Road Series : Madness !

I have a few habits. Hey stop. I am going to spare you from the gory ones. But this one, is quite innocuous : taking a quick walk in the vicinity of the office building post lunch.

As is with other oddities, comments / remarks / jokes / nudges etc etc, have come my way. Ranging from 'do you want to buy up the building' to 'its bad for health' to 'you must be plain nuts'.

Well, everyday afternoon the sun tests my ability to withstand the heat. And i try and test the sun to beat me down. In under 10 minutes, the sun overwhelms me. In no time, beads of sweat form on the forehead, the shirt is drenched, the skin burns.

When all of the the above happens, i know that it is time to turn around. I feel like a local college champion, overwhelmed by the likes of a Roger Federer , just by his showing up! In no time, I rush back to the cool climes of controlled temperature of the office.

Today too, that's the scene. The sun is at the top his bent. The March madness rules. I walk. In some time, beads of sweat are beginning to form on the forehead. Very soon, the skin sends a SOS beep to the brain, warning of the threshold level heat being crossed. The legs involuntarily turn around to head back.

And just then, the eye spots them.



Four boys. Sitting under the open sun. Not a tree or shade in sight. On the edge of the road. Two of them on a stool. Two on what appears to be brick, propped up by a broken down computer monitor. An inverted vessel holds a carrom board. And there is a game that is on.

I stare in disbelief. I look up to check if it is the same sun.

I watch for about 3 minutes. I don't have to pinch myself. The sun does it for me. I lose today's battle with the sun. Too. Soon, I head back to office.

I keep turning around to look if boys and their carrom game are done. The carrom game is on, till the last, the eye can see. The Sun doesn't seem to be winning this battle.

That image of those four boys in mid day sun stays in my mind. In some time, i head to a meeting. And make my grand pronouncement : "You win some. You lose some. Even if you are the sun !".

Others in the room look at each other. They smile a weak understanding smile. They know me by now. They know March. They know the Sun. And i guess, they think they have an understanding of the first signs of madness.

Ofcouse, I know too : Give me a carrom board. Three other blokes. An inverted run down monitor. And one huge brick. And ofcourse, the sun !

Road Series : Madness !

Road Series : Spare the plate !

What is 3 + 7 + 9 + 8 + 23 ?

hmm


hmm


Well.

I mean...I take time. Lets face it. I am slow. Ok ? With numbers especially. I have a problem with numbers. Give me words to play with. Any day. But numbers..well..hmm..you get the idea.

I mean, look at the numbers that confront me with appearance or disappearance. Like that mirage of a bank balance. Or that illusion of a 32 inch waistline. Why go that far. Take the worry around my age. Ok. Ok. Stop.

The world runs on numbers. I know that. The missus knows the number of dosas i have gulped down. The boss clearly knows the number that i missed. And how many times as well. The pittance of the shares that i bought long back, disappeared before the fanfare in the heart around their purchase evaporated. Manufacturers alter their discount percentages the day i step in to buy.

A trillion dollars is a lot of number for a bucket and a bail out ! That's my perspective. And of course, bonus is a bad word !

Of all of these, the only constant shareable number in peoples lives are number plate on their cars. I mean, its there. Right up there for the world to see. You can have it fancy or simple. But you cant have a number on the same car that goes up and down like the economy or the bank balance.

And that has been so comforting. For a long while now, while people look at the car and brand, i look at the number on the number plates. That degree of constancy is so assuring.

And for some time now that has been under threat. Obviously i don't like it.





Indian numerals on number plates ! And i have seen this in Tamil, Marathi and kannada scripts. And quite obviously, i didn't study numerals in any of them. I am illiterate ! And naturally all of them seem to be forms of art to me !

I am told that this is done to demonstrate a passion for the language. Come on. Come on!

Demonstrate passion. Sure !! Write an essay. Send text messages. Speak (abuse) in chaste native. Send children to native language schools. Speak the language. Read up literature. Ok. Ok. Ok. I give in. Go ahead and watch those damn mega serials. All in Gurmukhi, Tamil, , Marathi,Kannada, Hindi...

But please. Please. Spare the number plate

I mean, if you cut the lane, jumped signal, crashed into me and drove away, and i want to file a complaint. You sure dont expect me and the rest of us illiterates take a pen and paper to do a pencil sketch. Do you ?

Wait a minute...

Was that the idea ?!?

Road Series : Spare the plate !

Pretty Woman !

