ഒരു കന്നഡ ടാക്സി യാത്ര

Tweet

ബാംഗ്ലൂരില്‍ താമസം തുടങ്ങിയിട്ട് തുമ്പ കാലമായെങ്കിലും കന്നഡ മാതാടുന്ന കാര്യത്തില്‍ വളരെ പുറകിലാണ് ഞാന്‍. ഇവിടെ മിക്കവാറും പേര്‍ക്കു ഹിന്ദിയും ഇംഗ്ലീഷും മനസ്സിലാവും എന്നതു കൊണ്ട് കാര്യങ്ങള്‍ എളുപ്പത്തില്‍ നടക്കും. അതുമല്ലെങ്കില്‍ നമ്മള്‍ ചെന്നു കേറുന്ന സൂപ്പര്‍ മാര്‍ക്കറ്റ്‌ ഒരു മലയാളിയുടെതാകാന്‍ സാധ്യത വളരെ കൂടുതലുമാണ്.

കഴിഞ്ഞ ദിവസം അവിടവിടെ തട്ടിമുട്ടി കുറച്ചു വാക്കുകള്‍ എടുത്തു കാച്ചുന്നതു കണ്ട എന്‍റെ സുഹൃത്ത് (ആന്ധ്രാക്കാരി) “ജീനയ്ക്ക് കന്നഡ അറിയാമല്ലേ?” എന്നു ചോദിച്ചപ്പോള്‍ നന്നായി സുഖിച്ചു. എങ്കിലും കുറ്റം സമ്മതിച്ചു: “ഒരു പത്തോ പതിനഞ്ചോ വാക്ക് അറിയാം. അതു വച്ച് ഒപ്പിക്കാവുന്നത് ഒപ്പിക്കും. സ്റ്റോക്ക് തീര്‍ന്നു കഴിയുമ്പോ ഏറ്റവും അടുത്തുള്ള മറുഭാഷയിലേക്ക് ചാടും.”

കന്നടയിലും ലാലേട്ടന്‍റെ ഹിന്ദി പോലെ പാളം തെറ്റാന്‍ തക്കത്തിന് കുറെ ഗ്രാമര്‍ ഉണ്ട്. അതു കൊണ്ടു തന്നെ എന്‍റെ കന്നഡ പ്രയോഗം തുടങ്ങി ഏതാനും നിമിഷങ്ങള്‍ക്കിടയില്‍ ഇങ്ങോട്ടു ചോദ്യം വരും: “മാഡം ഹിന്ദിയാണോ?”

മുഖത്തെ മഞ്ഞളിപ്പ് മറച്ചു വച്ച് അന്തസ്സായി പറയും, “അല്ല, മലയാളം.”

കഴിഞ്ഞ ദിവസം സിറ്റിയിലേക്ക് പോകാന്‍ ടാക്സി വിളിച്ചു. സുമുഖനും പ്രസന്നവദനനും, അതിനു ചേര്‍ന്ന പേരിന്‍റെ ഉടമസ്ഥനുമായ ഒരു ചെറുപ്പക്കാരന്‍ ഒരു വെളുത്ത കാറുമായി എത്തി.

രാവിലെയായതു കൊണ്ട് ട്രാഫിക്ക് ഉണ്ടോ എന്നു കന്നഡത്തില്‍ ചോദിച്ചു. അറിയില്ല, ഞാന്‍ വീട്ടില്‍ നിന്ന് നേരിട്ട് വരികയാണ്, വീട് ഇവിടെ അടുത്തു തന്നെയാണ്, എന്നു മറുപടിയും കിട്ടി. ആദ്യത്തെ പ്രശ്നോത്തരി പാസായതു കൊണ്ട് ഞാന്‍ ധൈര്യം സംഭരിച്ച് ട്രാഫിക്കിനെ പറ്റി ഒന്നു രണ്ട് അഭിപ്രായങ്ങള്‍ നിരത്തി. ഉടന്‍ തന്നെ “മാഡം ഹിന്ദിയാണോ”, “അല്ല മലയാളം” എന്ന സ്ഥിരം ഡയലോഗ് ഞങ്ങള്‍ കൈമാറി.

ഒരല്പം ചമ്മിയെങ്കിലും വിട്ടു കൊടുത്തില്ല. കൈയിലുള്ള പത്തു വാക്കും എടുത്തു പയറ്റി. പിന്നെ കുറെ നേരം ഫോണില്‍ നോക്കിയിരുന്നു. മുക്കാല്‍ മണിക്കൂറെടുക്കും എത്തേണ്ടിടത്ത് എത്താന്‍. അതു വരെ ഈ പത്തു വാക്കുകള്‍ കൊരുത്ത് പ്രയത്നിക്കാന്‍ കെല്‍പ്പില്ല.

