The Eclipse

I have neither the talent nor the style to describe an eclipse like Annie Dillard does in her essay Total Eclipse. (You can read about the essay here and here.) But I did not want to miss a chance. So I set the alarm for 5:30 AM and kept a camera handy while going to sleep on Saturday night. Up I was at 5:40 AM sharp, after only one snooze. I trotted to the terrace of my building and intuitively opened the door on my left hoping it to be the right direction. And there it was - a small white beautiful crescent strip. You could not have told it was not a crescent moon if you did not know of the eclipse.

I tried taking a few pictures but the strength of my camera falls significantly short when it comes to taking pictures of distant objects like moon, not to mention my own limited knowledge of photography to handle such situations. The night was cloudless, without much haze and a building shielded the ambient light giving good view of the changing moon. I was able to spot only one well known landmark, (!) the big dipper. I also saw a small shooting star and a faint satelitte that quickly vanished behind some stray clouds. And even though the afternoons have started becomig characteristically warm, the night was nippy enough to warrant folded hands.

The eclipse proceeded at its normal pace, allowing enough time to the marooned Christopher Columbus to extract food and help from the scared natives.

The light on the terrace started increasing slowly as the shadows moved and larger portions of moon became visible.

The opposite side of the sky was now showing red-orange lining and the birds had started chirping. I was still struggling with the camera - trying to adjust the zoom, keeping my hand steady to not spoil the picture, trying to find a good platform, playing with various controls, trying to capture something more than a blurb....

Now the moon had become much bigger and more birds were awake. A crow sat on the water tower of the next buildling and the camera flash scared it! At last, all of the moon was out of the inky shadows. The opposite side was better lit now and the sun would soon make its way in to the world soon.

Gauche, Sinister, Ciotóg, Southpaw

We finished an exhausting meeting and the person opposite to me says, “It is amazing how you do it.”

“What, the endless meetings, but you did all the talking!”

“No, I mean, all the writing”

“Yeah, like you are going to remember all this…”

“No, writing with the left hand”

Ah, now we were speaking on a topic! Is it really that amazing? Well, may be it is…for it appears only about 12% of the population can exhibit the dexterity! Or the gaucherie, actually!

Persistence by an interested person and good topic (in my opinion) - he carefully noted the position of the paper…for it was laid almost horizontal - at an angle of more like 10 degrees with the edge of the table contrary to the conventional 90 degrees, with the head of the paper on extreme right. The pen was moving furiously in what many perceive as an unnatural movement. Even I am so used to seeing people write with the right hand that when I see someone write with the wrong hand, it seems unnatural to me…. But isn’t the whole world opposite to a few of us? I have been chastised in childhood for the position of the note book, but the teachers never realized that unlike others if I were to keep it vertically on the desk, I would not see what I write! They would compliment the handwriting though, for other brethren of this community were not so lucky in this respect. Here is an article that shows various ways and positions of writing used by the southpaws. And I follow this style:

Only that in my case the page makes more acute angle than shown in the picture.

There are many things yours truly cannot do:

1. Use mouse with the left hand – to start with…
2. Use the num pad on regular keyboards
3. Use the screwdriver – I inadvertently tighten the screw if the intention is to loosen it, anticlockwise seems so natural.
4. The water tap – again the same problem as the screwdriver. But in the fancy new taps where rotation is not the motion to control the flow, I still tend to do the opposite.
5. Lock or unlock swiftly, for the key first moves in the opposite direction…
6. Use the nail cutter. This amazes me too. But for some unknown reason, I have to rely on a pair of old-grandfather-scissors to cut my nails. So, when I travel, the scissors travel with me. (If you say, eew to that…try using the scissors with the left hand and find for yourself!)
7. Use the spoon with the right hand.

Only one thing I was trained to do with right hand is eating in Indian style. My grandmother insisted that I practice and eat with my right hand. This does not work in a stand-up style eating so common at weddings and parties; I automatically switch to the left hand. Otherwise, there was no pressure to convert!

I once hurt a bank employee with the sharp end of the pin used to hold the check and the payee-slip together, for I put it in with the left hand and she tried to remove it with the right hand, making her fingertips vulnerable to the sharp-end of the pin. I still use my left hand and also the pin, but it is inserted holding the papers upside down, making it right-side-up!