I wrote this on our family blog. A letter to my nephew, introducing my dream woman ! I am just compelled to post it here by a strange force ! She was was a tremendous influence on me. And i am just telling the world !


Dear K !

Someday, I'll talk to you about her. I need to.

For you ought to know that this was the lady that made me. And she had grown her ears. Gusty, fearless, compassionate, beautiful, wealthy, steeped in values and of course, ever loving. Those could be the traits of a dream woman. That she was one, i have no doubt. She also happens to be your great great grandmother !!

She told me stories. Of another time. She spanked me when i lied. She hugged me when i cried. She put the fear of God in me. She held me when i trembled at the distant sound of thunder. She urged me to stretch. She taught me to love and to laugh. She walked a fearless walk. And when she talked, the neighbourhood would rumble.

And of course, she fed me ! With a silver spoon !!

A lady with such class, that class would show, when she showed up ! Ever immaculately dressed. Notice all the jewellery in the photograph (clicked in her younger days ) ?!! I have seen them all, on her !! She always moved with great poise and dignity.

There is a story in the family that her husband whisked her away in a horse carriage to tie the knot !! ( In my time there weren't horse carriages..so !!)

Would you believe that she was the first woman in the family to fly ! And no i am not kidding. She flew in the 1930s i am told. Taken to see her city from air, by a husband whose wealth and stature is talked of to this day !

And then, one day, this day, many years back, she passed away. There are a few people who continue to live despite them being long gone away ! She is one.

I somehow feel that she watches over us. Listens to every word that we speak. And to the words that we don't as well. She didn't grow her ears for nothing !!

And so when you step out into the sun, do so confidently. For a gusty, fearless, compassionate, beautiful, wealthy, loving dream woman is watching over you as well.

"Be bold, my boy. Do your duty. And The world is yours". That was her most favourite line. That sounds valid till date ! Doesn't it !?!


( The 'Road Series' continues from the next post on )

Pretty Woman !

Road Series. Stop Listen Go !

Red. Amber. Green.
Stop. Listen. Go.

But..listen ? Where did that come from ? When the signal is changing from red to green, it doesn't do so with a Zubin Mehta flourish or a clash of cymbals by a live orchestra ! What does one listen to ?

This was clicked at a junction in Madurai. Now, you may want to think that the populace of Madurai is so musically inclined that even traffic signals are opportunities to demonstrate a keen ear.

I hate to disappoint you. The keen ear is restricted, by and large, to the loud cacophony of horns, engines and tyres as motorists get ready to zip, fantasising a formula 1 track ahead !

I inferred that 'Listen' seemed to be a literal translation of the tamil word ' 'gavani' ( Pay attention) !

But there is another theory. In fact, another fact. Which i present to you.

In Madurai they had a practice of policemen wielding microphones. Traffic cops. And they shout into the microphone with the huge speakers amplifying it for everybody in this street. And the next two streets too !

Examples abound.


"You in the white car, that's a no parking area"
" Oye Rickshaw, keep moving"
" Yellow shirt, walk on the pavement, not on the road" etc !

The first time i heard this, i thought it was super cool. And they even built a perch for the cops to place themselves in, get a vantage view and speak into the microphone.

And the cops were a pretty happy lot too. At least their faces seemed to say that. They didn't have to blow the whistle. All they had to do was to shame a person ! "Oye you in the white shirt, cant you understand simple language ? Are you educated..... ?"

If at all i had any problem, it was this. That they had many speakers in many streets. With one policemen doing the rounds. Obviously in one street at any point in time !

So you know what happens !

'Oye yellow shirt', the speaker amplifies, 'walk on the pavement'. And every gent around, in a street many corners away, does one thing for sure : checks the colour of his shirt & looks for the pavement !!

'Rickshaw' he bellows into the microphone, chastising one rickshaw puller who seems to have broken a no parking rule ! The entire neighbourhood reverberates with his booming voice. And rickshaw pullers in the entire vicinity tidy up their act !

Suddenly "Stop. Listen. Go" makes sense.

Do you think this can be adopted as some kind of a standard operating principle in the world ?!! Hmm !

Road Series. Stop Listen Go !

Made in China

Their father bought them a car. This car. This red car. With yellow wheel caps, yellow seats and a white steering wheel. At the rear, this car sported a 'Made In China' tag. It was a different age. China was yet to be crowned an economic giant and 'China' still had a positive ring to it.

Having said that, the boys were disappointed that the car was not 'Made in Japan' as the other cars that their father bought them did.

