Too much Sherlock Holmes

You know you have been reading too much Sherlock Holmes stories if:

1. You associate the verb “to ejaculate” with expressions of Dr. Watson
2. You exclaim “dear me!” if someone does something that surprises you
3. You start using words like “hither”, “yonder” and expect everyone to understand the meaning!
4. You address your friends and colleagues as “my dear Kulkarni” – Kulkarni does not pay attention, because he thinks, only his father can be addressed that…

Gift? To Whom? And for what?

Sakal had a news item, with a picture – an idyllic road and some motorists and two-wheelers wheeling fast as the speed would allow. This was the flyover opposite to the E-Square multiplex on Ganeshkhind Road. The title of the news items said – People start using the road without ribbon cutting (or something like that, I have actually paraphrased the title). Excuse me? Ribbon cutting? Did I hear a dissenting voice that asked why the project was delayed by almost two years? Did I hear anyone ask about the quality of the material used? Did I hear anyone ask about the longevity and quality assurance certificate for the project? Did I hear anyone ask about the traffic woes everyone faced in last two years? Well, too many questions. While your brain is busy processing these questions, here’s some more – information this time. Someone had a brilliant idea; why not do the ribbon cutting on 12-Dec, which happens to be the birthday of the Duke of Baramati and the Great Maratha, Sharad Pawar. This will be a unique gift to the duke. S.Y.C.O.P.H.A.N.C.Y!

M-W defines Sycophancy as:

Function: noun

: obsequious flattery; also : the character or behavior of a sycophant

And sycophant as:

Function: noun

Etymology: Latin sycophanta slanderer, swindler, from Greek sykophantEs slanderer, from sykon fig + phainein to show -- more at FANCY

: a servile self-seeking flatterer

What has the Duke’s birthday got anything to do with this? But in Indian politics, you are not loyal if you do not wish the great leader on hiser birthday. Those kickbacks, large contracts, chairmanship of some cooperative organization, appointment as minister – no things come on merit and every aspiring politician – even the galli-ka-goonda knows it. So, the flyover was dedicated to the Duke! Now, if the Pune Municipal Corporation wants to reimburse my tax money, I will be more than happy to not use that road.

Up till here, it was written yesterday, on the Duke’s birthday, but never published. Whatever happened between then and now, makes me shiver with disgust. I started for home, unmindful of the fact that it was jaNata rajaa’s birthday. I covered a distance of good 3 kilometers, until I came to an intersection where a police stopped the traffic on my road and let people from another road turn to their right. Then, for 8 long minutes, none of the three police men bothered about the building traffic on my road. They alternately allowed the other two roads to clear. And the reason for the traffic jam? Well, sahebancha vaaDhdivas. A bunch of party-workers was dancing to the tune of Himesh Reshamiya blaring at several decibels that made even the rear-view mirror in my car vibrate. Perhaps Himesh’s teraa teraa teraa kasoor…couldn’t have been more apt. Only yesterday afternoon, R and I had had a long talk. Career, family, life in India, life in the US…kashalaa parat alaas tu (why did you return?) he had asked (he also did the same thing, for almost similar reasons). Now that question reverberated in my ears louder than Himesh.

There is a Marathi word – aagpaKhad – I am not sure how to translate it. It is more like the weird feeling you get out of immense anger, but you are unable to do anything about it, not even vent it in a logical or illogical manner. That’s what happened last night. And all because the Duke was born on this day!

Now, if you wish, refer to the definition of anarchy here. And while you are at it, also look at the definition of oligarchy.

The funniest thing happened today morning though. There was a news item in Sakal that said the Agriculture College Flyover was hastily inaugurated even when the construction is not complete. Good gift for you Sharad Pawar!

p.s. Can someone also explain me why Suresh Kalmadi is not being tried for voluntary manslaughter for the deaths caused because of his hasty-decisions on the BRT project?

Dialogue Concerning the Two Chief World Systems

Came across this interesting Blog post http://ashujo.blogspot.com/2006/11/i-happened-to-see-crichtons-state-of.html by Ashutosh Jogalekar. Reminds me of a certain scientist from Florence…Galileo wrote a book Dialogue Concerning the Two Chief World Systems to compare the Copernican model and Ptolemaic model that explain the motion of planets, sun, earth etc. According to Dava Sobel, after a long-winded analysis, Galileo has concluded that Ptolemy is correct but left the reader convinced that it is Copernicus! Galileo could not have officially concluded otherwise. And even with this, he faced inquisition, found this book in the list of forbidden books and was convicted of grave suspicion to heresy. How times have changed – from punishing truth as heresy to propagating fiction as truth.

(Note: For more information and if you have the enthusiasm, please look up for Galileo's book on Wiki, there is a lot of information there or read Dava Sobel's Galileo's Daughter.)

Fate

Got to read an interesting item:

Once upon a time, there was a man who was traveling from his village to the city for some work. It was a hot day and this man was thirsty and tired. So he starts looking for a water source. After long and arduous walk under the blazing sun, he finds a well. He drinks the water to quench his thirst and sleeps beside the well to gather his strength.

After a while, his Fate walks over and wakes him up. Fate says, “You fool, get away from the well and sleep somewhere else. Otherwise, you will rollover in your sleep and fall in the well and everyone will blame me.”

Not Without My Daughter

I needed to do something, for I was bored of doing nothing. There was lot of cleaning still to be done. I ruffled through raddi - old newspapers that sell for kilos - and found two Marathi books which were not a part of the raddi, but kept there nevertheless. Both the books had pretentious English titles one on Reflexology and the other “Not Without My Daughter”. The latter was a gift from my sister to my father. The unread copy of the book with plastic cover and all was gathering dust. Days without TV (it's all going to change, I just have to decide if it is going to be cable or dish and then I will be back to complaining I don't read as much) renew my attention to books. Well, Not Without My Daughter it is then I said to myself and picked the book and sat on the kitchen chair.

From 10:30 in the night to 4:45 the next morning I read continuously, so gripping it was. Betty Lover of Michigan had married a brilliant engineer AND a doctor, a passionate and devoted man of Iranian origin - Dr. Sayyed Bozorg Mahmoody a.k.a. Moody. Her two weeks vacation along with her and Moody's five year old daughter Mahtob to Iran turns into a year-and-a-half long nightmare under virtual house arrest. Moody changes terribly after coming to Iran and does not want Betty and Mahtob to return to the US. According to the Iranian laws, marrying an Iranian automatically makes Betty a naturalized Iranian and their daughter a property of her father and father only. Betty plans her escape along with her daughter and is successful eventually.

Those were the days of mid-1980s, 84-85 to be precise - Reagan era in America, abdication of the Shah of Iran is still fresh in the memory and establishment of the power of the Ayatollah and radical Islam in Iran. Those were the days of Iran-Iraq war, death and destruction. Those were the days of renewed and persistent calls for death to America. It is in this environment that Betty and Mahtob find themselves clad in a chador - the veil, little freedom, no loved ones around and under watchful eyes of Moody and his family lest they run away.

Betty's ingenuity is commendable. More commendable is her endurance and steadfastness. She does not breakdown like her American acquaintance that accepts her husband as her protector, Koran as the last word and resigns herself to her fate. Physical and mental agonies do not describe the 300 odd pages. Since her husband was her owner now, no one interferes in his violent fits leaving Betty to her fate.

Reading the book in the post 9/11 days and Bush policies though gives you a different perspective. The book is full of hatred toward Iran and Iranian people. Well, under the circumstances it may even be justified. Archaic laws, inhuman treatment and domestic violence that Betty and Mahtob suffered and overall state of the society in Iran does not call for mild words. But it is interesting to note a few things. While Betty blames everything on retrogressive laws and radical implementation of Islam, Moody blames everything on duplicitous policies of the US. Who is more correct? Makes you think, doesn't it?