I often get chastised at religious functions, for I make the offering with the left hand or extend my left hand to accept prasad, which is a big no-no. But I persist nevertheless. At my sister’s wedding, the priest was logical enough to let me ‘do’ things with the left hand, the photographer was not. When we entered into the new home, my mother requested that I put the right foot inside first – the request was granted immediately ;-), but the following ritual was all left-handed. Over time, I have almost turned into a maverick-left-handed rebel. But to be fair the society has also become more tolerable of this minority community. And I still cannot tighten the screw (pun intended)….

Not only is the hand usage asymmetrical, there is a preference to using even one eye and ear dominantly! Now I only need to find out which eye and ear use dominantly.

Do animals show hand-preference? Some primates do, according to this article . Some animals also show preference based on the prey. In some cases, some species of snakes have evolved teeth that makes it easier to break open snails that have clockwise shells. But according to the famous psychoanalyst Steven Pinker, most do not. For, Pinker believes that human brain is more complex than primates’ brain is. Because of the evolved skills such as complex logical and abstract problem solving, language etc., our brain needs special rewiring, distributing tasks of logical processing to some areas and in return showing favor to handedness to make motor controls simpler. But I guess, why so many right-handed and so few left handed is not a simple question to answer.

Now the title words: all mean left handedness in negative sense with exception of southpaw. Etymology of southpaw is interesting. In the baseball game, the striker stands facing east to avoid the afternoon or evening sun, so a pitcher throwing the ball with his left-hand faces south.
Jibe: No right-handed people were hurt in writing this post.

This One Takes the Cake

Joshua said stop the sun and Galileo got prosecuted. The sun did not stop. Later, Charles Darwin said monkey and man shared the same grand-father and nothing much happened for a long time. You put your feet up, folded your arms behind your head admiring the intelligence behind the Lazy Boy recliner and unwinding your day when like a stupid kid swatting a mosquito on your forehead with ping-pong paddle, the Intelligent Design theory made its entry in to this world! It is at least an alternative – emphasized your next-door-God-fearing Ned Flanders! Controversies flowed with parents suing schools, schools being asked to put disclaimers on the text books, scientific bodies making noises against the religious enthusiasts and the religious enthusiasts with cheerleaders like Dubya making louder noises against the scientific bodies….

And just as you are about to go back reclining on your intelligent Lazy Boy recliner – SWAT – and this time with a book right on your nose - Grand Canyon: A Different View.

Is such kind of different view really required here? Geologists believe over years and years together, the Colorado River cut through the mountains; and what you have today is the chiseled, breath taking canyon. This should have been enough. But Tom Vail wants you to believe that the Canyon is the direct proof of Noah’s flood and not just a geological process. The Grand Canyon Park’s Visitor Center sells this book and is now being accused of invalidating science and promoting religious fundamentalism. In his column The Bible vs. science, Tom Krattenmaker tears apart the argument by Vail.

Vail's point, however, begs a question that he and like-minded creationists might not want asked. If they're objectively wrong about the genesis of the Grand Canyon and other geologic matters - you'll be hard-pressed to find a mainstream scientist who says they aren't - must they concede that God does not exist?

That, of course, is a rhetorical question. No amount of scientific evidence will convince an ardent creationist of the validity of human evolution or that the Earth is billions of years old.

Nevertheless, the question frames a problem with the stance of the anti-science creationists that threatens not only their version of the world's origins, but also the credibility of their religion itself. Because by attempting to marshal empirical evidence in support of their beliefs, they enter the debate on the scientists' terms - terms that cannot possibly work in favor of a literal reading of the Bible. By playing in this arena, haven't the creationists already lost the argument?

As the evangelical writer and religion professor Randall Balmer points out, confronting the public with objective evidence of the Bible's literal truth is misguided at its core. Writing about intelligent design (a counter to evolution that sees an unidentified "designer" behind the world's creation), Balmer says, "Paradoxically, when the Religious Right asserts intelligent design is science, it implies that faith in God is … inadequate, that it needs the imprimatur of the scientific method."

