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.