Some other observations are also interesting. Betty finds homes and especially kitchens of all her Iranian relatives very dirty - infested with cockroaches and all. As a rule, women did not clean the meat or rice before cooking and no one found it wrong to eat cooked larvae (porkiDee aNi aLyaa in Marathi) that came along with your rice, wastage of food, especially sugar was gallore. Cleanliness in shops and bakeries was limited and bathrooms and restrooms were unsuable because of stench and lack of hygiene. Betty complains about size of Turkey (one Thanksgiving that she hosted), taste of strawberries, Iranian bread and everything. May be it is me - for I may try to look for the other side of the coin - but I find it difficult to accept everything at face value. Or may be it is just the anger venting. It also appears that Betty never tried to integrate with her Iranian relatives - even during the peaceful two week vacation period. Of course, treatment given to Betty for the rest of her stay seems to have made her sore. And to be fair, she has kind words for those who helped her and those who felt genuinely sorry for her condition but were helpless. Betty also acknowledges that not every Iranian was bad, after all.

On another note, looks like radical Islam is making in roads in to India too. The All India Muslim Personal Law Board and the Shi'a Personal Law Board have published revised codes of conduct and nikahnama - nuptial agreement - with some disturbing changes from what I read. Razia Patel writing for the Sakal describes some of it. The law board seems to have taken away women's right to go to court over divorce. Following the nikahnama means you relinquish your right to go to court and the right to arbitration rests with the male dominated law board. We seem to have taken lot of steps in wrong direction since Shah Bano case. Women's organizations' demands like right to alimony, mothers' right to children, governmental registration of wedding and divorce have been ignored. The much touted women's right to file for divorce, that the law board calls progressive step, the columnist claims has been around since the 1939 code. Some steps already taken by many other Islamic countries like no polygamy or permission from the court before second marriage, no verbal divorce etc. have also been ignored. One more step in the wrong direction. And we will be a developed country!

BRT – II

I did not get a chance to respond to the anonymous comment – mainly because I was busy and then I was patting my back for writing so well, that legions of readers are now attracted to my blog and one has left a comment!

Okay, just kidding. The anonymous comment brings out some points of success of the BRT in Mexico City, but unfortunately, does not answer any of the questions posed or issues raised. I will not be very satisfied with the analogy that just because of worked for Mexico City and it also is working well for Bogotá by the way, it will also work for Pune.

BRT has already killed one person – the construction has barricaded some lanes on Satara Road and a tempo and a motorcyclist thought they could defy laws of physics and be in one place at the same time resulting in to a crash that was fatal to the motorcyclist. Okay, so it is BRT’s fault but I fear there will be a few more such incidences and I do say that with some asperity because our traffic sense is going from bad to worse to worst and then some more and our sense of planning at construction sites is also going from bad to worse...you get the point....

A few civic bodies are now asking how both the BRT and our dream of flyovers are going to fit together. Many others are asking would the ability to carry about 15,000 passengers in one direction in BRT be sufficient today and would it be sufficient in next five years. And that is just looking at five years not any farther than that. Now some civic authority (something to do with road transportation, I am sorry, but I do not remember who) is threatening the stop BRT right in its tracks because some prior approvals are pending. Is it just a start of the hardships? Anyone, remember how long the construction of the flyover on Ganeshkind Road has been going on now? Whose purse is the cost of that delayed project coming from? No one seems to be interested in an open debate before the project goes open. It is this that pains me more than the utility of the BRT. Sigh.

Dear Anonymous, if you happen to wander over hither again, will you please elucidate your views more?

Mrs. Smith

Mrs. Smith switched off the TV in the afternoon, bored of surfing from Judge Judy to Judge Alex and not finding them amusing. The crumpled copy of the Times of San Francisco lay on the coffee table. When did this newspaper go from being one of the most prestigious to a full page 3 – she could not help think going back to the days when Mr. Smith and she had discussed the opinions and editorials over coffee on one of the quaint coffee shops in Berkeley. Now, it showed pictures of only Hollywood and Bollywood celebrities. The hot Bollywood actress Padma Chavan and her boyfriend Ganpat Patil had been donning the newspaper ever since they arrived in San Francisco. One producer, Suraj Bhartadya was told by someone that houses on hills of San Francisco, overlooking from I-580, look exactly like the slums of Mumbai seen from the descending plane over Mumbai Airport. He really wanted to shoot in Ghatkopar but ever since the serial bomb blasts, getting permission was difficult. And since Suraj wanted authentic environs for his new movie A Wimpy Heart, he traveled with all his crew to San Francisco. What twisted logic – Mrs. Smith thought to herself. Since arriving here, Padma and Ganpat had taken a trip to the Fisherman’s Wharf, traveled in the BART, tasted sourdough bread and done all the things that Mr. and Mrs. Smith had founding boring.

The phone rang cutting through the quiet of the downtown neighborhood. “Hi Honey, did you eat?” said the familiar voice of Mr. Smith. Since they had had three children, Mrs. Smith had given up her career as Lead Graphic Designer and was a full time homemaker now. Mr. Smith because of his talent and excellent communication skills had risen fast in one of the prestigious IT companies. He was now handling multiple projects with multiple overseas clients. He would come back home very late. “Client calls; managing international time zones and all, you know…there was such a big to do list after the call…” Mr. Smith had sighed only last night. His late nights were really putting strain on their marriage, but his unending love and her devotion withstood any pressure any client could put. Never did he fail in calling her every afternoon.

Mrs. Smith came back to her den. Shiloh was napping in the afternoon. The family poodle had also curled up under the rug on the sofa. Mrs. Smith still had two hours before she would pick up Maddox and Zahara from the school. She opened the volume of Denial and was completely absorbed in it.

The baby monitor hummed as Shiloh stirred. It was time to wake her up and drive to the House of Liberty School that Maddox and Zahara went to in the upscale neighborhood of San Francisco. Maddox and Zahara needed to be picked up on time for their Tae Kwan Do classes. Mrs. Smith got ready, put Shiloh in her Volvo S80 and drove down to the school. The school was buzzing with activity and to her surprise she saw a lot of guards. Other mothers were careening over the barricade and some sort of discussions were going on with very South-Asian looking bulky men. Shamsher Singh Bahaddur was trying to keep the mothers from entering the school. A cat eyed, steroid induced muscled Dheer Raj a.k.a. Tiger was blocking the other door. Mrs. Smith saw the familiar faces of her friends and walked over. She was told, some film with that Bollywood actress Padma Chavan is being shot in the school. All our kids are inside…and they are not letting us in or letting the kids out. Ah, Ganpat – he is so sexy, Mrs. Smith thought, if only Mr. Smith worked out…but her friends were already in tears and that brought Mrs. Smith to the real world. Mrs. Smith squirmed. Maddox has not been eating well lately. He did not eat his breakfast properly…not sure, if he ate his lunch, he must be hungry. And Zahara – the little one gets so excited about the Tae Kwan Do…what if she misses it today. And how long do I have to wait here? Otherwise, I would have got some baby formula for Shiloh. Oh, my God…do these people really have to do this? My Babies…she clasped one friend’s hand and consoled the other lachrymose one. The Principal will do something, after all, he is a man of principles – she heard someone say. But the Principal acquiesced to Shamsher’s demand that mothers move away immediately, for he feared for Padma’s life.

There was a din at the school gates and some mother’s were trying to get past the two bulky guards. But Shamsher and Raj’s muscles were not only steroids…Shamsher pushed the mothers. A friend twisted her ankle in the small stampede. Mrs. Smith heard Shamsher shout – “you bloody…” before she bent over to help her friend. It is good that she did not hear the complete sentence.

The Police were called and they promptly arrested the guards for racial slur. The mother’s were relieved to see their kids come rushing out of the school. The next day, reading The Times of San Francisco, Mrs. Smith learned that Ganpat then met the LAPD Commissioner and said sorry.

Mr. Smith kissed her good-bye and to her, his lips felt like those of Ganpat the hunk!

Why I don’t buy BRT

Traffic woes are sadly common man’s problems. When a dignitary (and I use that word loosely) comes, barricaded roads, police patrolling, manually controlled signals and preferential treatment to the cavalcade precludes himer from facing the problems faced by lesser mortals. We may or may not solve these problems. And whether Tata creates an Indian Volkswagen or Ford makes profit, face it, mass transit is the only way to go forward. This, they say will automatically solve the traffic woes. The moribund PMT in Pune is so bad that even someone living on daily wages does not prefer that mode of transport.