The car did move with a smooth whine. For a few days, it was treated very well. Dust wiped off, many times, and given prime position right under the pillow, as the boys slept.

The days wore on and all hell gradually broke loose. For the car suddenly started finding legs of tables, chairs, humans and plain straight walls in its way.

A few months passed.

The car began to take the air. I mean, it was flying about. Hurled with supreme speed , accuracy and intent, which, if information is to be believed, inspired zillions of Tata Sumos to take to the air in Tamil movies !

The car just stood its ground. Dented here and there, the windshield broken, and the odd plastic tyre, twisted, but standing its ground. And the engine still whined very well. Made in China. It was !

A few years passed. The car still whined but moved. And pretty well too.

On a day when then mother and father were away, the younger boy, with a penchant for design and art worked on it. With a sharp blade and imagination. as tools. '

Volvo'. He wrote. '10' he wrote. 'MRF' he wrote. Actually, scrapping the red paint. Revealing grey metal inside. And suddenly, the car seemed to have acquired a certain character.

The rally driving he saw on Doordarshan needed an outlet. And this car was right there.

The older one, not given to such talent and imagination, hemmed and hawed. And took to moaning the loss of original paint. The parents were subtly made aware with select breaches of information. And to his surprise, they gave him a look that almost told him 'grow up' !

Many decades pass.

The young boy with imagination is now a successful corporate type. Using the imagination to scrape out the surface and give character to projects and proposals. And by the way, blessed with a young son, who is just studying the art of making cars fly.

And yes. The car that was made in China, when 'Made in China' had a different ring to it, stands. A little broken and written all over, but standing proudly !

And the older son, yes, the same one who almost got the 'grow up' look from his parents, hopes to garner some sympathy hits on his blog through this post ! At the least, he pleads for a different 'look' from his readers.

In return, he promises to work on his imagination.

Made in China

Just Miss !

Dear reader, now that you are on this site, please focus your vision on that writing above the number plate ! Please focus hard. Or you might just miss it !!

'Just miss'ing it can give you a new meaning !

So, lets focus. On that backside !!! Of that lorry.

'India is grate !'

It proclaims. And i have no reason to complain. It perhaps is such a representative statement of who we are. Where we are. The way in which our politics and business is shaping up, the common man experimentally takes to 'g-r-a-t-i-n-g'.

"India is great" was perhaps appropriate in the olden times. We have evolved from great to grate. Quite a natural evolution. And as India continues to evolve, grate would also move on. Any suggestions for the future ?

hmmm...

Gyrate ?!?

Seems plausible !


Below, these two were clicked at a particular creative stall at the Kala Ghoda exhibition ! But i guess these have been recreations of real life spotting !

The first one announces a dhaba. I mean, at a dhaba there are toilets, but the main attraction of course is the food. I say no more.




And the second one, well, its Gold, silver and a certain alloy. Three distinctly separate words. I mean, there was no indication that this was to be read together and had to do about some medieval war costume. Or something like that. hmm. What say ?




And what happens when you combine two words. Of 'tasty and pastry' ! Well, you get 'pasty' ! As a distinct word. Isn't it ?!? That's my grand theory !

clicked in Mumbai. Feb '09

Now, if you are thinking 'libel', i must tell you, that cakes are for the eating ! Indeed !


And one snap that i could not get but deserves mention. An ornately written banner. On a speeding lorry. As he cut lanes in front of me, and broke a signal and kept going.

"PRISE THE LORD" !

I told myself. Yeah baby. Prise him ! Break the next signal too. And the next one too. Just don't stop. Until you split him down the middle !

Just Miss !

Of fossils and armies !

Here are two images. Spotted on the roads of big city Mumbai !

The first one : a spraymint ad. Exhorting women to use this spraymint and be 'kiss ready' ! And going on to conduct a contest for the most 'kiss ready' woman on the website (advertised therein)!

At 7.45 AM. In the hustle bustle of Mumbai morning traffic, i cant help but wonder how much of a fossil i am becoming. For i read and wince. The world is at peace. The bus for one, moves at a steady pace.

I notice that the wince on my face, stays.

Would a woman get excited by this ad and walk up to a store and ask for this spray with ease? Not that it would affect me, if she did. But hey, the question remains, would it create a surge in demand a spike in sale !?!

Not to my mind.

But the people that made this spray (and this ad) must have some cogent reason, market research and many creative hours of billing. And so, perhaps. Women do walk up and buy. I dont know. But....

I scratch my chin, and wonder, how much of me is a fossil ! Already !



The second image is that of a taxi.

