Gas !

This tricycle has a load of gas. But it doesn't run on gas though. Its pedalled by a young chap. About whom this post is about.

On another note...

The world runs on gas. Well, i can at least speak for many a corporate work life. Without much substance, but much gas. But then that's a different story.

The Ambani brothers are at war. Bringing their corporate empires and the government into the ambit. Gas, they say, is the reason.

China and Australia are sparring. Ostensibly over gas.

India, Pakistan and Iran have a tryst with a pipeline. And they say, its about gas.

Russia's shutting of gas supplies, had Europe shivering. That was about gas too.

Now, now, all that would make it appear that it is gas that's driving us and our lives around. And now, about the protagonist of this post...

One afternoon, over a post lunch walk, i strike a conversation with this simple young chap. who distributes gas cylinders.

A truth emerges. When he shrugs his shoulders, and says in a matter of fact manner. In the middle of conversation. About work time and kilometers covered ever day, pedaling this gas.

"I try and stop around 6.00 PM. I study part-time and i have a college to go to. Its difficult at times, especially when there are exams, but..." his voice trails off.

And after a 10 second silence, which seems like forever, erupts a sigh and an emphatic '...its got to be done'.

And almost as an instant rejoinder to himself says, "How long can life be about gas?'

I smile at his question cum statement. 'How long can life be about gas ?!'

In a second, a million images go past my mind. I think of the people of India. Pakistan. China. Australia. Iran. Europe. Russia. Alaska. And the rest of the world. And the Ambani brothers too.

And stare into this determined young man with well built calf muscles and sweat, with a ton of gas in front of him.

I smile a weak smile. Shake my head and say,

'Not for a long time. Not for a long time at all'

Gas !

Rocking Horse

I am not sure if you see horses like these. Ok. Rocking horses like these. Where as toddlers, we swung back and forth. For all the energy that the kid expended, the horse didnt move from one place to another.




The child gets to ride a horse. So he is happy. The mother is happy for he stays in one place. Its win-win all the way ! (Until of course, he comes face to face with a real horse, and starts asking questions like 'why does it not stay in one place" to his mother. But that's another story).

Children of the modern times, get their first lessons in mobility on play items like this. My nephew's first vehicle, just as he is learning to pronounce my name !



The horse (& such else) that rock, have been bypassed ! He zips and zooms from room to room in this three wheeler !

At an age, where i perhaps was learning to turn around to lie on my tummy (Ok, please go with the flow of this post and discount, for the present, that i am a 'little' slow) he zips. Felling whatever objects that come in the way. Be it the dinner plate, the TV remote or the coffee machine !

And in his victories, his parents claim to be monetarily poorer. ( I would contest that claim, and win hands down. But that's another post)

Call it old fashioned attachment to things of the past, my heart lies with the rocking horse. And its variants : The swan. And the elephant. And such else.

Somehow, they brought about a connect to nature. And fueled imagination. So i think. You can imagine a whole lot of things while on a rocking horse ! I guess. Put me on a rocking horse today, and i can conjure up images of Porus and Alexander. Me fighting them, that is !

But, on another note, i don't think he is missing much. At an age when i looked into the radio to wonder who was within such a small box, he watches Discovery channel and Sun TV with such precision, that he perhaps has a mental construct of not only horses, but also every conceivable life form.

(And of course, the Tamil movies will perhaps let him know that Tata Sumos are designed to fly in the air. Guns are like candy. That every man and woman has a soothing voice and a live orchestra inside them. And that, a hundred dance girls in funny costume ready to dance, come preordained with life. Thats again a separate post).

In a few years, he would perhaps access the internet. And learn. All about cars, bikes, buses. And horses too. If he wants.

I am sure he will do that all imaginatively, elegantly and efficiently. At many times the speed of what i can ever do.

I have one consternation though. About what he would think of me, when he reads this post someday. About my language skills. And perhaps my intelligence.

For what kind of a nitwit would one be, to even think of a stationary wooden horse as more fanciful than a colourful cycle that helps to zip inside the house and target the TV.

And worse still, call that horse a 'rocking' horse !

Rocking Horse

Swept clean

This one was spotted in Daman. Right inside the fort. At first, it looked like an Extra Terrestrial vehicle, with tentacles and such else. And a red siren on its head, a striking yellow made it look the part completely. Then the eye rested on ISO 9001 certified.