Indian politicians are known for their ingenuity in creating income sources under the table and it is no wonders that that breed in Pune in cohorts with its bureaucratic counterparts would jump on something as lucrative as a Bus Rapid Transit System.

The way the deal was passed – well, it smells fishy for sure. The core point perhaps is not on the merits and demerits of the system, but rather it benefits Suresh Kalmadi and hence Ajit Pawar is feeling sore about it – ideological differences between Congress and Nationalist Congress not withstanding.

But here is a practical problem…the pictures of the scheme and some material that I have read indicate this:

1. The buses will run in the center of the street, two lanes, one on each side, will be reserved for this.
2. Two lanes on each side will be reserved for normal vehicular traffic.
3. One lane on each side will be reserved for cycles and pedestrians.
4. Special traffic lights will be mounted to give preferential treatment to the buses and also to enable the pedestrians crossing roads who use BRT.

Road conditions in Pune are well know…we cannot get a straight road constructed, without potholes and properly marked lanes, then this special requirement for BRT is certainly difficult – not impossible, but difficult to achieve.

Road manners and mentality of Pune drivers is also notorious. The special traffic lights for buses and pedestrians will only bring out jealousy and road rage.

Experts have already expressed concerns that if we plan to have two or three stops in span of a kilometer, it will never allow the bus to go at a high speed, making the Rapid in BRT inconsequential.

And most important, the above plan suggests that wherever BRT goes, we will need a dedicated 8-lane highway. Let’s face it – Pune is not Atlanta. And in the present scenario, if we talk of demolishing existing structures and widen roads, I am not sure how much the BRT project will be mired in litigations, down right hooliganism and corruption.

Puneiets are known as nay-sayers. I have done my part of it! But what pains me is without much debate and expert opinions; a huge investment is being planned. At the end if this scheme is not as successful as it is touted, who pays for it?

Two Obituaries

Sometimes, people get old and die. You feel bad, remember them and then move on with the memories. With a working mother, I spent most of my childhood in company of my grandmother. May be, that’s why I have certain degree of affection for a cotton-saree clad, wrinkled faced, gray haired, thick-glassed women. Two such individuals I know are no more. They both were old and wrinkled but pleasant.

They say you cannot choose neighbors, friends yes, but not neighbors. I guess, at one time we were too lucky to be believed. Gurjar Aji and Manda Tai followed us as neighbors a few months after we moved into a rented apartment. Actually, they lived there for a few years before us, but both were in Canada when we moved in. At 84, Aji was as young as they come. A gem of a person she was always excited about something. A life full of hardships was endured and the swarthy face showed it. Aji’s mother was chronically ill, so Aji dropped out of the school early on. Her childhood gave her opportunities not only to learn to take care of chores at home but also cycling and swimming. After her wedding, she came to Dadar. But low paying salaries and big families were the pain areas. Aji took to tutoring girls in swimming and earned some money for her family. The conditions were tough, but she encouraged her son to get into IIT and never was more proud of him. The son eventually went to US and then to Canada. After Aji’s husband and mother-in-law passed away, she also moved to Canada. A life in new country, along with new people, new neighbors, no friends or relatives around…but she coped well. Until an untimely widowhood of her daughter brought her back to India. She shuttled between the two countries and enjoyed her time in each as much as her health would allow.

It was not difficult to have Aji in excited state of mind. She would be excited about anything – a film, making tea for everyone in the afternoon, chatting with the neighbors, preparing pickles before the rainy season, knitting, new books or clothes. She had a knack of taking people along with her and enjoying life. She would worry about my food if my parents were away and invite me for meals. A visit from her son and grandchildren from Canada brought a sparkle to her eye. Our floor was lively because of her presence. After the duo left again for Canada, the closed door disturbed me every time coming out of the elevator, so used were we to her presence. Everyone knew Aji was old, but no one accepted she would not return. Providence had different plans for her. Eventually we also moved away with a promise to keep in touch. A phone call told us of her departure. Peacefully, as happy as she was always.

The same day, another phone call came in with another bad news. Seeing my father’s number on the caller-id was information enough for me. Another old lady had finally left us for her abode. In my family, she was affectionately called Ranga-Mamee, otherwise only Mamee. She was my father’s maternal uncle’s wife. Large families tend to shorten names! My grandmother’s youngest brother – Shrirang became Ranga to her and Ranga-mama to my father and his siblings, Mama’s wife carried the moniker forward in its feminine format. A fair, tall, educated lady had endured all the hardships in life but remained steadfast. She became surrogate mother to my father and many of my uncles and aunts who came to Mumbai for further studies or jobs. And when the retired life was getting easy, Mama’s early death made Mamee lonely. A broken hip-bone brought a dependent-life style. Mamee never recovered from it completely but dragged on for years. Three years back, when I met her, she was wearing black glasses to protect her cataract operated eyes and carried a stick to help her walk. She firmly clasped my hand and wouldn’t let go for a long time – lost in old days, telling me stories of old times. Old age eventually caught on bringing multiple organ failures – unfortunately one-by-one. A comatose Mamee did not recognize my father when he visited her in the hospital; forget about the care taken by her tired daughters. But I still remember the younger old-lady – a visit to our home once or twice a year would bring lot of joy. Mamee would have stories to tell and affection to shower. For such a pleasant lady, when death took over, he caused a lot of pain…but so was her fate.

Diwali Anka

Diwali Anka is a characteristic Marathi phenomenon. The stingy Marathi Manus takes little pains of buying a lot of books but library membership is more or less universal. And while writers write and publishers publish, there are many magazines available that are worth a mention. The magazines that otherwise come up with a paltry 20-30 page editions take a break after Diwali but for Diwali they lay out a pleasure of 200+ page edition! This contains anything and everything you want to read – of course depending on the magazines’ background. So, while “Shatayushee” (Live for 100 years) will publish grotesque pictures of ulcers and amputated diabetic feet, imploring people to eat less hot and sweet things, “Awaj” on the other side will make fun of everything with marvelous cartoons, double entendre and comical strips. Many a Marathi Manus has spent hours in local trains, buses, dimly lit rooms, libraries and even workplaces reading the Diwali Special edition! And doing what we do best – exchange a read copy of the edition for another magazine and discuss with imprudent arrogance the articles in the magazines.

I was beginning to think this tradition was on the wane but for the advertisements, I saw about the upcoming Diwali Editions. Our neighbor asked if we wanted to be a part of this small library that buys a select few editions and we all read, exchange and perhaps keep a copy or two for ourselves when everyone has finished reading. That was an emphatic yes from my parents! Yesterday, we got the first installment of the editions. My mother picked up Sadhana and Shatayushee.

A word about Sadhana – My father and some other family members subscribed to this magazine (a fortnightly to be precise). It gives away my families’ leftward-leanings! (My families’ I said; not mine!) Sadhana was founded by Sane Guruji – a Gandhian, philosopher, writer, teacher and politician. An eternally sensitive person, he could not take the politics and committed suicide. His thought leadership although socialist, was nevertheless progressive and immaculate. The tradition was later shouldered by the likes of NG Gore, SM Joshi, Prof. Madhu Dandavate and Pramila Dandavate, George Fernandis, Prof. GP Pradhan, Baba Amte, Mrinal Gore etc. Imminent personalities of Marathi Literature and thought-leaders like Vasant Bapat and Yadunath Thatte have been editors of this magazine. And right now, Dr. Narendra Dabholkar, the Anndhashraddha Nirmulan Samiti (Let’s eradicate superstitions!) fame is the editor. I looked at the table of contents last night – it includes analyses by Govind Talavalkar, Kumar Ketkar, columns by Maruti Chitampalli, Prof. GP Pradhan, Sulakshana Mahajan, discussions by Dr. Shriram Lagu and Dr. Girish Karnad and article on Shanta Shelke and other big personalities, Children’s corner by Rajiv Tambe and Abhijit Ghorpade and much more. The likes of Dilip Prabhavalkar, Suhita Thatte, Medha Patkar and Dnyanada Naik are missing for some reason.

It should make interesting reading. I am looking forward to this weekend. After a long time, I will be reading something in Marathi!

What’s the use?