A taxi that sports Ram's name and the Nike logo on the windshield. Togther! Now, Lord Ram didnt wear Nike. As far as i know. And to the best of my knowledge, Nike didnt sponsor Ram's trip to Lanka. Or anywhere else for that matter.

But this taxi driver must be an ardent Ram devotee and Nike loyal ! So there, Ram and Nike co-exist !

I wonder how do i greet the taxi driver ?!? 'Jai Shri Ram'. Or 'Just Do It' ? Maybe both ! Hmm.

Now, these two pictures being placed in one post is sheer coincidence. Of the bus and the taxi being spotted in quick succession ! Ram am sure, understands the ways of the world.

I am not sure of his armies though.

Of fossils and armies !

Anyone for coffee ?

We are brewing. Really. New brew ! We have officially established South Indian rule in our home ! Yes. We We too drink Filter Coffee !! I mean, we too make it at home. Right here! And yes. We too have arrived ! (Wikipedia has all the details for you here !)

Amongst the many that i talk to, any discussions around my origins invariably lead to a discussion around Filter Coffee. The sharp eyed would have spotted my squirm and a shuffle of feet. Or atleast a shuffle of fingers of the feet, inside the shoe.

For in the family, 'filter coffee' was confined to the borders of Tamil territory. In our family tree. But we broke it all.





During this trip back home, coffee powder was picked up. " 'PB' standing for 'Peaberry' " we were told. The coffee filter was picked up, right here in Mumbai. And voila there is a decoction and the strong aroma of coffee that waffles through the morning air are now common place.

To the uninitiated, this may not be big deal. Neither was Filter coffee a big deal to us, until we moved here. North of the deep south !! Here, good old Filter Coffee is seen as an integral part of a Tamil existence. That connection seems to rule common mind space. Like a cross to Christ !!! Very rightly so !

Sample this. We would have guests at home. The best of good food would be served, nay, attempted. And promptly showered with wonderful critical acclaim that's generous. And then a few thinly veiled questions would surface about filter coffee. You know, something like, " the food was tastier than the ones that we get in Matunga, but over there you get filter coffee also' !

And we would grin and mouth our 'thank yous'. Pretending that their statements didn't go beyond the comma. Now, the guests who did comment were a small minority. But you know, we feared the worst. Even when nothing was said !!!

But now, hey, we too have filter coffee !

And as the coffee sinks in, leaving a strong aftertaste in the mouth and in the air around too, we glance at slogans like "coffee drinkers are better thinkers" with a new slant !

But you know something, the coffee is something. Really something. Today, i wondered why there is so much of connection to the drink. I wonder if its because it helps me connect with home, with every sip? I haven't been a great fan of coffee. Until now.

I don't know.

But that's not whats important. Whats important is this : The guest list is being refurbished. With some confidence ! Aha !

Now, anyone for coffee ?

Anyone for coffee ?

Trunk To Trunk !!

So have you been taken for a ride ? On an Elephant ? On the roads !?!

The resounding bells that used to hang by the sides used to announce the arrival of elephant and the mahout into the neigbhourhood. For a small fee, one could get a ride. And for a smaller fee, the elephant would touch your head with its trunk, as you bowed in deference and devotion. and the world around you would say that you were now blessed !

And then came National Geographic and the likes. Where the rest of the world saw elephants as exotic species. In safaris and through the lens of some of the best photographers of the world. And all you could hear was a groan escaping your lips.

It didn't strike you as big deal ! You grew up seeing the elephant. He was your God ! You saw him every other day at a temple. Or the next street. Or at a wedding reception! Touching human heads with the huge trunk and collecting that small fee !

"We have been seen as a land of elephants" , lamented a young software friend. Fresh with an accent and a whiff of perfume and scent of drying ink on his passport. And quiet obviously there was some discussion.

"New age imagery of India may be something, but please', i told him, 'please find a way of including the elephants into your scheme of things. Perhaps name a piece of software in its honour. I mean, look at Java and Maya !!' The elephant is a large majestic being and you cant wish it away ! With all your might !

White Elephant, they scream at something that cant be put to use. A heavy person is affixed a tag : Elephant. Of course ! And as much as these are cruel to people, well, i want to say, spare a thought for the elephant as well !

With the power of quick wishes that have super quick freeze into inaction, i want to start a movement to bring back the majestic elephant to the forefront ! 'Majesticity' doing a disappearing act before metaphors of expense and weight....well, that's not done !
The streets of Mumbai and other big metros don't see the elephant. As much. Perhaps that's why, i thought !