അയാള്‍ ഇടയ്ക്കിടെ എന്തൊക്കെയോ പറഞ്ഞു. കണ്ണാടിയില്‍ കൂടെ എന്‍റെ റിയാക്ഷന്‍ നോക്കി. അയാള്‍ ചിരിച്ചപ്പോള്‍ ഞാനും ചിരിച്ചു. ഇടയ്ക്കു തലയാട്ടി. ഇടയ്ക്കു “ഹാവ്ദാ?” എന്ന് ആശ്ചര്യത്തോടെ ചോദിച്ചു. ദൂരെ പാലം കടന്നു നീളുന്ന ട്രാഫിക്ക് നോക്കി അയാളെന്തോ പറഞ്ഞപ്പോള്‍ ഞാനും ‘ശോ, എന്തൊരു ട്രാഫിക്ക്’ എന്ന അര്‍ത്ഥത്തില്‍ തല കുലുക്കി. അടുത്തു കൂടെ കടന്നു പോയ വിലകൂടിയ വണ്ടി ചൂണ്ടി കാണിച്ചിട്ട് അയാള്‍ പറഞ്ഞു, എല്ലാര്‍ക്കും ജാഗ്വാറും ബി.എം.ഡബ്ല്യുവും വേണം, റോഡിലാണെങ്കില്‍ സ്ഥലവുമില്ല. അങ്ങനെ തന്നെയാണോ പറഞ്ഞത് എന്നെനിക്ക് യാതൊരു ഉറപ്പുമില്ല, പക്ഷേ അതു പോലെയൊക്കെ തന്നെ തോന്നിയതു കൊണ്ട് ഞാനും നീട്ടി മൂളി.

കുറച്ചു ദൂരം കഴിഞ്ഞപ്പോള്‍ പ്രസന്നവദനന്‍ കണ്ണാടിയില്‍ നോക്കി എന്തോ പറഞ്ഞിട്ട് ചിരിച്ചു. ഞാനും അങ്ങോട്ട്‌ നോക്കി നല്ലവണ്ണം ചിരിച്ചു കഴിഞ്ഞപ്പോള്‍ എനിക്കൊരു ചിന്ന ഡൗട്ട്.

“കുറെ നേരമായല്ലോ ഞാന്‍ പറയുന്നതും കേട്ടിരിക്കുന്നു. ഒരു വസ്തു മനസ്സിലാകുന്നില്ലെങ്കിലും തല കുലുക്കി ഇരിക്കുവാ അല്ലെ” എന്നായിരിക്കുമോ അയാള്‍ പറഞ്ഞത്? അതിനും ഞാന്‍ നല്ലവണ്ണം തല കുലുക്കി ചിരിച്ചു കൊടുത്തിട്ടുണ്ട്.

പിന്നെ കൂടുതല്‍ നാണം കെടാതെയിരിക്കാന്‍ ഫോണില്‍ സഹപ്രവര്‍ത്തകനെ വിളിച്ച് ഒന്ന് രണ്ടു കാര്യങ്ങള്‍ മലയാളത്തില്‍ ചോദിച്ചു. പിന്നെ ഫോണില്‍ നിന്ന് തലയുയര്‍ത്താതെ ഇരുന്നു. വാട്ട്സ് ആപ്പില്‍ പോലും ഒരു മനുഷ്യന്‍ മിണ്ടുന്നില്ല. എന്നാലും അതും നോക്കി മുകളിലേക്കും താഴേക്കും സ്ക്രോള്‍ ചെയ്തു കൊണ്ടിരുന്നു. എനിക്ക് ഒരുപാടു പണിയുണ്ട് എന്നു തോന്നിക്കാന്‍ മുഖത്ത് ഗൗരവഭാവം വരുത്തി. പുറത്തേക്കു നോക്കി ആലോചനയില്‍ മുഴുകി.

ബാംഗ്ലൂരില്‍ സ്ഥിരതാമസമാക്കുന്നതിനും എട്ടോ പത്തോ വര്‍ഷം മുന്‍പ് ഉഡുപ്പിയില്‍ കുറച്ചു നാള്‍ താമസിക്കാനിടയായിരുന്നു. ഒരു ദിവസം മുടി വെട്ടാമെന്നു കരുതി ഒരു പാര്‍ലറില്‍ കയറി. പെട്ടെന്നു തീരുമാനിച്ചതായതു കൊണ്ട് തലയിലെ എണ്ണമയം കഴുകി കളഞ്ഞിട്ടില്ലായിരുന്നു.

ചീകി തുടങ്ങിയതും മുടി വെട്ടുന്ന പെണ്‍കുട്ടി എന്തോ എന്നോടു പറഞ്ഞു തുടങ്ങി. കന്നഡയില്‍ എനിക്ക് അക്കാലത്ത് ആകെ അറിയാവുന്ന വാക്ക് ‘ഉഡുപ്പി’. മുടിയെ കുറിച്ചാണ് ഇവര്‍ പറയുന്നത് എന്നു മാത്രം മനസ്സിലായി. ഞാന്‍ മുന്‍പിലുള്ള കണ്ണാടിയിലൂടെ അവരെ തന്നെ തുറിച്ചു നോക്കി. എന്‍റെ മുഖം കണ്ടാല്‍ ആര്‍ക്കും മനസ്സിലാകും ഞാന്‍ ‘കുന്തം വിഴുങ്ങി’ ഇരിക്കുകയാണെന്ന്. പക്ഷേ ഈ കുട്ടിയാണെങ്കില്‍ എന്നെ നോക്കുന്നതേയില്ല. കുറെ നേരം എന്നെ ഉപദേശിച്ചു. “എനിക്കൊന്നും മനസ്സിലാകുന്നില്ല” എന്നു പറയാന്‍ പോലും ആ പെണ്‍കുട്ടി എനിക്ക് ഒരു ഗ്യാപ്പ് തന്നില്ല. അവസാനം ഒരു വിധത്തില്‍ മുടി വെട്ടി തീര്‍ന്നു. പൈസ കൊടുത്തു ഞാന്‍ അവിടെ നിന്ന് ഇറങ്ങി. കുറെ നേരം കഴിഞ്ഞ് ആലോചിച്ചു നോക്കിയപ്പോഴാണ് മുടിയിലെ എണ്ണയെ കുറിച്ചുള്ള ലെക്ചര്‍ ആയിരുന്നു അതെന്നു മനസ്സിലായത്. പത്തു പതിനഞ്ചു മിനിറ്റോളം തലകുലുക്കുകയോ മറുപടി പറയുകയോ മൂളുകയോ ചെയ്യാത്ത എന്നോട് അവര്‍ നിര്‍ത്താതെ വര്‍ത്തമാനം പറഞ്ഞതിനെ കുറിച്ച് ഇപ്പോഴും എനിക്ക് അത്ഭുതമാണ്.