We started some furniture work and soon the house was filled with a lot of saw-dust, tap-tap-tap noise of the hammer, the click-clack of the cutter and such. The carpenters took over the house as if it were their own. Along with the carpenters came an apprentice. If his real age is revealed, the contractor, the interior designer and I will be squarely at odds with the Social Welfare Ministry. But let us just say, he may have started school late and hence this 8th grade dropout may be just in the age group that UN accounts for population-productivity. The apprentice would look haggard, under some sort of pressure and unwilling. Naturally, at his age, boys go to school, play and watch cartoons if their parents permit. But not him. The south-paw was learning – he would meticulously apply the fevicol, tap the nails and help the elder one. The elder one was never satisfied, but would accept the product with gruff, sometimes scold the apprentice and implore him to work better or faster. Days went by and our familiarity with the strangers started increasing.

The native Rajasthan of these hard working carpenters is very different. And naturally, the change in season, unreasonable amount of rain and hard work took toll on the apprentice’s health. He came down with fever, shivering and fatigued. That was a much required thaw. My mother gave him warm water, paracetomal and some biscuits to keep him from falling sick further. He sat down in a corner like a white lamb. The redness of his eyes – my mother could not determine if it were the chemicals in the plywood, his health or plain homesickness that made him cry. They got talking and the apprentice sought comfort in the motherly treatment he got from that unknown woman.

From then on, he started talking, walking little more confidently and working as hard as ever. He was from a village in remote Rajasthan. The unseasonable rains this season washed away everything…crops, livestock, gold…everything. He produced a cut-out from his wallet with people marooned on a hillock. This is how it was back then, he said. His father is a farmer, brother an apprentice somewhere else. There are two mobile phones at home, but no help – as networks always tend to be busy when he tries calling. “Yahaan Hindi akhbar nahi milata?” (Do you get Hindi Newspapers here?) – he enquired. Took keen interest in Osama Bin Laden and asked for the papers when Osama’s pictures were printed. His child-like curiosity sometimes overtook the aloof, self-imposed “worker” status – Diwali Lanterns, ringing of the mobiles, English newspapers – would bring sparkle to his eyes. Coyly he would ask me – “You are making chapati’s today? Ah, I didn’t see maaji at home!” With all the school boy curiosity he would ask – “Which subjects do they teach in school here?” And told about the subjects he had learned. He would feel sorry that they started English lessons so late if he would see us read something in English. Missing the school, being away from home seemed to touch a raw-nerve. But a reluctant acceptance of the situation would bring him back to the real world – “paDh likh key bhe to kyaa hai, kaam to yahi karana hai” – What’s the use going to school, after all I am destined to become a carpenter anyways.

While the couch potatoes discuss about the creamy-layer reservations and talk of the “sarva-shiksha abhiyaan” the average hungry folk are enquiring – what’s the use? That’s the sorry state of education today and especially of the have-nots who do not feel confident that education will help them.

Raj Thackeray’s Gift to Maharashtra

Recent News Item 1: Maharashtra Nav-nirman Sena activists threaten the commissioner of the PMC.
Recent News Item 2: Maharashtra Nav-nirman Sena and Shiv Sena followers fight over display of some flags and placards in Vile-Parle.

Older News Item: Raj Thackeray threatens Lawyers against defending the Mumbai blast perpetrators.

Raj, when you broke away from your uncle, you took your own time to frame the ideology, toured Maharashtra to find out the problems people face, criticized your own uncle, the previous governments, policies on the population in Mumbai, roads in Pune and such. There was hope. We thought, at last, the eroding thought-leadership of Maharashtra in politics is now on restraint. We have someone to follow the ideals from not just Shivaji, but also the clichéd Phule, Tilak, Ambedkar, even Vasant Rao Naik or Anna Hazare for that matter. This blog even asked what does Raj stand for. And now we know. But what do we have here? Nothing more than hooligans causing problems and making situations acerbic.

As they say, like begets like. An offspring of Shiv Sena may not be very different from its parent. And though it is senseless to ask this question, I still wonder, how the Prabodhankar would have felt if he were alive today.

Aisa bhi hota hai

Fanaa review

Aap hindi movies nahi dekhate naa. (You don’t watch Hindi movies, that’s why.) I was chastised by the group for not participating in the intense discussion. I shrugged and nodded hoping it would all end there, but then people discussed something which was as Greek or Latin to me as .NET is to the Perl guy.

“When was the last time you watched a movie?” Someone persisted.

“Umm, very recently actually, I did not have an alternative.”

“Why?”

“Because the bus I was traveling in played it.”

Then I was asked which movie and how did I like it. Everyone swooned over Fanaa and how good it was…. Umm, it was okay – I said a little scared of another rap on my knuckles.

“Okay? How could you say okay? That movie is too good” – Again the Ms. Perseverance.

“Well, it was predictable.”

Now the entire meeting room had question mark on its face.

Yeah, predictable it was – I took the onus of explaining it. Once Kajol identified the things and declared they were Amir’s I sensed, he must be the perpetrator of the act. They cannot kill the hero in the middle of the movie!

Once Amir landed on the snow capped mountains, he was bound to bump into Kajol, and he did. Once he bumped into her, he was bound to tell her – I am the one…he couldn’t have let his chance go by. Once Rishi Kapoor confronted him, he had to die, what good are old heroes for anyway? Once Kajol came to know about the nuclear decoder (or whatever the thing that Amir was carrying), she was bound to contact the military and also to kill Amir.

“But that was daring, no?”

What, hitting a tomato to make red colored blood? Get real, they couldn’t have shown Amir killing Kajol – the movie would have gone bust. Could you have imagined Roza or Bombay with a different ending?

Now, did I tell you, I don’t watch a lot of Hindi movies?

The Lost Pithori

I jokingly call it the Anti-India religious festival. Celebrated on the last day of Shravan, this puja is meant for the kids. Let there be many and let them live long – the prayer would be. This is perhaps the only religious festival celebrated in my family. The matriarch – my grandmother – used to perform this puja and all her kids and grandkids used to assemble together to seek the blessings! It was a very elaborate affair. A night, we kids were allowed to stay up late and in some cases even skip school the next day! It was a yearly gathering of all the cousins together and an evening spent having fun. The rains would have subsided by then and atmosphere would be very nice – lush green, pleasant and cold enough to not require a fan.

A hand drawn - piThori cha paT - figurines of 64 different goddesses were worshiped along with banyan tree leaves. Lots of flowers would decorate the puja.

The main attraction was food – puraN poLee, aLoochi wadi, walacha birda, bhendichee bhaji, paDavaLaachee bhaji, karlyachee bhaji, bhajaNeecha waDaa and tandaLachee kheer! All these things would be laid out in a plate and at the end of the puja my aji would raise the plate on her head and ask – yaa waNaa laa athit kaoN? Who seeks the blessings today? As the youngest of her grandchildren, I was allowed to be the guest…until the next generation arrived! I had to speak out the names of everyone – all her children and grandchildren – Jayant, Shaku, Sindhu, Narendra, Raju, Dipoo, Pradnya, Pravin, Kanchan, Bhushan, Nutan, Rani, Abhi, Netra, Kaustubh, Harshada, Mayura, Kalpak, Akshata, Abha aNi Anuj – the list would go…and names added as new generations were added to the family. Neighbors would be invited – aaj amachya kaDe tirtha prasadalaa yaa – please come over for blessings – and a sweet peDha distributed.

Following dinners were an elaborate affair too. We would buy lot of plantain leaves and dinner would be served on it – easier to clean. The puraN poLee, the aLoochi wadi would be home made and my mother, aji and kakee (paternal aunt) would work over time to get everything ready in time.

And since the holy month of Shravan would be over, the next day, everyone celebrated by eating non-vegetarian food. Bombay duck curry, rice and ninava – sweets made of chick-pea flour and coconut would be the menu!

Eventually, people started finding it difficult to be there – festivals related to lunar calendar can be uncompromisingly on a working day! And it also became difficult for my aji to coordinate it. Many of her grandkids would be away – some for jobs, some because of exams, some stuck in a wrong country! The puraN poLyaa were no more home made, they were made to order by someone who could never replicate the authentic taste of a tel-poLee. Eventually after aji moved away (yes, there are project closures in real life too), one generation was automatically knocked off from the blessings and the list shortened. My kakee inherited the puja, but along with the old matriarch, luster was gone too.