And then, i spotted one. In the traffic bustle of Powai's main road. Striding majestically. Amidst commuters waiting for a bus. And those big German engineered cars with three pointed stars or three alphabets for a name, and the puny efficient cars of the Japs & Koreans , the Indian wannabe cars and the rest of those that are fighting bankruptcy, all keep a respectful distance.

Almost seeming to bow in deference to this big one. Each stride, majestic. Each wave of the trunk an artistic beauty. This was not bumper to bumper traffic. This perhaps was trunk to trunk traffic. Nobody cared. Size matters. I realised. Always.

And then one day, i saw that same software friend at a temple. Bowing in deference. As an elephant 'blessed' him with his trunk.

Perhaps that ink on the passport was drying. I thought. The elephant didn't seem to care. These thoughts were for small minds like mine.

Trunk To Trunk !!

Top Down. Bottom Up !

clicked at Madurai

They hang it from the top. From all sides. And all angles.

Just to ensure your eye catches it. And then, they layer it well. With the colour showing. And the patterns beaming. And of course, they bargain till the last paise ! A friend tells me that there is a science behind it !

I am sure there is. It is beyond doubt that these people haven't studied the science in a B School. Good for them. For they continue to do roaring business in the most intense times of depression. Credit is unknown in this world !

A professor i talked to, said, that only these chaps seemed to be beating out the recession. And i took a bow ! Wasn't this wonderful !?!

Top Down ! That's the way things seemed to be hanging. And working too.

And then, i spotted this.

clicked at Madurai

The chaps who sell these chairs, sell almost everything by evening. Every evening. Every day. They sell only for cash. And buy for the same too. And the wares that they sell last a good few years. And these people still do good business. Very good business.

This was Bottom Up ! And working too.

Top Down or Bottom UP, whilst the suits were folding up with 'bailouts' and 'bankruptcy' in their lips, here are examples of how the original components of of commerce & trade hold value : Buyer. Seller. Value. Exchange. Money. Real Transactions !

Somewhere along the way, as we acquired new suits, new jargon, and a new education, i guess 'Top Down' and 'Bottom Up' acquired new meaning and habits too.

Sigh !

Top Down. Bottom Up !

Question D !

I need some help. Read on.

Preserved by a dotting mother who doubles up as a collector of family memories, this chap remains. Many decades after he was slapped, thrown about, trampled all over and sometimes washed up and decorated ! Yes. This chap was my toy !

And i was reacquainted with him last week. And promptly clicked !

And what an aspirational toy ! At that time, there was desire. To wear those bell bottom trousers. For that long wavy hair. And yes. For that bright yellow shirt and sky blue trousers ! For that red guitar and lovely music, that i saw film heroes spew !

And this chap is symbolic of a time when there was innocence in the air and the thinking was as wide as the vast expanse !

As education seeped in, one after the another, the tastes changed. For the whatever remained, reality reared its stark face. The last on that list being 'wavy hair' !

More importantly, this chap reminded of a time when you were asked four questions. All the time. Many times over. By new people. Same people. Half people. At dinners. Get togethers. When people visited. When you visited.

a. Which school do you go to ?
b. Which class do you study in ?
c. What is your class teachers name ?
d. What do you want to become when you grow up ?

Of course, there would be a few more questions. And there were those who would ask the same questions all over again, in the same interaction so much so, that you wondered if could make the earth would part ways. Then and there !

The answer to question D, on that list, would vary. Many times according to mood. The intensity of the sun. Of course, on who was asking, and who all were listening. The answers used to vary from, 'Pilot. Journalist. Prime Minister. Policeman. IAS officer' and the like. These were my oft quoted.

The more libellous ones were, 'Film star, cricketer, Astrologer.." Whatever the answer, without doubt, there would be those who would probe further. 'Why' they would ask. Or sometimes, smirk / laugh / nod head and say, 'really?'.

There was one gent who used to be a master at this. He would ask me this question, over many years. And when he did ask me this question, for the 2,33,678th time, i remember, having my hands on my hips and telling him, ' Superman'.

The man's eyebrows widened. And there was momentary surprise. There was a plan. That if at he would ask me 'Why', i would muster all courage and state that Superman got to wear blue trousers for underwear and read underwear for trousers. And of course, had a curtain cloth hanging on his shoulder.

His surprise had him mute. There was no need to muster the courage. I remember wanting to go on. And tell him, "Phantom". "Tin Tin". "Batman" and each had equally powerful reasons. Surprisingly the 2,33,679th time didn't come.