45 മിനിട്ട് കഴിഞ്ഞപ്പോള്‍ പ്രസന്നവദനന്‍ എന്നെ പറഞ്ഞ സ്ഥലത്ത് എത്തിച്ചു. എന്‍റെ കൈയില്‍ ചില്ലറ ഇല്ലാത്തതു കൊണ്ട് രണ്ടു രൂപ കുറച്ചാണ് കൊടുത്തത്. അതു മതിയെന്നും, അങ്ങോട്ട്‌ ഡോര്‍ തുറക്കുമ്പോള്‍ വണ്ടി വരുന്നുണ്ടോ എന്നു ശ്രദ്ധിച്ച് ഇറങ്ങണമെന്നും പറഞ്ഞ് സന്തോഷത്തോടെ അയാള്‍ യാത്രയായി.

അയാള്‍ എന്നെ കളിയാക്കിയതല്ല എന്നും കൊച്ചു വര്‍ത്തമാനം പറഞ്ഞ് യാത്ര ചെയ്‌താല്‍ ട്രാഫിക്ക് ഒരു മുഷിപ്പായി തോന്നില്ലല്ലോ എന്നോര്‍ത്തായിരിക്കും എന്നും എനിക്കു നല്ലവണ്ണം അറിയാവുന്നതു കൊണ്ട് ഞാന്‍ അയാള്‍ക്ക് ടാക്സി ആപ്പില്‍ അഞ്ചു സ്റ്റാറും കൊടുത്തു.

Tweet

An exercise in Murphy's Law

Tweet

First it was the rain.

Come to think of it, there is almost always a root cause that sets the whole Murphy's Law mechanism in motion.

I booked a cab as usual. The last time I had booked one, we had reached fifteen minutes early. You know Ola, they always have a car two minutes away from my place. Always. But not this time. The rain, as I said. And the cabs began to vanish right before my eyes, from the app. Finally, I find one fourteen minutes away. Fourteen minutes. We'll be late by a couple of minutes, but that's okay, I thought.

After ten minutes, I can still see the cab driver ten minutes away on the app. I call him up. "Rain, Madam!" he says. "Traffic! Rain! I'm coming."

My son is becoming restless. He will be late for his football coaching. We watch the car progress inch by inch through the highway (through the tracking option in the app). Finally he is here. Ten minutes for the coaching to start. "We're going to be very late," I said to my son. I have an inkling that we're going to be very very late. He wriggled his hands and made a complaining face.

The distance to the destination - eight-ish kilometres - can be covered in fifteen minutes, on a clear and sunny day with no chance of meatballs. Apart from a fair amount of traffic, there is a railway gate and a handful of traffic signals on the way. On normal days, one of these will delay us by five minutes. One of these, mind you. You now know which way the story is headed.

The rain is quite intense as we get into the car. We begin to crawl forward. There are vehicles everywhere. One wonders whether they all fell from the sky with the rain. The first traffic signal is red. Of course.

The railway gate is closed. Naturally.

When the gate is opened, there is the usual mad rush to beat everyone to the other side. One decent truck driver has placed himself diagonally across the gate. He came from the perpendicular road and had to make a 90 degree to enter the railway gate, but got stuck at 45. With cars on all sides, a BMTC bus's nose almost touching his butt, a scooter scampering through the gaps, there is no way he can. No one can move unless this guy evaporates into thin air.

My son and I watch this deadlock in exasperation. The coaching must have begun now. He has tears in his eyes. He hates being late. He looks at me as if I am to blame.

The truck driver and the car facing him engage in a dance. We're right behind this car. The car dude finally gives in and reverses. He takes himself to one side, out of the way. Did I tell you we were stranded right on top of the railway tracks, between the two gates, all this time? A train or an engine that decided to take an evening stroll through the tracks would have really added colour to the scene.

There is a gap where the car was. The truck inches forward, and other vehicles squeeze in. Everyone ignores the car which had given way. He is stuck by the side and would not be able to move until the madness is over.

Finally all is well and the truck makes its turn, the car dude swears never to drive again on a rainy day (among other things), and we continue on our paths.

The rain gets heavier and the road is flooded. We reach the next traffic junction. I see green light from a distance. When we approach, it turns to red. The countdown begins at 120. We stare at it in disbelief. "Sometimes, everything that can go wrong, will," I said wisely to my son. He did not seem very impressed or comforted.