I have been guilty of absence too. After a long time, I was present for the puja this year. What a depressing affair. It was just the six of us – kaka, kakee, my parents, Abha and me. I was more worried about the pains it would take to prepare all the food. poLyaa order kara aNi bakee kaahi karoo naka (Order the puraN poLee and that should be it). But my mother did not accept the idea. She went to the market to buy the vegetables. My kakee made the aLoochi waDee and the puraN poLee was made to order as I suggested. I was there to answer the question – yaa waNaa laa athit koaN? – with a much shorter list.

Where is your resignation, Madam Mayor?

The mayor of Pune had threatened to resign if the road conditions are not corrected satisfactorily. She even stopped using the car provided by the government and has started using it again because the roads are good now. It appears, when a spineless Mayor – who does not have many constitutional rights anyway – threatens something, it is taken very seriously. The commissioner then went into top gear to make roads better.

This project was destined to be doomed from the start. Everyone knows that the condition is beyond repair. What could not be done from October 2005 to May 2006 cannot be achieved in the short span of four days. And wherever the roads have been worked upon, the condition is okay only till the next shower. Come next rainy season, we will have to go through the same despair. But Madam Mayor, you have been a part of the government for a long time now. You know the road conditions and you also know what will happen next rainy season. What steps are you taking towards correcting this problem? Or are you going to threaten again the next year? Or was this just a farce? Did you even mean it?

My cousin – Kisha mama

(If you have not seen the Marathi movie “kaaydyacha bola” and intend to, read no further – this post will steal the thunder for you. Well, actually, if we can read between lines, the title already has.)

Kaahi picture-bicture baghitala kaa? – N asked casually. (Seen any movies lately?) I nodded no. It appears having a multiplex close to my house makes it imperative that I watch movies regularly. He went back to the time when he watched kaaydyacha bola and how he couldn’t stop laughing.

Before I knew what was happening, my father made the plan, bought the tickets and I was in sipping on an over-priced, supposedly authentic American black coffee watching kaaydyacha bola.

The title of the movie is a pun – you can either interpret it as “talk about the law” or interpret it as “talk about the bribe” – and that is where the hilarity starts. Two college students are on their way to Mumbai to have some fun instead of helping out families with chores. They refill the car tank and move on when they are promptly arrested on the charges of murder of the gas station attendant. A lawyer– uncle to one of the friends – is sent to defend the boys. A rustic Makrand Anaspure plays Advocate Keshav Kunthalgirikar a.k.a. Kisha mama and the first scene of altercation between the judge and the lawyer about inappropriate attire hits you on the forehead – this is a remake of My Cousin Vinny! Sharvari Jamenis plays the bimbo girlfriend and the movie makes bit more fun of Pushkar Shrotri – the stuttering lawyer. The movie has been modified for Indian context – a little bit of melodrama, betting scandal, and scathing criticism of socio-political caste system, of the police and of a justice system still mired in the colonial era expectations. Thankfully, there is no song-and-dance sequence between Sharvari and Makrand who are hopelessly in love and waiting for the lawyer to win his first case before getting married.

Kisha mama proves to be very adept in cross questioning and showing follies in the arguments and Sharvari’s Anglo-Marathi usage of wrong words adds to the fun. Just like the original movie, the bimbo helps in solving the crime – apparently, we left-handed people could only have struck the victim and none of the defendants was south paws. All in all, good movie – oops good remake. Even if this post has stolen the thunder of watching Marathi My Cousin Vinny, it is worth spending 2 hours having fun.

Scripps National Spelling Bee and Persons of Indian Origin

If you ask me which sport is most exciting, Spelling Bee is the one I will choose. And the fact that ESPN (originally from ABC, but nevertheless) broadcasts it DOES make it a sport!

To say many of the words they use in Spelling Bee are unknown is a humble acceptance of my meager knowledge about English words. What good does it do? I don’t know. May be the guys who do well in Spelling Bee get good marks in GRE – assuming many of them feel the need of appearing for GRE.

Of late, one of the distinct features of Spelling Bee though is the large number of Persons (Children) of Indian Origin that participate in it. Last year, out of the last 10, four were of Indian origin. Out of the last five; three were of Indian origin and out of the last two; two were of Indian origin! This time as well, there were three participants of Indian origin in the last 10. However, the final slot was dominated by three girls – one Canadian and two Americans.

Last year, Samir Patel and Rajiv Tarigopula did well. This year also they did well. But Samir met his nemesis in “eremacausis” in Round 7 and Rajiv in “heiligenschien” in Round 11. Kavya Shivashankar was eliminated in Round 8 by “gematrial”. None of these words is recognized by MS-Word! And neither of the words is available on the free online edition of m-w.com…

Katharine Close a 13 year old from New Jersey won by spelling “ursprache” correctly!

Travelogue Ends – The Flying Dutch Trainee

Upon asking and this time insisting on an aisle seat, I was given one – but in emergency exit row. Little more leg room – I looked at the positive side and made myself comfortable. I was soon joined by a very enthusiastic Dutch man who was going to India. Vacation? No, home. You? For training. Er, what? Training. What kind of training? Computer training. Really, that’s interesting.

He was a software professional and was interested in learning something which would further his position in his current company. The course in the US was cancelled and he was asked if he would be interested in a course conducted in Mumbai…. Good Hotel with breakfast and dinner included, personal attention and coaching – what more could he have asked for – said he. We then talked about schooling in Holland, his English proficiency, my English proficiency, schooling in India, IT industry and such. He was surprised, I had to fill in an immigration form – when I go back to Holland, I will not have to fill anything – he asserted Tavleen Singh style. I shrugged. Like a good host, I explained him what happens once we get off the plane and he shared some of his Dutch crossword books and mints with me. I hope he found the training useful.

Travelogue 10 – Scared in London

An hour and a quarter train ride later I saw the smiling face of V welcoming me. The conversation drifted on many topics and we caught up as much as we could in a short span of three hours. The conversation topic was mainly comparison of the lifestyles on two opposite coasts of Atlantic. V and P did not like many things in this new country! And I could imagine why. The houses are small, getting into leases and maintenance thereafter is complicated and overall lifestyle is expensive. I was told some amazing things – the quality of television programs (that horrible channel called Star News included – I couldn’t agree more), fish being expensive despite of so much of sea around, ease of getting around for P because of buses and trains and such. What came later did not have me prepared. It appears the biggest hobby of many Britons is to get drunk on weekends. They drink copious amounts of beer and get rowdy on the streets. When they are not drunk, they smoke and the wait at the bus stop is like smoking many cigarettes yourself – P told me. On the weekends, brawls and fights on the city roads are not uncommon. Though gun control is strict, happy slapping and stabbing are common. It all depends on the community you live in of course. So, nice houses with less rent are not very exciting because they are usually in a neighborhood that would make you think twice before setting foot out after sunset.

I was shown the spot where a few people have been stabbed since V and P moved in (they do not live close to the spot it just happened to be on the way). But nothing to be scared about – we are not even going in the area! Well, but you guys are scaring me. I have a walk of 20 minutes after I get out of the tube. Ah yes, be careful. You know, take the usual precaution – walk fast, do not make eye contact. Yeah, that was very reassuring.

I did not mind it until I realized something. I took the 2117 train from a station that V described as smaller than Matheran. And small it was. The train arrived on time and I believe I was the only person who got in the train. Afterwards I realized I was all alone in the compartment. Should I be worried? I mean if something happened…there was no one to tell the story! So I moved to another compartment, which was empty too! It was next to the first class compartment and the train attendant was in that area. At least there was other human being. I wasn’t sure if I should be scared that there was someone around or should be scared that there wasn’t anyone around. The twilight was fast fading away and the train kept making its usual stops at times noted in the timetable. I quickly charted my path. Get down at interchange for tube, take District line, and change to Piccadilly line and get down at the destination and walk really fast!