This chap with the guitar reminded me of that time ! Now, If you spot a dark chap in a bright yellow shirt and a sky blue bell bottom trousers, with a guitar slung across the shoulder....well, spare a second look ! It could be me, wanting to recreate that time !

Many decades later, the toys have changed shape. Size. But hey, the questions remain too. Slightly different though.

a. Where do you work ?
b. Where do you live ?
c. How many kids do you have ?
d. How much do you earn ?

And this is where i need some help. Can you help me with a 'superman' kind of answer for 'question 'd' ' !?!

Question D !

Madurai Malli !

clicked outside Meenakshi Amman Temple, Madurai

Ok. All those wonderful ladies who asked me to post pictures from Madurai, this post is especially for you !! It would be a error of judgment if i put in four -five posts on Madurai and didn't get the flowers in ! Madurai Malli ( Malli = Jasmine )

Yes. The legendary Jasmine flowers from Madurai are world famous. I would give two hoots and a half to 'world famous'. I would give the world to the wonderful and distinct aroma that the Madurai Jasmine permeates.

clicked outside Meenakshi Amman Temple, Madurai

My dad published a book on flower marketing. That was downright confusing. Flowers meant those white nice smelling thing in baskets, and endless bargaining over a few paise!

Of course, there was a wonderful aroma in the air when the flowers were around...but a book was way too much ! Years later, i realised that Jasmine exported world over from Madurai is quite something indeed.

The flowers that you see in Madurai are so neatly knit and so tightly knit too. There just is no space in between two flowers ! Such a contrast from many other parts of the country where there is so much space between two flowers, that if it were a border between India and Pakistan, we would be at war with each other every day !

clicked outside Meenakshi Amman Temple, Madurai

Wearing flowers on a daily basis is a very daily thing for women in Tamil heartland ! In certain parts of India, i am told that this is not the practice. But hey, numerous tamil films have indoctrinated in us that to demonstrate love, you give your lady love :Jasmine flowers. Roses were very western !

clicked at a wedding in Madurai

And ah, the very many patterns & designs that such flowers take on the head, that indeed is something! That's supposed to leave an impact on the eye, after the nose was taken in by the aroma !

For some reason, this post reads like a documentary ! I have scratched my head enough. But today, thinking of the Jasmine aroma... my mind doesn't work. The fingers seem to have glue coursing in them. So, i leave it that !

Phew ! What a disgrace. To documentaries ! And of course to flowers !

Madurai Malli !

The Original Convertible !

Some of us are born with heavenly blessings. I read about Jawaharlal Nehru going to college in swank luxury. But then, he didn't go to school in a convertible. Well, what is a convertible ? ( Wikipedia defines..."A convertible is a type of automobile in which the roof can retract and fold away, converting it from an enclosed to an open-air vehicle". )

An original convertible. How many of you have gone to school in one? My chest swells many inches. For i have !

In convertible like this.




The cycle - rickshaw as it is called it is a simple contraption of some metal framework at the base, a good hard seat with some cushion topping, a pedal, a chain that hauls, a cycle bell (that has been replaced by a circus hooter these days), a sheet of hybrid material for the roof. With a peep window at the rear !

Now, throw in some good calf muscles and some resounding attitude : That is a guarantee of a good ride !





For a few years, we went to school in one. And then, the school buses made an appearance and we graduated to motor transport. Arumugam, our rickshaw man was one heck of a puny man with bones all over the the body ! Except his calf. In his calf, he had SOME muscles !

I haven't been in a rickshaw for a long time now. There is a discomfort in the mind, to sit on the energy and physical effort of another man. That apart, wonder at this contraption of sorts hasn't ceased !

Of all the parts in the rickshaw, the most important was the seat ! That completely removable seat ! The rickshaw pullers used to guard it with all their lives. Creditors, policemen, rivals all used to take / steal the seat away when there was some issue at hand !

The hood will come down at times, when us children would pester to get a feel of the open air and sunlight ! Those were carefree days ! And we suddenly would feel like tourists of some sort. To go in an open rickshaw !

I saw rickshaws again. Last week. They still seem to be doing the rounds. And pretty well too. And here is the artistic part to the rickshaw. The rear still gives way for some form of art. A painting. An inscription. Something like that. Hold your breath : No product advertising !



On this Rikshaw there is Karunanidhi, Muthuramalinga Thevar and Rajinikant. The first man is the chief minister. So. Muthuramalinga Thevar is quite famous too.