The longest two minutes passed. I expected a traffic light malfunction or something else that would delay us another ten minutes. Wonder why that didn't happen.

We crawl (wade?) in the rain and reach twenty minutes past the time. By then we both have attained a Zen level of calm. My son is just relieved that we made it before the coaching is over.

As I pay the driver and get out, I look up at the sky. It promises another episode one hour later, when it is time to return home.

Tweet

Monkey Business

Tweet

A few days ago, while I was working in the afternoon, there was a movement at the window I was facing. I saw nothing when I looked up. Now, anyone with a ladder can reach my house from the basement level. A few fleeting thoughts about thieves and criminals (and I suspect, even terrorists) crossed my mind. In that fraction of a second I took to rise from my seat, I am sure my heart had reached its maximum pounding rate. I peeked through the window, saw nothing, so I decided to be bold for the sake of appearances, and opened the door. Imagine my surprise when I saw a monkey perching on the rails, looking back at me as though I were the intruder in his (her?) house.

What passed through my mind wasn’t exactly relief, but a close relative of it. It was not a human – that was a consolation, for I had no experience in handling thieves; but it was an animal – that was a worry, for what was it doing on my balcony and how do I get rid of it?

I tried to shoo it away – I was standing at a safe distance, and my foot was in the door so that I could escape at short notice (if the wild animal decided to turn wild). But my shooing clearly conveyed to it that I was one frightened being. It bared its teeth in offense and it was all I could do not to dart inside and slam the door. Then it decided that fun was over, and hopped to the neighbour’s balcony.

Later that evening, I heard of its many adventures from different parts of the apartment. The animal was spotted wandering, idling, searching, and in one place, it had managed to reach the kitchen, from where it was devouring freshly prepared beans fry when the owner of the fry surprised it.

There was an estate nearby, full of trees, and not long ago, we used to have frequent visits from monkeys on our balcony and surrounding areas. They used to soil the clothes on our cloth-line, and leave waste behind. Snakes were also occasionally seen, and many birds and butterflies frequented our neighbourhood. Then more buildings began to appear, and the trees in the estate were cut down – we heard that a posh apartment or a mall was coming up. We groaned, but we were partly thankful when the ‘animal menace’ seemed to reduce. So it was a surprise when a monkey was sighted again, and not just in the vicinity, but right on our doorstep, like in the good old times.

The next morning I found water dripping from my neighbour’s balcony and went to investigate. (The owners were away.) It was obvious that the monkey had left the tap open after taking a swig, the previous evening. It occurred to me for the first time that the animal was here for a purpose. Summer had begun overnight. Just a few days before, we were still in the throes of a severe winter and one fine morning we realised that summer, as dry and hot as you please, was here. No transition, no delay, no pause; no time to catch our breath.

When the maid came into clean my house that day, I told her about the visit, and reminded her to keep our door closed, so that monkeys don’t come in and sneak off our precious meal. She agreed with me that the afternoons are hot and that there is no water to be found for these beings. She lives in a one-room house with her family, at a nearby school. She informed me that they keep a little water outside during the day, for the animals. They see birds and small animals coming to drink, she said. I thought that was good, and I even considered for a moment keeping some water out for the birds. But of course, if the monkeys come to my balcony, I would not be happy – they sure do know how to leave a mess. My dilemma was resolved in a couple of days when the summer showers hit the city. I hoped that wherever they were, the animals and birds got some reprieve from the heat.

Where do these animals, stuck in the urban world, normally find their food and water? Do we even care? We’re just relieved that they aren’t encroaching our space, harming our children and stealing our food. We cannot ‘co-exist’ in the true sense of the word. When nature marches into our lives, we take desperate measures to keep her out. To live a civilised life as humans, we need to keep nature trimmed and well-behaved and on our terms. That isn’t co-existence. If you keep your distance, we may keep ours. If you are hungry, we don’t care. When it comes to us versus animals, we vote for us. Naturally.

The deadlock between man and nature continues.

Tweet

Canine Transformations

Tweet

The dogs in my neighbourhood become Nagavallis at night.

I know that statement requires some explanation, but if you are wondering who Nagavalli is, I suggest you quit reading and leave.

Yes, the dogs in question are strays - but on second thought, I am sure that part requires no explanation whatsoever. Every city and town, every village and mall, every residence and school has its own share of homeless canines yawning and curling up as they are wont to do. It's a very Indian love-for-animals-and-let-them-live thing. The yawning and curling up must have something to do with their upbringing.

Without venturing into the reason behind these domestic wild animals running amok in our streets, I would just say that the dogs in the street before my house are purring kittens during the day time. Or eager ponies, if you like - given the way they trot around the area, looking important and dutiful.

I wonder what those expatriates living in those posh apartments yonder find in them - I see them stop their cars and beckon the doggies to them, some even call them by name, and I've seen one lady going to the nearest shop to buy biscuits so that she can place one by one in their hungry mouths. You should see how the tails wag all over the place, colliding against each other and against other cars that pass by. Some drivers stop at a safe distance to watch the show.

But come nightfall, a fearsome change comes over them. (Not the drivers, the dogs.) And what do you call a person who becomes another terrifying creature at night? Yeah. You know who. (Forgive me, Lord Voldemort, Nagavalli still lives.)