Eventually, I reached the station. A few people did get down and about 10-15 of us walked towards the “Way Out” sign and started walking out. Only three of us walked in the direction I wanted to go. One guy though turned left immediately and then there were two! I increased my pace but realized it was important to maintain a healthy distance between that person and me. But wait – he is turning! And he turned. Now, I was alone on the dual carriageway! No one in front of me as far as I could see. I looked over my shoulder and found someone walking behind me. All right, take a deep breath, walk fast and don’t be scared. The tales of stabbing and happy slapping were very fresh in my memory. I increased the pace of my walk…and did not slow down for a long time. My shins were hurting me and finally I decided to slow down. A man and a woman were seen approaching and I had all the evil sights playing in my mind. But nothing happened! They went their way without acknowledging my presence. Then another man and woman crossed the street over to my side. Well, should I be bothered? Aching shins be damned, I increased my pace again. The couple seemed to be following me – joking and laughing loudly. Okay, just walk fast and get over with this – I said to myself. By now, the lights of the hotel were in sight, but I kept my pace. At last, I reached the hotel – heart racing, shins and lower back aching and sweating profusely – I lingered around the hotel entrance a bit. That couple was still following me. I wiped the sweat off my brow and made as dignified entry in the hotel as possible. I stopped by the front desk to confirm my cab booking and wake up call. No sooner, I am done speaking with the concierge than this couple enters the hotel. Ah, so they were not following me, our destination was just the same! May be they realized why I walked fast, may be they didn’t. If they did, it at least gave them a story to tell their friends back home! From the accent, they seemed Americans. I made it a point to stop and say hi to them. At least, now my fears had no ground! My legs and lower back were still hurting, I needed a shower, but I had only three hours of sleep ahead of me and some packing to do…flight early morning tomorrow and I go home! I couldn’t wait to fall asleep.

Travelogue 9 – Urban Decay – Hounslow Style

I had been advised that Post Office is the best option, both by friends and by American Express. In fact, the Amex lady even said, sir, why do you want to pay a charge of about 5% and exchange rate for Traveler’s Checks is usually lower at the airport. Post office is your best bet. God bless her heart! The Lampton post office did not do currency conversion. So, I had to find another post office. I was told of the main post office in Hounslow. Hounslow does not exactly qualify as mini-India, mini-Punjab, mini-Pakistan or anything like that. But it is not uncommon to see Punjabi-dress or saree clad women and to hear an occasional Punjabi sentence with British accent. There also seems to be a lot of urban decay in that area. My walk to the Hounslow Main Post office took me through the neighborhood and back! Shops usurping on the roadway, houses of poor quality, a crowd that would be closer to the south side of Chicago and lots of graffiti on walls. The streets were narrow and footpaths narrower. There was trash on the footpath and many people just loitering around in streets, half-naked and smoking on London’s hottest day this season. Many cars full of teenagers were driving around with blaring music. The post office itself was dirty – waste papers, discarded receipts and dirt adding to the ambience of official ness created by the announcement of “Cashier number n please…,” repeating frequently whenever a cashier was available. I felt a little vulnerable carrying the cash back but that was a necessary conversion.

Travelogue 8 – Her Majesty’s Customs and Sweltering heat in London

After breezing through the immigration at London Heathrow, T4, I picked up my bag and walked through the green channel. Can you step aside sir? Sure. And you are aware that this is the green channel? Yes. I had nothing to hide. But for a sealed packet of microwaveable popcorn. It had some butter and it appears import of Dairy products is prohibited in EU. So that packet was confiscated. As per the rules, I was served a notice and I have one month’s time to appeal against the seizure. Good lord you really have to have my luck to go through something like this!

The day I landed, London was hot. That was the hottest day of the season thus far. 32 C without AC in a wooden building is a lot. The fan did help, but only little bit. As I learnt afterwards, AC (Aey con as they call it) is not a norm in the UK. Fans are more common. They do not need the AC as much and I came to know why the next day. It rained and the temperature dropped to 16 C the next day. Everything cooled down making the need for a fan redundant. That also explained why the terry wool clothing is so common…

Travelogue 7 – On the way back

Waiting at the hotel lobby, a soft-spoken gentleman began talking with me – the normal small talk, where you going and isn’t it cold! It turns out that he is a writer and researching a book on WWII in Moscow. That’s where he was headed. He and a co-author are going to research on the red army and the people in Russia. Two cigarettes later (not me!) I had learnt that his technique was different. He would interview just the common people and learn from them. Unlike a lot of British authors, who rely on archives and gazettes, he found this more suitable. I couldn’t agree more! It appears, he has written a book on some Indian tribe that lived in the Michigan-Ontario area and the oral-history is significantly different from what was known earlier. He was also well-read and was aware of the burgeoning middle-class of India – how the dynamics and economics were changing.

As the luck may have it, our seats were just beside each other, but both of us were trying to catch-up on sleep and couldn’t talk more. I asked for some book recommendations and he did make a list for me! Now, only I have to motivate myself enough to actually read them!

My question about good books resulted in a very long winded answer. At last, he confessed – when you ask a question to an Irish man (his origin), you have to be prepared for a long answer. His father spent time in Burma and China during WWII in the International Red Cross and it was a similar sense of adventure that was now driving him to research this book. He was more interested in the social history of the common man, a sticky point with the publisher, since the publisher wanted him to concentrate only on the red army!

Travelogue 6 – Slow Life in Upper Midwest

Nothing much has changed in the Midwest – the traffic problems, the highway constructions – pretty much the same. Yeah? Yeah betchyaa! Although, I wished I had spent a little more time in Minneapolis downtown and walked in the historic district along the Mississippi.

A trip to the Mall of America

It was mandatory! Only the previous day people said how boring it was to go to the mall. I was told of a new trend; apparently, tourist operators bring people from Paris and London to shop in the Mall of America. People arrive in the afternoon on a Saturday, shop the evening, stay at a hotel that night, shop some more on the Sunday, and return back to work on Monday! Not my idea of fun. And it wasn’t for many people. I was told – don’t even go there, it is just a mall, only imagine a whole lot of it. I should have taken that advice! But, I went their nevertheless and walked around a bit and wondered why did I waste my time? I was so bored over there that I did not even take pictures…

Minnesota in June

I thought since it was almost the end of spring, the weather would be nice. It was for one day. However, the sun soon gave way to clouds and wind. It was so windy that even the blades of grass would sway. The temperature dropped to a cold 57 F and with the wind chill, it felt like 50. I realized what mistake it was to wear shorts and T-Shirt while going to the M of A. I do not want to imagine being caught there in the middle of the winter.

Yoyo championship

The rotunda in the M of A was full of people. And people from the second level were careening over the railing and looking down. Curiosity took over and I also careened over to see what was going on. A bunch of people was sitting on makeshift chairs; a stage was set up and at the other end of the stage a bunch of teenagers waiting for their turn on the stage. The teenager on the stage was swaying a yoyo to the music. My first impression – what a waste! I watched for a few minutes though and realized that only a master can do that. Now if you consider playing a yoyo as waste of time, think again. It was really difficult to do what the teenagers on the stage were doing – making the yoyo dance to the tune of music! You need training to achieve that adroitness! I did not wait to find out who won the competition but it was good entertainment for some time.

Swami Saranam Ayyappa?

With a good percentage of Kerala population in our neighborhood, you often see the Ayyappa-devotees – black lungi, bhasma smeared foreheads, bearded, no shoes and grown hair. The devotees follow some sort of lent in which they worship Ayyappa and follow some rules like daily sermons (bhajan), diet control and celibacy. The lent culminates in a pilgrimage to Sabarimala.

My father had read about this and also about the bountiful nature and freshness of the Sabarimala mountains. Over the years, we befriended the Kerala-Marathi family that lived across the street from ours. In his great Hindi, my father had told the appa once – tumhara ayyappa ko ek baar humko aneka hain (I want to visit Ayyappa once). Appa (as we still fondly call him!) had replied in his equally great Hindi – aao naa, tum ayega to achha hoga (yes, please do come along, it will do you good).

When I came to know about this, I almost had a panic attack. What’s dad been smoking – I remember asking my mother over the phone. But dad did not pay any attention. To see the natural beauty of Sabarimala, he was ready to fast, wear black lungi, smear bhasma and go to bhajans. My mother tells me, it was quite a site. An atheist to the core who has difficulty clapping properly to the tune of aratis was taking part in all this!