The Icing on the Cake

In Florence Y’all KY, a museum is soon set to open called the Creation Museum. This museum is assembling a collection of dinosaur models, fossils, minerals and other material. Reason? Apparently to "demonstrate that the Scriptural accounts of the Creation, Noah's flood, and other major events of biblical history can be trusted" say the organizers.

But the Creationists seem confused. For Krattenmaker sites

“In comments published last fall by the Baptist Press news service, a consultant to the Creation Museum implies that the very foundation of Christian belief will crumble if believers don't disprove the scientific consensus that humans evolved into existence tens of thousands of years ago. The consultant is one Kurt Wise, a Harvard-educated Ph.D. and director of the Center for Theology and Science at Southern Baptist Theological Seminary.

Says Wise: "If humans really date back that far, and Adam lived far enough in the past to be their ancestor, then the genealogical record of Genesis 5 is wrong, and thus the Bible and its author, God, are wrong."

…

To most people, it sounds like Wise is going "all in" with a losing hand. Do religious believers really want the truth of their faith wagered on an attempt to prove that countless scientists have somehow botched their reading of the fossil record?

But here's the rub: Wise acknowledges that nothing can convince him that Earth is older than five or six thousand years. Why? Because the Bible is his ultimate authority. "The most important thing," he says, "is that you ought to be able to trust your God and the claims the Bible makes."

Krattenmaker asks

How ironic, then, that by dabbling in science to promote their beliefs, anti-science creationists are more likely eroding the very credibility they aim to bolster.

Writing Happy Birthday!

Krattenmaker’s column couldn’t have been at a more accurate time! An article published in DNA on Feb 8, 2007 (not sure if it is a reprint, the author is Anthony Mitchell) is titled Ancient find focus of modern debate.

The National Museum in Nairobi is all set to exhibit what’s famously known as the Turkana Boy fossil – presumably one of mankind’s oldest relics. This plan has come under attack from the popular evangelical Christian movement in Kenya. The head of Kenya’s 35 evangelical denominations, Bishop Boniface Adoyo says, “I did not evolve from Turkana Boy or anything like it. These sorts of silly views are killing our faith.” He is calling on his flock to boycott the exhibition and has demanded the museum relegate the fossil collection to a back room. He also wants a notice saying evolution is not a fact but merely one of a number of theories to be displayed in this backroom.

Richard Leakey, a leading fossil hunter and Paleontologist has pooh-poohed Adoyo – “whether the bishop likes it or not, Turkana Boy is a distant relation of his”. Leakey does not mince words – “The bishop is descended from the apes and these fossils tell how he evolved.”

Good one Richard Leakey!

And, if you really want to hear a different view on Grand Canyon, here is one: http://www.aapg.org/explorer/2000/08aug/grandcanyonbeginning.cfm.

Ramabai, the Learned

Some books are bought, but it takes some effort to read. While unpacking a few boxes, I found an unread copy of one of such books I had bought hoping to understand a person better and also understand the sociology of a period better. Pandita Ramabai Through Her Own Words is a compilation and translation of the Pandita’s essays by Meera Kosambi. I liked Kosambi’s style when reading her book Bombay in Transition: The Growth and Social Ecology of a Colonial City, 1880-1980. Meera Kosambi is a director of the Research Center for Women’s Studies at SNDT University for Women and the daughter of the Mathematician Damodar Dharmanand Kosambi – best qualified to compile the essays written by Pandita Ramabai.

As Kosambi points out, Pandita Ramabai was the insider as well as the outsider at the same time. The Pandita was also born and brought up during a period that saw many tumultuous changes for the Marathi intellectual society.

1818 – Peshwa Bajirao II lost the war to the East India Company. A big thorn in the flesh for the British – mainly East India Company – was gone. With that, the Bombay Presidency inherited the core Peshwa Empire and also confederate princely states of Baroda, Gwalior, Indore, Nagpur etc. Though caste politics was not the dirty ball-game as much as it is today, Peshwas being the Chitpawan Brahmins, the caste automatically enjoyed the highest status. The erudite scholars – masters of the Vedas, Puranas, Shastras were involved in debates and making sure that the religion – dharma – was followed and not desecrated in any manner. Since the caste got many non-questioned rights similar to the clergy in France before the revolution, keeping others under the thumb was important. The Brahmin dominated society was more worried about the class strata and mired in rituals and orthodoxy many a times teetering on the edge of superstitions. Needless to say, the shudras – the lowest rung of castes and women got the wrong end of the stick in an otherwise prosperous state. Many Brahmins though lived on dakshina – donations – in return of teaching Vedas or Shastras and bhikshuki – alms given in return of performing rituals. For some, in this highest stratum of the society, penury was not uncommon.