And then, there is Rajinikant. Well, what is Tamil Nadu without him !!!!

I seek to draw your attention to the 'ears' of the rickshaw. Those artistic shapes ( in blue here) protruding on to the sides. Well, that's where my school bags, with all their loads of books, report cards used to hang. On the way, to and from school.

My educational foundations always hung in the balance drawing in all the air !! (Now you know me....!)

Many years later when i went to a another school and discussions used to surface about convertibles & wealthy classmates used to state that owning a fancy convertible was their ultimate dream.

It was there that i wondered, what all the fuzz was about. After all, i went to junior school in one !

The Original Convertible !

Meenakshi Amman Temple !

For all those who asked for pictures...presenting the Meenakshi Amman Temple ! Full details of the place is here..

These two pictures were clicked during an earlier visit.

These pillars and stone know each of my travails. My joys. My sorrows. For it is here that i spoke in silence. To the voice within. In silence. To peace. Part in belief. Part in practice. And more importantly, all in reverence and peace !

The Meenakshi Amman Temple at Madurai, is a must see. So, if you haven't seen this place. Pack your bags ! Its a significant piece of architecture that i have never stopped being in awe of.

Built about three hundred years ago, when there were no cranes, no lifts, no cement, no sophisticated architects and 3D experts with expertise in Maya, it is a celebration of whats possible ! And yes, a sight to behold. The internet will supply you with inputs and information. I am just sharing a few pictures that i clicked !

Temple tower covered with scaffolding now

The temple is under renovation. All towers are covered with scaffolding and presumably the architecture on the towers are getting a new coat of paint. It will be a sight to behold when the scaffolding comes off. For sure !

Painting work on !

The dry temple pond and the dual painted steps to the pond

The temple cow just outside the sanctum sanctorum. Well, the colourful drape on the cow has been sponsored by Sivasakthi Bakery ! But that's besides the point. The rituals are quite something ! Rich and full of pageantry !




A passageway with a painted designs for the cieling, Tirukural verses on one side, and sun rays streaming in through pillars on the other ! I stand there. Absorbing each moment. I dont know for how long !



A pillar in the South Tower. The camera and my own limited photography skills convey a very small fraction of the beauty of the place. It has to be seen and experienced. So, go ahead. And make that trip. If there is any other information / help that you need, do write in !

So, I step out after a couple of early morning hours in the temple.

As has been the practice with me for a few years now, i buy trinkets here. I pay. And the shop keeper says, 'Rhamba Danks'. I hear it as Rhamba Dance ! And then in a minute i realise he was actually thanking me with a "Romba Thanks" ( Thank you very much ). I wonder whats come of me. To think of "Ramba Dance" ! At this time of the hour. With this setting. Huh !

On yet another note, there is this guide, who speaks in an American accent with a stiff Tamil dialect, that i can hear in the background. And he tells tourists that the Temple was built to keep the economy going. "Building a large structure gave employment to many thousands of people for many many years", he says, rolling his R.

I notice that tourists nodding their heads vigorously. I wonder if these guides adapt their 'presentations' to current contexts. But, this theory seems plausible.

That is the solution ! Are world leaders of the recession hit world listening ? I wonder. For now, I hurry home. I am hungry. Already.

Meenakshi Amman Temple !

On the Wall : Ilusory Irony !

The mention of the word Maya, gets me philosophical !

All of the world is Maya. Thats what i knew. I thought of Maya in great awe, and uttered 'MAYA' with an air of respect, and a circle of awe. Until a couple of days back.

'All of the world is Maya', i have read in the epics. Everything is but an illusion and everything is taken from HIM, says the Gita.

Realisation that the world has moved on from there, caught me by surprise. Completely. That for sometime, i thought of myself as a lost soul getting off a ship that was moored in the middle of the Indian ocean for a million years !

Actually, this poster sent me scurrying for knowledge.



And i returned with understanding that Maya is the name of an animation software. Aha !


But think of the irony. The poster that advertises to make you an expert in animation, by studying Maya....is stuck on top of another that announces the death anniversary of a gentleman !

Maya ! Huh !

Javas transformation from coffee to software gave didnt excite me. One bit. I hope Maya stays illusory !

On the Wall : Ilusory Irony !

North of the Deep South.

A migrant rants.

It has been more than a decade, since i put my home city of Madurai on my rear view mirror. Firm in the belief that my future lay beyond the semi urban hinterland of the deep South. And trudged North of the deep south. Armed with whatever a small town living and a simple middle class upbringing could provide. To the wallet and to the mind !