One night when we were returning home, we saw our friendly neighbourhood canine wag-the-tails lounging in the middle of the road, absolutely not wagging their tails. Granted, traffic was sparse at the time, but the middle of the well-lit street wasn't exactly their living room, was it? There was no sign of yawning or curling either.

Our car approached them cautiously, but they didn't budge. We took a slight detour around them. Two of them took offence at our action. They grunted their disapproval, as though they were issuing a warning. As we passed, they lunged at the car, almost scratching it. We raced out of the scene for dear life.

The next morning, I saw them again, trotting by our gate, calm and kind and loving, waiting for their biscuit delivery persons.

I am sure there is a very, very interesting story behind their curious transformation. Another Manichitrathaazh in the making...?

Tweet

A Mother's routine for the Summer

Tweet

Get up late.
Wonder whether having breakfast is a good idea, or should one go directly to lunch? Or be fancy and settle for 'brunch'?
Suddenly remember that it is a working day, though it is a holi-holiday for the child.
Rush and go through the pending works in panic. Including, throwing together some edible items into a plate and calling it breakfast for the child.
Then remember that there are chores to attend to, that need to be addressed rightaway.
Dash madly between the kitchen and the washing machine and the work desk and the bathroom and the balcony and the bedrooms, in an absent-minded effort to finish tasks.
Heat. Hot. Hotter.

Flop down exhausted and see how much work is pending: as much as it was two hours ago.

Try not to get distracted when the child runs in and out every five minutes picking up his cricket bat, throwing his football, pulling out his skateboard, tossing his sandals, and yelling and screaming.
Have lunch, two hours behind schedule.
Read SMS about rains (with thunder and lightning, no less) in Kerala and get very irritated at the injustice.
Afternoon nap. Ah, bliss.
It is evening already and a lot of work is still pending.
Mosquitoes.
TV time - an hour of (semblance of) peace-of-mind.
10pm: mostly-uninterrupted work begins.

Tweet

When is the Aam Aadmi Party?

Tweet

"We should go to the Aam Admi Party", said my son, a few days ago.

I was surprised. Did they show election news in Cartoon Network, or did the children discuss politics while playing football? I considered making a "good-parent" statement that I appreciated his views on politics. ("Wait a minute," I said to myself. "He is only eight years old.")

I then pondered over giving a lecture on different ideals and mottos and purposes and even venturing into each party's manifesto (I love the way he listens, wide-eyed), but thought it better to simply ask, "Where did you hear that from?"

It turns out that there was an auto rickshaw (with loudspeakers playing songs) that had been touring the neighbourhood a week ago, distributing AAP caps and asking the kids to make sure their vote went to the common man's party. Needless to say, the kids were impressed. If there is a common man's party, that's where they will go.

While we're on the topic, I'd like to suggest that political parties seriously consider recruiting these under-12 beings for their campaign. For one thing, they don't charge a paisa, as long as you give them a free cap or just allow them to hang around. For another, they will yell their throat out Inquilab Zindabad-ing for you. As in the case of everything that comes free, there is a downside to this too - in the middle of a burst of "AAP Zindabad", someone would insert a "Modiji" and the whole chant would swing to "Modiji zindabad" from which, recovery is tough. (Congress hasn't caught up in this part of the Little World yet.)

"The Aam Aadmi Party is the best," my son added. "When is it?"

That's when I realised that all the while, my little one had imagined AAP to be One Big Happy Party where the Common Men got together and shared free drinks and food, and chatted for a while, probably danced a bit too, and then went home.

And at that moment, I hated all political parties for misleading us all by calling themselves "Parties."

Tweet

The World This Week

Tweet

A woman in faded saree sweeps the floor of a hotel where hundreds come to eat every morning. As she works, she thinks of her children and their school fees and the price of rice and their house that is falling apart.

The waiter almost trips over her broom, a curse rises to his lips, but he refrains from uttering it.

The customer blames the waiter for bringing him tea instead of coffee and turns to his wife to discuss the EMI on their house and other rising expenses.

The wife thinks of the little she has saved for medical emergencies and wonders if she should burrow into it. She looks at the woman with the broom and smiles. The sweeper looks again, not certain if the smile was meant for her, and struggles to coax a smile out.

In the conference room, an engineer demonstrates the path-breaking new product he is launching. He has invested in a number of people and organizations; he is aware that the world is observing his actions keenly. A great many things could ride on his wave of success.

The employee waits for a reply - at the very least an acknowledgement - from his Boss.

The cab driver waits in the sun for his passenger, then waits for the traffic to move at rush hour, then drops his passenger and waits for the next call.

A man loses his job of twenty years because his company decides to close down their operations in that region.

A mother yells at her son for not studying for his exams. She fears she is not trying hard enough to make him learn. She fears if he does not fare well, it would be her fault.

A teacher takes a deep breath, closes her eyes and takes the plunge into the unknown, risking everything she has built in ten years.

The writer continues to write and to wait for a reply from any of the agents or publishers she has queried.

Grandchildren look forward to a summer vacation with their grandparents.

March prepares to march out of sight.

The haunting rumble of an airplane every night at the same time brings back painful memories of a vanished aircraft.

