couple of pegs of the Chivas Regal did not help much. A senior air hostess advised us to wait in the aircraft till everybody else had vacated and then to scour the area around our seats. We did so and on lifting Mr. Agarwal’s seat cushion, the passport was located to our great relief. How he managed to insert the passport between the cushion and the rest of the seat is a mystery that shall remain unresolved for ever. Not that it matters. We waited at the Mumbai airport till 4- 45 A.M. before taking a prepaid taxi. We were at the Borivali railway station by about 5-30 A.M. Then started the bargaining with the coolies. Thinking that two old men were at their mercy, they quoted exorbitant rates. We started shifting our luggage ourselves a few feet at a time. That brought their sense to the fore and they agreed to a comparatively reasonable rate. The Shatabdi duly arrived at 7 A.M. and we boarded it. This train like the Rajdhani serves tea breakfast etc. For me this was my first journey by this elite train. Reached Vadodara at 11-15 A.M. Anuj, Shri Agarwal’s son was on the platform to receive us and dropped me home in his car, Thus ended our 15 day visit to Japan and China.
Ramesh N Desai
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