With wide, dreamy awestruck eyes i stepped foot in Bangalore. Bangalore had already taken off. As a wide eyed young man, it seemed to be a no-brainer that i was beyond the influences of the people and culture of my past ! I thought i had arrived. And my future was in the promise of the new found land ! North of the deep south !

Only to realise, within a very short time, that whatever went into my wonder years : the small town upbringing, steady rhythms of life, an emphasis on simple values and shared love, would never be beyond me. But more importantly, it would be the essence of me, in the hustle and bustle of burgeoning metropolises !

And from then on, I have made it a point to return. Just like i have done now. For renewal. For faith. And just to soak in the air, the love and hoping that the spirit gets auto renewed. Like it always has.

Here. There are houses where there were paddy fields. There are malls where there were houses. There are huge apartments where simple stores once stood. There are new stores with neon signs. The old stores continue becoming new. The temple towers stand. They share the skyline with numerous Telecom towers. There are new names to old streets. There are new street corners. There are new streets.

I stand. Just as another tourist. Camera in hand. In my own land. Clicking pictures of what i think has changed. And of what remains, for i know, what remains will also change.

What goes into the camera goes in. What cant get into the camera's many GB hard disk goes into my memory. I relive moments from the past. Moments when i smiled. Cringed. Loved. Smiled. Won. Lost. Ran. Walked. Jumped. Fought wars. And made peace. And grew up. Indelible moments.

The settings may have changed. The script is still relevant. It will always be. For it made me.

Tonight we catch Train No : 6731. And head back. North of the deep south ! I will carry with me a million pictures and a zillion stories. And as the deep south recedes in my rear view mirror, i am pretty much sure that a fresh spirit will course my veins.

Sincere wishes for good tidings from the people and land that made you, they say, stays with you. So they say. I have no reason to doubt that. For, my life is blessed. In the north of the deep south.

Too.

North of the Deep South.

Brokered Deal

We travel Train No : 6732. A train that we are very used to. Its just been a while.

Today, a 'middle berth' will keep me company for the 10 odd hours. And i climb in. The air is chill. And blankets and sheets are crisp. I am tired. All the travel is taking its toll. And soon i am sleeping.

Woken up, in some time, by a distinct rumble in the compartment. The gentleman at the berth right opposite is snoring. High decibel. When problems come, they come in battalions. This is one hell of sound battalion ! I look around for help. Everybody who i can see are are deep inside the blankets and sheets. They too are suffering, i think. And there is some vicarious pleasure.

I try sleeping. Then i realise that there are new snore variants from other passengers. Emboldened perhaps ! Sigh. I twist. And turn. In that middle berth. I call for divine intervention. I fume. If snoring can be a cause for divorce, can it be used to disembark a gent from a train ? I wonder.

In some time. My one and half year old nephew wakes up. I think i know why. Divine intervention, they say, comes in strange ways. I walk the vestibule with him. And this is what i spot.

At 2.30 AM, in the dead of night, with a crying nephew and a high decibel snorer for background score, standing near the litter box of train no : 6732, here i am. A poor tired soul, ready to make a speech on gender equality to the steel pipes metal doors there.

And then, i chance upon this.

These are guidelines in an emergency.

1. "Pull the chain, to stop the train". That's fairly simple, i think.

2. "In case of fire, use fire extinguisher available with the attendant" . Ok. So, upon spotting a fire, i have to run around and locate an attendant. And he will have a fire extinguisher. Which he will give me. Which i will know how to use. Which will work and help me extinguish fire. All this before i reach my destination. Seems plausible.

3. "To exit from the emergency window, follow instructions given on the window" . But where ? But where ? Where is the emergency window ? Then i find the answer written bright red, that emergency windows are coloured red. Aha. So, i go around looking for this window marked in red...when the coach is on fire. Aha. And then read the instructions there. Aha. And act. Aha. Neat. I think.

4. 'If hammer is provided than break glass of hammer box, pick up the hammer and break window glass unit and exit". If not, i mean...if hammer was not provided, then ? What if the hammer was used on an incredible high decibel snorer ? Then ? I shudder.

Suddenly i want to make peace with all my current troubles. And with that high decibel snorer.

All of our pain is relative. I realise that. Today divine intervention taught me that.

My nephew perhaps senses my quandary. And sleeps. I return. To the middle berth. And the background score. My peace made.

So what, if it was a brokered deal.

Brokered Deal