Ultimately, my father did complete the trip (I hesitate to use the word pilgrimage here) and enjoyed it too. It intrigued all our Marathi neighbors – who is this Ayyappa? As it turns out, Ayyappa is a progeny of pyromaniac Shankar and transvestite Vishnu. He also turned out to be misogynist. I mean, it is difficult for a child to understand why one has two fathers but for a child it is even more difficult to understand why one of the fathers wears a gaudy make-up and behaves like a mother, when he is not and the other goes setting fires.

And now, you blame Jaymala, a young or rather menstruating woman, for defiling the temple? If Hindu philosphy can accept the existence of Ayyappa, what bad can a lesser mortal like Jaymala do? Really - someone answer that question please.

Travelogue 5 – Lost in Manhattan

Since work has rudely interrupted in the blogging activity, it took me this long to update the Blog. I am still in New York - according to the blog that is - and hope to update more frequently on the remaining travel days. But here it is - how I was lost in Manhattan and still made it back! BTW, it is not uncommon for people to push you aside in Manhattan - a typical Mumbai style dhakka if you are walking slowly!

While coming back from 86th street, I did a trip in two goes – walk down the Central Park up to 70th and Columbia Ave, then take the metro up to Canal Street. From here, I had to walk to the WTC PATH. But the moment I got out at Canal Street, I was confused. There were many different streets going in as many directions – Canal, W Broadway, 6th Avenue and such. It was a confusing maze of streets. Which way to Church Street? I had picked up a cheap map without all the street names (the one that was available for free at the hotel). This did not show all the streets and that added to confusion. I started walking intuitively. When most of the streets crisscross north-south and east-west, finding directions is easy except for Broadway and 6th Avenue which do not conform to this rule. As I start walking, I realize this might not be the right direction. It was confirmed when I saw signs for Holland tunnel…okay, opposite direction. But the streets names are not familiar. Neither were they on map. I still keep walking – Wooster, Greene…I should see Church St by now. But no Church St yet. Okay, turn and change the direction – Laight St, Beach St, but still no Church St. Then all of a sudden, W Broadway and Beach St intersect. The map never said that! Well, do I believe what I see or what was on the map? Ultimately, I gave up and asked at a toy shop and I was led in the right direction. Only later, I realized that W Broadway and Beach Street did intersect but they were not shown on the map because W Broadway and Broadway were two different streets! And all the time I was walking on W Broadway, assuming it was Broadway. Never pick up a free map!

Travelogue 4 – Meeting S, N and T

Since the last time I met S and N, T has been added to the family. The one and a half year old was excited to meet an unknown face called “uncle”. He showed me sun, shadows, introduced me to his toy animals, and we also played a very exciting game where I would lay the toy animals on the sofa and he would throw them on the carpet with much excitement. Not sure, who entertained whom, but T was very happy!

On my way to S’ home, I took the NJTransit in rush hour. And was it crowded! Well, it was not as crowded as the 6:18 Kasara fast, but perhaps it was crowded enough to qualify as 8:11 Ambernath fast at Dadar. People were standing close to each other and making way for those who wanted to get down at intermediate stations.

I heard stories like it takes me 2 hours to reach office – 20 minutes drive into Trenton, almost an hour to New York, and 20 more minutes from there…but I digress. S used to stay in a swanky apartment overlooking Hudson. He gave that up so that finally life would be more like America and less like Mumbai. That gives N and T a large apartment complex neighborhood and an opportunity to ride the tricycle!

On my way back, S dropped me. He was in a mood to talk, and me in a mood to sleep. The jet lag was finally getting me. The nice guy that S is, he let me sleep in the car and only woke me up when the directions became confusing. We did not want to get lost in the middle of the night! We bid farewell with a promise to be in touch more regularly.

Travelogue 3 – Fast Life in New York, New York

The Newark Penn Station, the WTC PATH terminal and hordes of people was a reminder of every morning in Mumbai. Just as people make their way to right platforms – going in to VT or Church Gate every morning in Mumbai, people were walking towards their tracks for NJTransit, PATH or Acela trains. It was nice! Things were moving fast!

One more observation about New Yorkers was their behavior in the elevator. Once everyone was in the elevator and the right buttons for floors pressed, someone would press the close-the-doors button immediately. Who has time to wait for five seconds before the doors close automatically?! Double nice!

In Manhattan, I followed the old routine. Get a subway ticket, but get out of the metro a few stops before and walk down the road! It was enjoyable. Except for the heavy rains and plummeting temperatures on the day of departure, it went well! No pictures to share though….

Travelogue 2 – So close to urban decay

Last post, I promised not to whine. At least, if I do, I will bring some cheese along. Okay, bad joke. But, I have to write about the urban decay of that dead town of Newark. I chose a hotel close to the Airport and Newark Penn Station hoping that commute would be easier. While that was the case, the location was so desolate and dead, that the urban decay couldn’t be more pronounced. There was nothing – NOTHING – around the hotel. Again and again, I felt bad that all the rooms in the hotel near Journal Square were sold out.

And nothing comes in New York/New Jersey for free! The hotel charged for a ride to Newark Penn Station, which I thought was wrong. Gone are the days of gas at 69 cents a gallon.

The magic of hopelessness

Are we really catching up with China? In his article, Partha Iyengar, the Research Vice President at Gatner Inc. writes

WITH NO DISCIPLINE OR ACCOUNTABILITY OF THE BUREAUCRATS AND POLITICIANS, IT IS NOW FOR THE PEOPLE TO GIVE THEM A WAKE-UP CALL

He compares

ALL this talk about India catching up with China is just a pipe-dream. The Chinese can put up a complex multi-tier flyover (like the one in the picture) in 6 months and in Pune, we can’t even get a simple straight elevated road done in 3 years!

He rightly chastises Pune Municipal Corporation by saying

The latest gem of an example that starkly brings into focus the lack of capabilities is the PMC’s absolutely ludicrous statement that ALL the roads are in the same pathetic state because they were surprised by the early arrival of the rains.

How early were the rains? One week. And this in a country whose engineering talent in places like Bangalore, Pune etc is the talk of the world today.

Blows apart the claims

And when any comparison with China comes up, our political clowns trot out the time and tested — ‘‘but we are a democracy’’ fig leaf.

Raises many valid questions

How do these people get away with these moral crimes? Why can’t we get more active and try and make these people accountable? What do we need to do to have a Baramati or Nagpur happen in Pune? What can be done to try and achieve this in our city?

And also offers a few answers. Some are workable, some are not. But I strongly recommend you read the article The Magic of Chongqing or hopeless leadership in Pune?

The murder most foul or what?

The Startrubine.com on Sunday June 11 published an article about the “shock and awe” – 40 feet crater shows power of Al-Zarqawi bombs.

The article says:

The two 500-pound bombs that killed Abu Musab al-Zarqawi pulverized the brick house where he spent his final minutes, vaporizing walls and the foundation, hurling concrete blocks 300 feet into the weeds and blasting a crater 40 feet wide and deep.

"A big hole, sir," said Sgt. Maj. Gary Rimpley, 46, of Penrose, Colo., who reached the scene about 90 minutes after the bombs fell.

Now no one doubts that Zarqawi was a bad guy but there are some questions about the way it was dealt with.

What is the reason for summary justice? What happened to a commission like Nuremberg trials? And why not apply at least some humanitarian concepts to GITMO? And why not hold the proper authorities accountable? But reason and logic are not strong points of the Bush Administration and hence all the shock and awe. Is it just a coincidence that Fidel Castro rules rest of the Island?

A travelogue you shouldn’t care to read

After the appalling experience of 32E, the flight on the next leg was pleasant. I have traveled in only two European partner airlines, Air France and KLM, and I believe the European partners take better care of the passengers. The flight attendants are soft spoken, the aircraft better maintained, food quality is slightly better and since most of the aircrafts are new, the in-flight entertainment is naturally better – there is a TV screen right there in the seat in front of you and program choice is yours! Compare that with the Indian leg – common screens that are not visible from all the seats and a dismal selection of movies. The flight attendants are rude, not to mention their gaudy make-ups, the food is barely edible and flight timings so odd that it appears they are designed to enhance your jet lag!