One such penurious but deeply religious Brahmin was Anant Shastri Dongre – who was impressed by hearing and seeing the mellifluous Sanskrit debates in the court of the Peshwa. If the queen – wife of the Peshwa – can be erudite in Sanskrit, why not my wife too, thought Anant Shastri. This brought a strong reprimand for the women were not supposed to be learned! His first wife died without learning Sanskrit and when he remarried and the second wife Laxmibai learnt Sanskrit, it brought the wrath of fellow caste men to Anant Shastri. Of the couple’s six children, three survived with Ramabai being the youngest. The family traversed the length and breadth of the country visiting holy places and making a living by reciting the Puranas. Anant Shastri taught Sanskrit to not only his son Srinivas Shastri but also to the elder Krishnabai and the youngest Ramabai (born 1858). The girls learning Sanskrit brought the wrath of the community once again. Anant Shastri though took another step – not getting Ramabai married as a child – after he saw Krishnabai’s child-marriage fail.

Unlike the women of her time, Ramabai was not locked being a wife and mother, on the contrary, she was trained in public speaking, debating and treated as her brother’s equal. Later this helped Ramabai enter the public, male arena of social reform without any hesitation. Her life though was mired with tragedy – the parents were lost to the famine when Ramabai was only 16. A year later, in 1875, Krishnabai also died of cholera. The brother-sister duo continued their pilgrimage and they chanced upon arriving in Calcutta in 1878. The Brahmo Samaj in Calcutta had already started the social reforms (Bengal was under the British hegemony almost a century before the Maratha Confederacy) and Ramabai was taken in to the movement. Her intellect and Sanskrit skills were honored by bestowing the titles of Pandita (the learned one, feminine form of Pundit) and Sarasvati (the Goddess of Learning) on her. The Pandita delivered public and private lectures on the emancipation of women and soon achieved the fame of being a champion of women’s education. But personal tragedy struck again and again. Srinivas Shastri died of cholera in 1880. Alone and helpless, Ramabai married Srinivas’s friend Bipin Behari Das Medhavi a non-Brahmin Brahmo Lawyer and gave birth to a girl, Manorama. In 1882, cholera struck again, leaving Ramabai a widow and a mother of an infant.

Caste bonds are strong in Indian society even today. At that time, they were stronger. The reformers of Maharashtra laid claim on their ‘native daughter’ and the Pandita came to Pune. Immediately she became a part of the reform movement of the Prarthana Samaj and became one of us in the Chitpavan Brahmin community.

The post-Peshwa but pre-reform society is difficult to understand. The society was rigidly divided on the caste strata. Position of a woman was even difficult. The only status a woman ever had was only if she were married and had sons (daughters did not count). Widows were the lowest rung of the society and were disfigured via tonsured heads and coarse clothes. Their presence was considered inauspicious and sinful. Imagine the outrage it must have caused when the Pandita talked of emancipation of the women!

A part of the social reform had already started with Mahatma Phule taking steps towards education of women and setting an example by educating his own wife Savitribai. Savitribai was now a teacher in a school she ran with the help of her husband. The likes of Justice MG Ranade, Lokahitwadi Deshmukh, Sir RG Bhandarkar, Justice Telang, Lokmanya Tilak, GG Agarkar had started taking steps towards social reforms, equality and education. (Justice Telang presided over the first recorded divorce case filed in the Bombay High Court by a woman. At that time, the law did not allow women to file for divorce. Later the same woman – Rakhmabai – went to England for further education and became the third woman-doctor in India. She spent most of her life in Surat/Baroda taking care of the ill). The social reforms were a men’s world and interfering in the men’s task was not tolerated. Savitribai herself faced a lot of trouble. Justice Ranade’s wife, another Ramabai, had started a society called Seva Sadan that brought helpless women together. But it was still under the guidance of the Justice himself. The Pandita started Arya Mahila Samaj – a society intended to mobilize women through consciousness-raising, but this was treated as a threat by the male dominated reform movement.