Meanwhile in the North East, a doctor battles cough at the inauguration of a clinic that takes him one step closer to his dream of bringing relief to the suffering millions of his country.

Tweet

Spring

Tweet

Photo by @agnnair, Bangalore, 2010

Spring in Bangalore is a very brief affair. It creeps in through an open window or a gap under the door, and catches us by surprise. It does not announce its arrival with the drumbeats of thunder or the music of rains or the winds of heat or the chill of sunset. One day you switch on the fan because you feel warm, but you keep your blankets on because you feel cold, and then you ask yourself, is it here yet?

It comes in different disguises and makes us wonder if it really is what it claims to be. And before you know it, it has gone out the back door and vanished into the woods. Blink and you will miss it. Breathe in, breathe out, and Spring is over. As though Winter had paused on the doorstep to catch its breath before handing the baton to Summer, and this merry little fellow with flowers in its hair and a sparkle in its eye slipped in where it wasn't normally allowed. As though Summer, just before pouring the cauldron of boiling water over April and May, let Spring have a look around, with a stern warning that it shouldn't break a thing.

Like a spoilt kid, it runs around the house, hands outstretched, squealing, breaking bottles of honey, leaving ripples of laughter in its wake and causing blossoms of all colours to burst open and flutter and blush.

Then Summer storms in like a stern teacher and scowls at the pretty, fragrant mess, and this cheery little bloke chuckles in glee and takes off, leaving behind flowers to grieve and wither and fade and wait for its return the next year.

Blink, and you will miss it.

Tweet

That's how they make them - White, Black and Gray

Tweet

Monsoon Sky: pic taken last month. 
Click to enlarge

Older posts on the Monsoon:
Chasing the Monsoon
Monsoon, is it or is it not?
Big, Bad Monsoon
Ramblings of the season

Tweet

Autos and seatbelts

Tweet

Every time I visit Kerala, some one or the other reminds me to fasten my seatbelt in the car otherwise 'the traffic cops would be on you in no time' - this being a comparatively recent law in the State. This, considering the fact that there are still ancient cars on the road that do not have anything that closely resembles seat belts.

But that is far from the point.
Pray, why does no one ever think of enforcing seat-belts for autos? No, before you dismiss the suggestion with a smirk and a wave of your hand, do listen to my tale.

Last week I had an opportunity to travel from M.G.Road to Koramangala in an auto rickshaw, bumping and bouncing over the road, the driver not glancing back once to ensure his passenger was safe in her seat. In fact, I am thankful that when he reached the destination, I was still perched in his vehicle to pay him for his services, for I had clung to the bar behind his seat for dear life.

I shudder to think what would have happened had that bar not existed in the auto. I would have blown away (yes, I said 'blown away') through the wide open doors of the auto and vanished into the oblivion they call Bangalore Traffic.

Hence the thought, why aren't there any seatbelts in autos? If any of you have a clue, do share.

Tweet

BBF-09 and the Stall of @Pothidotcom

Tweet

( I am back-posting this blog as KSEB(Electricity) and BSNL(Internet) conspired against me last night, and I want this to go with Friday's date, when I actually composed it..)
 
The seventh edition of the Bangalore Book Festival has taken off at the Palace Grounds, Mekhri Circle, today. Even though the fair was opened in the morning, the formal inauguration took place at 5(-ish) in the evening. I have been a regular at the Book Fest the last couple of years, dropping in at least twice during the ten days, and picking up a bunch of books. I did not know that this year, I would drop in there as a nail-biting participant whose books are on sale and who hopes that the visitors grab her books as soon as they set their eyes on it.

I visited the stall of Pothi.com with my son, and also wandered around the other stalls. Being a week day and the first day of the fair, the visitors were minimal, the women at the ticket counter were free enough to give me a big smile and share pleasantries, and I had difficulty in dodging a person at a stall who was after me trying to sell educational stuff for my son - I was perhaps the first visitor with a child. Darn, I had to leave my phone number with her.
But,... Boy! What an awesome collection of books. There were over 320+ stalls, truly it was a Book Feast for the eyes.

Below are some of the snaps of Pothi.com stall and my book smiling from there.

 

From the lens of Pothi.Com

 

Spot my book!

 

Jaya and Abhay at the Pothi.com stall, they are calling my son to pose for the photo with them!

 

 

My Book on display at the desk too.

In case you wish to visit Pothi.Com stall and check out my book, please note the stall number, 288 (closer to the Exit), lest you be overwhelmed by the countless stalls and titles and miss this one out!! 

Tweet

Of Airlines and Attitudes

Tweet

This is an old incident, when my son was a year+ old and at his scampering and restless best. He and I were to fly out of Bangalore for the vacation in J- Airways. As expected during holiday season, the crowd in the old airport (HAL) was spilling over to the lounge outside. After our bags were checked in, we had to stand in a queue (for the security check) for an hour - my little restless man and I. After about 45 minutes of it - during which I was repeating umpteen times to him 'not to run away, you will get lost' - a KingFisher Airlines representative came to me and asked which flight I was on. I showed her my ticket. She suggested I ask someone from my Airlines to help me through the security check, since I was with a small child. I looked around, found none of them in the area, and I thanked her, saying that the end was in sight, it's okay.
Curious that my own airline didn't give a damn about me, someone else did, and came to tell me so.