On the domestic flights, NW charges for the pack of pretzels $1 or snack box $4. Call me cheap if you will, but I am not going to buy that. Just a cup of water will be fine thank you.

All right, from now on, I shall not whine.

What happens if you forget your cell phone charger?

Just ask the front-desk! The cheerful concierge produced a box of chargers that other guests “forgot” in the rooms for people like me….

Well, actually, I did not forget the charger; I forgot the plug-pin converter that would allow the Indian plug to fit into US socket.

For what its worth

Sun set at Mahabaleshwar, a small trip I took in December


And the white chapha tree in late spring in Pune

32E

For all the flying I have done, I have been very faithful to Delta. So much, that one of the flight attendants, Sunanda Braganza even recognizes me whenever I board a flight in Mumbai or Paris. And being a medallion passenger has its own advantages.

This time though, it was time to break the tradition. I was booked on KLM/Northwest and true to my nature, I was apprehensive about the service.

The ride from Pune to Mumbai was uneventful. And so was the security check before check in. For some reason, the security guy wanted to know who will come pick me up at the airport in US. Yeah, who? The complimentary bus service from the hotel!

Upon check-in, I asked for an aisle and Prithpal, the check-in agent started punching so many keys on his computer that it was a harbinger of things to come. I was politely refused an aisle seat and that’s why the frustration coming out at the Wi-Fi zone of Schiphol!

MD-11 design is weird. Nay, it is made to frustrate the passengers and restrict their movements giving a good reason for deep vein thrombosis. Who ever makes a plane where five people sit in a row? And who ever assigns the seat smack in the middle of this row to me? Why me? Why the 38 unlucky people who shared the same fate as I did? As soon as I sat down on the seat, I felt like cramped down. As luck may have it, the passenger on my right was metabolically challenged and a game of elbonics ensued! We were both wrestling for the elbow-rest. Her elbow being so large, it did not leave me even a millimeter….

Then the food and beverage service – I never knew who was going to serve me – the flight attendant on the left or on the right? I was thirsty. But the flight attendant on the left ignored me and went ahead. Welcome to the club of middle-seat MD-10 under-achievers!

The flight attendant on the right was still 3-4 rows behind and I was thirsty! I hoped I would be visible to her. At last, I was given the chicken sandwich and a glass of 7-UP. See, no Sprite – NW already loses its marks, and now it is hurting itself even more.

When they come to collect the trash, the lady on right – who served me – now ignores me! So does the lady on the left. Hey – there is something here you came looking for…don’t ignore me!

When the breakfast comes at the break of the dawn, the lady on right – Prin – interrupts my music and asks – Egg or Veggie? Egg please. Orange Juice? Please, thank you. When Antoinette, walks on the left, Coffee? Coffee? Coffee? Me = invisible! When she walks on the right, Coffee? Coffee? Coffee? Me = invisible. When she walks on the left, Tea? Tea? Tea? Me = suddenly visible. But I wanted Coffee! I will get some for you sir. Thanks.

When Julienne collects trash, me = invisible. When Prin collects trash, again, me = invisible. God, why did you make that E seat on MD-10?

Now about the in-flight entertainment – the magazine, in Japanese! Japanese you ask? Yes. Japanese! If you read Japanese, please travel via Northwest. The movie, there wasn’t any. Oh, wait – there was. But for the screen position, all I could see was Abhishek Bachhan and Ritesh Deshmukh from chin-up (not that I was sorry, but since I am complaining, why not one more?). And radio? I could never figure out the channel number because the control was so weird – made by the right-handers, for the right-handers. And since I could not figure out the channel number, going back to what I was listening awhile ago took many guesses. The food was barely average, but then we are used to it anyway…

Schiphol airport though was a pleasant experience. The walkways are wide, shops are nice (but costly) and transfers are easier than Charles de Gaulle transfers are. The Wi-Fi service is not free. Again, I don’t ask why – they may have their own reasons.

n.b. penned at Schiphol, posted from Newark

Planning and Apes

Apes Shown to Be Able to Plan Ahead

This reaffirms the view of many programmers that my manager is nothing more than a monkey!

Of immigrants and illegal immigrants

So, International Labor Day was also the Immigrant Monday in the US. Sometime back, the NPR dealt with the problem through the eyes of minority community comedians (Margaret Cho, Paul Rodriguez and Bernie Mac). Paul Rodriguez was up front in his views – you pick your own tomatoes, clean the dishes etc. and you won’t need cheap Mexican labor – he said. And largely the illegal immigrants work in low paying mundane jobs and live in conditions that are barely better than ghettos.

On the other side of this is another community of immigrants – especially in the US who have gone there as students or professionals working in high paying jobs. Majority of the students who go to the US for higher studies are of Asian origin (read India and China). Most of them get good jobs in premier companies and tend to stick around in the US permanently and also the skilled engineers and programmers how have taken the advantage of the H1B visas. It must be accepted that the US has a rather generous immigration policy. But off late, the red tape delays and backlash because of the jobs shifting to Asia and recession may have brought this policy under scanner. When so much is being done for the illegals, how does the Indian community fare? Here are a few points to ponder:

• At least more than 90% of the H1B holders and Green card converts are in the high tax paying bracket.
• They are generally law abiding people and crime rate among the first and second generation Indians is almost zero.
• They ensure their kids go to school, do not do drugs, get good education and also end up in the high tax bracket.
• They do not default on credit card or loan payments, buy houses and contribute to consumer spending, pay taxes on time, invest in stock market (some even short-sell!) contributing positively to the economy.
• They have now even started looking for cars other than Toyota and Honda and also spend on 51” flat screen TVs!
• Their entrepreneurial spirit has created employment for thousands – The M(P)otels and many Bay Area software firms confirm this. They have also contributed well in areas of Space and Science (NASA), Education (many professors) etc.

If the above are not characteristics of good citizens, then what are? While the illegal immigrants are busy boycotting work, will someone pause and note the legal immigrants and their contribution?

Disclaimer: This writer is not and was never a part of the rodent derby of acquiring GC.

Tired, but not out

All-work-and-no-play-Jacks are bringing the grinding rut to a halt. They are TIRED – but definitely not out. This Sunday Indian Express article chronicles a different path taken by the Thirtysomething Independent Radical Educated Drop-outs, who have chosen to opt out of the rodent derby and chase their passion or just chill.

They are plugged into the world and if there is a compelling reason to re-turn to the city, they will. All work and no play has had its day. Chakravarti is part of a growing tribe of urban professionals in their 30s and 40s who are beating the burn-out syndrome just as it seeps in, and exploring alternatives seen as deviant or maverick be-haviour, say a decade ago. They are leaping out of the rat race, grabbing mid-life crisis by its horns and turning it into the life they have always wanted to live. And this new avatar of the classic drop-out is becoming as common as the yup-pie of the early 80s. If you’re educated, liberal, urban, upper middle-class in your late 30s, chances are at least one of your acquaintances is contemplating an alternative.

Need I say more?

Got this as a forward - visit the site before it gets overwhelmed and closed down. And pray that the babus don't close it down as it is...

Government of India has a online Grievance forum at http://darpg-grievance.nic.in/

The government wants people to use this tool to highlight the problems they faced while dealing with Government officials or departments like Passport Office, Electricity board, BSNL/MTNL, Railways etc etc.

I know many people will say that these things don't work in India, but this actually works as one of our colleague in a company found. The guy I'm talking about lives in Faridabad. Couple of months back, the Faridabad Municipal Corporation laid new roads in his area and the residents were very happy about it. But 2 weeks later, BSNL dugged up the newly laid roads to install new cables which annoyed all the residents including this guy. But it was only this guy who used the above listed grievance forum to highlight his concern. And to his surprise, BSNL and Municipal Corporation of faridabad was served a show cause notice and the guy received a copy of the notice in one week. Government has asked the MC and BSNL about the goof up as its clear that both the government departments were not in sync at all.

So use this grievance forum and educate others who don't know about this facility. This way we can at least raise our concerns instead of just talking about the ' System' in India.