The opposition faced by the Pandita renewed her ambition to study medicine and she decided to travel to England. The Sisters of the Community of St. Mary the Virgin at Wantage arranged for her stay. She was to earn her living by teaching Marathi to the Sisters. The Sisters were to be sent to Western India but there was a clear understanding that the Pandita would not convert to Christianity. The Pandita continued her emancipation of women movement by writing on behalf of the Arya Mahila Samaj, raising funds and meeting influential people (One such being Sir Bartle Frere, former Governor of the Bombay Presidency). Despite of the Pandita’s understanding on non-conversion, the Sisters genuinely believed that she was in England as an inquirer to study Christianity. The pressure and coercion started mounting slowly. Out of fear, the Pandita’s companion Anandibai Bhagat tried to strangle her master (it was better to die Hindu, than to live Christian) and later committed suicide herself. Anandibai was baptized on her deathbed and under pressure, the Pandita converted to Christianity to be baptized into the Anglican Church as Mary Rama (along with her daughter Manorama Mary).

This event had a paramount impact on the Brahmin community in Pune and Calcutta and this of course, did not go well with them. The Pandita never explained it and she was never exonerated for her misstep. It was however, inexplicable that a woman of her intellectual capability would be forced to take such a step. The Sisters Community even started planning a missionary career for the Pandita. Later, her medical studies discontinued because of an incurable deafness and she enrolled in the Cheltenham Ladies’ College as teacher-student – learning Natural Sciences, Mathematics and English and giving Sanskrit lessons in return.

The Pandita was invited to be present at the convocation ceremony of Dr. Anandibai Joshee – the first woman doctor of India at the Women’s Medical College of Pennsylvania. She delivered several lectures on the cause of the Indian women and published essays on the same subject in the United States during her stay there for over two years. She also started writing a book called United Stateschi Lokasthiti ani Pravasvritta (the People of the United States and a Travelogue) contrasting a vibrant, progressive democracy with the colonial Britain. A society called The Ramabai Association of Boston was formed to help the Pandita’s cause in India.

After coming back, the Pandita started the Sharada Sadan (Home for Learning) for widows. Within two years, the Sadan found itself in the middle of a storm caused by the allegations of proselytization. A sensitive issue with the orthodox Indian community, it snowballed quickly leading to much bitterness. Later the Pandita started an overtly Christian institution called the Mukti Sadan (Home of Salvation) and expanded it into the Mukti Mission. The Pandita also started focusing on women from the lower castes and moved away from Pune. She started many schools and taught income generating skills (like nursing, tailoring, waving, operating a printing press etc.) to the women she housed.

At some point, with the revelation in the classic Christian tradition, faith superseded intellectual questioning and her earlier openness to religious issues gradually was usurped by blatant proselytizing. She also believed that the Hindu women would take shelter in her institutions and realize that their oppression can be remedied only by conversion to Christianity. This marginalized the Pandita from the mainstream reform activities.

The British Government recognizing her contribution to the social reforms awarded her Kaiser-i-Hind gold medal in 1919. The final personal tragedy fell upon the Pandita when her forty year old daughter Manorama died in 1921. The Pandita died in 1922. Such is the life history of a brilliant, pro-reform, feminist, scholar who lived during the period when many transitions in the Indian society took place.

The Pandita has written many essays and letters. She writes about Stri Dharma Niti – Morals for Women. She writes about her personal experience during the famine. She writes about the Hindu Dharma, the High-Caste Hindu Women, the Conditions of Women in the USA, about her own work at the Mukti Sadan and Kripa Sadan. Some of her essays have been translated from Marathi into English by Meera Kosambi and some published for the first time. What will these essays hold? Will the feminist Pandita expect the woman to blindly follow instructions from her husband in Stri Dharma Niti? Will the essays on Mukti Sadan and Kripa Sadan take a critical view of the Hindu dharma? I will read and find out, through her own words!

The Pandita’s contribution to the cause of women immense. One cannot debate on the attributes that placed her among the scholars. Standing up to the men in those days required immense courage and the Pandita had it. The outsider element came from the Pandita’s accepting Christianity. But the Marathi society still feels the Pandita as one of us.

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?