Kingfisher scored a lot of points that day.

Tweet

Bangalore Book Festival 2009

Tweet

The Bangalore Book Festival begins at the Palace Grounds, Bangalore from Nov 6 - 15. And my book will be available from the stall of Pothi.Com !

Stall No. 288
Bangalore Book Festival 2009,
Gayathri Vihar, Palace Grounds
Bangalore.
The entrance to the place is from Chowdiah/Bellary Road side.



Click here to read more about Tales from the Garden City, a collection of short stories based in Bangalore.

Do check out my book if you are visiting the Book Fest, and please spread the word to your book-loving friends.

For those who cannot visit the Bangalore Book Fest, but would like to read my book, this is where you could go:
http://www.dogearsetc.com/cinnamonteal/gallery3.html#9789380151106

Thanks! And do make sure you send me your feedback.
I'd love to hear from you!

Update: The stall address is added, as suggested by Gopinath Mavinkurve. Thanks!

Tweet

Big, Bad Monsoon

Tweet

We Bangaloreans are always harsh on the Monsoons.
If it comes on schedule, we complain that the roads flood, the drains overflow and the trees fall down (not to speak of the tragedies that accompany each of these).
If it does not come in the first week of June as expected, we grumble that there is no rain, so no power supply, no water, no harvest, etc. etc.
The grievance list in either case is long.

This year, though the Monsoon was sighted ahead of schedule, it evidently got fed up of the Bangaloreans' unfair treatment to it, and decided to pass by silently on its second trip over the skies of the Garden City, after generously cleaning Kerala of the stains of Summer.

I spotted some of them elusive Monsoon clouds as they appeared on the North Bangalore skies on Saturday evening, not looking down at us, bent on travelling North-West, maybe towards Mumbai, where the people show more affection and respect to them. However, after being caught on camera, I imagine, they had no option but to pour a part of themselves over B'lore. So it rained rather well over the weekend, and Bangaloreans sat back, relaxed. Electric power problem is solved for the time being, now lets enjoy some nice, flooding-and-vehicles-stranded-in-rain issues.

Tweet

The Bangalorean Troubles

Tweet

If you were to ask, What is the biggest problem plaguing Bangaloreans today? The unanimous answer given by 99% Bangaloreans and those souls who have passed through Bangalore in the recent years would be TRAFFIC.

Bangalore's growth was sudden. The beautifully air-conditioned Garden City had changed drastically in the last ten years with the advent(gold rush) of IT. A trainload (many trainloads) of people pour into Bangalore every week seeking job and money. They either bring with them or acquire later their own four- or two- wheelers. The avenues of Bangalore were unable to bear the weight of these vehicles and became a constant source of grouse, so the logical solution was to bring down the trees that flanked them, to widen the roads. To borrow a phrase I heard in a movie recently, Bangalore's "vanishing landscape owing to the encroachment of man" is threatening to change the beautiful climate as well... which would become the second problem worrying Bangaloreans.

We need the wider roads. We need the metro.

How would one break out of the vicious circle, and balance the traffic and the environment? I haven't the foggiest - do suggest if you have any.

Tweet

Bangalore by any other name...

Tweet

Is it Bangalore, Bengaluru, Bengalooru, Bangaluru or Bangalooru?

Agreed, Bangalore is out - it was the old English name given by the British Babus who could not pronounce the regional name; the city was recently rechristened to the original Kannada name "Bengaluru". Almost every Indian city thus has a local version and an English version of its name. And each one of them, after fifty years of Independence, is slowly reverting back to its original name that locals know it by. (Bombay-Mumbai, Madras-Chennai, Calcutta-Kolkata, Trivandrum-Thiruvananthapuram, Cochin-Kochi).

Which is all very good.

As long as there is no ambiguity involved in the way one spells it. Because there is only one way to write each name in the regional language (for example, ಬೆಂಗಳೂರು in Kannada) - whereas there are a thousand (well, almost!) ways to write it in English! (Look at the different ways Bengaluru is spelt in the first sentence of this post.) I am sure one of these is the "official" spelling.

However, the City Railway Station is still called the "Bangalore City", the other surrounding stations in the track are "Bangalore East", "Bangalore Cantonment" etc. instead of "Bengaluru ..." Elsewhere in other government offices, the location is spelled as "Bengaluru". In other establishments not related to govt., we find the remaining versions of the name.

I still have not fully switched my mind to the Kannada name yet, it's still Bangalore in my thoughts. Not that I consider it important to change the name, when we have a million other things to worry about. Still, if it makes someone feel better, let them. I don't mind either way.

A city by any other name, we would say, would still have its share of traffic, pollution, and water woes. Speaking of traffic... I should speak of Bangalore's traffic and vanishing greenery some other time. It is a much-much-spoken-of topic, but surely has enough space for my small contribution.

Tweet

Monsoon - is it or is it not?

Tweet

The Indian Meteorological Department is a very trustworthy source. People turn to their little window at the corner of the Times Of India to know what the Met Department has to say. Will it rain, shine or snow?

In my grandfather's time, the voice of the Met Dep on the radio was a constant source of entertainment. It was said that they forecast things like, "it may or may not rain today". Things are quite different today. If Met Dep announces "rainfall for the next three days", fear not - there will not be a single drop from the sky, nor would there be any sign of a solitary cloud.

A week or ten days ago, monsoon was sighted over parts of Kerala. It lashed the state for a couple of days. Unlike Bangalore, Kerala always maintains an average temperature throughout the year. The fall of mercury during rain is compensated an hour so later and the temp bounces back to 30deg C or thereabouts. Last week, monsoon hit Bangalore. For three days, the important-looking rains with a don't-disturb-we're-busy attitude, accompanied by thunder and lightning, did their expected duty, true to their name.
"Yes, we told you so", said the Met Dep. "Expect a month of torrents."
After the 3rd day, monsoons vanished without a trace.

The beauty of monsoon is when the dark clouds are done with pouring. A glimpse into last year's Monsoon Sky here. The tragedy lies in the power failures every time the wind blows or thunder rolls, the flooded roads, and the blocked drains.

When it rained in March, we called it summer rains. In April, we said those are the remnants of the summer rains, split over by a few weeks. In May, we chose not to name them. Finally in the last week of May, we called them Monsoons.

"Monsoon?" says Met Dep. "Yes it is still around. Just gone visiting."

Tweet

Day-1: Wonder La

Tweet

I am just back after a short family vacation and though we all are tired to the bones and beneath, we all had a good time, especially the three- and seven- year olds in the family.

I intend to bore you with the details of the trip (in parts!), so better escape while you can, or leave me a comment if you (dare) read till the end ;)

Our first visit was Wonder La, the Water Theme Park on Mysore Road, one hour's drive from Bangalore. It was Sunday, and May month means Summer Vacation, so we did expect a huge crowd and were not disappointed. What did disappoint me was the lame security-check at the entrance. Come on, we are a country tormented by terrorists. We have every right to rip open customers' bags and pull out purses to ensure that there are no explosives inside. Even after the attacks on Mumbai in November 2008, I have seen lax attention by the guards at Majestic Railway Station, Malls, and other places in Bangalore. Maybe (Hopefully) I am wrong and they are only pretending to be not watching. But I digress.

A water theme park is a water theme park, one has a fair idea of what to expect there. Pools, waves, wet rides, dry rides. Many, many of them. Screaming flocks of people in all rides, pretending to be not frightened or excited. Insect-like rides on the zenith from which human legs pop out like legs of the giant insect (see the pic below).




















If you do your math after spending Rs600/- each at the entrance for eight people out of which only four really use the majority of the rides you would end up dissatisfied. However, if the delight on the faces of your kids is anything, then you forget the charge and just enjoy their enjoyment.

It rained several times during the day, and it was curious to see the people who had been till then getting themselves drenched in the rides and pool, running - to escape from getting themselves wet? ...

There were small rides (Carousel and another one which goes up and down slowly) for children below 100cms height, and it was cute to see the twinkling eyes and excited smiles of the little ones who rode them. My own three year old was one of them, and he was looking around, smiling, at the shrieking girls sitting next to him. He and my seven-year old nephew went together in a "Jumping Frog", and an "Oriental Express" train, the latter helping his little cousin to sit and tie the belt...

There was a "Pirate Ship" that went slowly up and down, in which my son sat next to a little girl who was frightened and was huddling close to him, he put his arm around her and tried to comfort her, even though he himself was terrified when he looked around...

There were other real crazy rides near which none of us approached, I could not even make out why people would want to ride them and get dizzy and get themselves a stomach upset?

Over six hours after we entered, we still had not seen all the rides, but the children were tired and so were the parents so we started for Mysore.

The day ended at Hotel Shree Guru Residency, Mysore, all of us sleeping the night off like logs.

The next morning we were to start for Madikeri.


Day2 - Tibetan Colony and Nyingmapa Monastery (Kushala Nagara)
Day3 - Talacauvery, Abbey Falls, Raja's seat (Madikeri)
Day 4 - Nisargadhama, and back to Bangalore

Tweet

Chasing the Monsoon

Tweet

The "Monsoon" brings to one's mind deep dark clouds and torrentous rains. However, there is a time between the rains when the sky is at its bluest, the clouds at their snowest, and there is beauty all over.

Here are some snaps I took (the amateur photographer that I am, with an ordinary-something camera) last monsoon (July) from my balcony and in front of my apartment. Photography enthusiasts please excuse the unskilled handling of the equipment!

Tweet

Home, sweet home!

Tweet

Mumbai was(is) like a furnace.
When I first stepped out to Ground Mumbai, I was reminded of the generator in my office during the power cut (which is an infuriatingly common occurrence, come summer) that radiates heat waves, and looked around for the heat generator before realising that it was right beneath my feet. There was nothing to do during the day time except perspire, take a bath, perspire, take a bath,...
And indulge in a lot of juicy fruits - mangoes, oranges and grapes of the tastiest kind were in season.

But a holiday is a holiday; Bangalore and its environment were temporarily forgotten and we merged with the Mumbaiyya life. But it had to come to an end like all good things and we fell to harsh reality with a Thud.

When we got back home, Bangalore welcomed us with a warm, grim air like a mother reprimanding a child who came in late from play. But like the ever forgiving mother, she showered love in the form of heavy rains complete with lightning and thunder (too much love, I say!). The stuffy air inside the house took a while to be blown away by the cool wind.

Ahh... it is good to be home.

Comments? What does Home mean to you?

Tweet