Now, the ETs wouldnt go for something like an ISO certification. Or so i thought. I always thought of them to work out of strange tentacles and purple coloured brains. So.

And then the other sticker : Daman Municipal Corporation. Hmm. A vehicle to sweep the streets free of dust.

A couple of months ago, a similar vehicle in Bangalore. But that was pristine white, with strange pipes and seeming tentacles all over.




Some swank equipment these. They sure must have been tested. And tried. And perhaps used too. And the some municipal corporations budget must have been swept clean !

I wonder to what end. Especially...

When a swank Toyota's driver lowers the powered window and spits his much chewed gutka, right in the middle of a highway.

When much overseas educated, sophisticated people toss a chocolate wrapper across their window sill, much in the view of their children that are munching on the chocolate.


When the poor man without water or drainage in home, washes his utensils in the middle of the road. And when the drainage pipes of an educated community gets clogged, with sanitary pads, old shoes and diapers.

So, lets buy more such machines. And i can think of these additional uses too to gain additional revenue.

a. Lets parade them on Republic day parades.
b. Show them to visiting dignitaries.
c. Lend to hindi movies ( esp the Sci-Fi ones)
d. let children take joy rides
e. Charge premium at rich weddings and station them as a status symbol

And perhaps out of these options make some money and spread some awareness, on cleanliness. And sensitivity to the other man. Sharing the road. The apartment. The city. And its drainage pipes.

With respect and sensitivity to the other, the world would be a much better place. Now, thats whats called a sweeping statement.

Swept clean

Upgrade to life !

Upgrades are everywhere. You upgrade from live shows to gramophones. To radios. To TV. To Plasma. To LCD to iPods. To God knows what !

You upgrade from a bullock cart to a bicycle. To bikes. To cars. To a bigger car. To a bigger car with a fancy number plate and swanky shine. To.. God knows what !

You upgrade from crayons to pencils. To ballpoint pens. To fountain pens. To fancy pens to....God knows what !

You upgrade from 'water from the lakes', to 'water from the wells'. To 'water from the canals'. To 'spring water from a fancy bottle'. To ...God knows what !

You upgrade from pigeons carrying messages. To human messengers carrying messages. To the postman carrying mail. To email carrying attachments... to God knows what.

You upgrade from simple means, to glorious comforts. You upgrade from simple equations to deep relationship(s).

And God has been upgraded too. From being a concept. To God being nature. To God being another man or woman. To God becoming a statue and a stone. A Temple. A mosque. A church. And of course, the latest upgrade version is some man or woman claiming to be God ! And the next....only God knows what !

Upgrades themselves were designed to get life simpler. At least that was the ostensible reason. Merely a means. That's where they all started out with. Hmm. Somewhere, along the way, upgrades started becoming the end ! hmm

Thats a tonne of ramble.


On another note,

Its Ganesh Chaturti ! The festivities have started in right earnest. Ganeshji seemed to have been given a new transportation as he was taken to a home ! An upgrade of sorts. From the good old mouse to a bullock cart !

The newspaper and the TV is full of 'pick me for i am the latest' ! As one upgrade shouts out 'Try me' over another, and just as living becomes a race to keep pace with the 'new, latest'.

I am telling myself to bear in mind, that there is a life to live, love & joy to spread, and a 'oneness' to eschew. Moving there, would be a real upgrade !

So may the real upgrade, reach all of us, around the world. This Ganesh Chaturti ! Am praying for peace. Happiness & health. Joy and life. Fulfillment & hope. For us.

For all of us.

Upgrade to life !

Exempt !

I clicked this on the highway. A huge hoarding. Listing out all dignitaries that are exempted from paying toll on the highway.

Starting from the President of India ! Vice President of India. Ministers (only if they were in vehicles)....hmm ! The list was long. The hoarding was huge. But the cars on the lane closest to hoarding moved slowly, and i couldn't see it fully.

This exemption from payment, amounts to a grand sum of Rs.38/- only. I am sure the President of India, the Vice-President of India, and those ministers in their vehicles will be pleased as sugar syrup, to get that exemption of Rs.38/- only.

And then, i think...Of course, its not about the money. Its the iconic status that such 'positions' mean to the national highway authority. Now, that sounds logical indeed.

If that's the case, this list is incomplete without names of certain 'global icons' of the film industry. A film star is a global icon indeed. And if you are a Tamil film star, you are well on your way to becoming chief minister.

There is a fit case for the National Highways authority to put up another hoarding extending the exemption of the Rs.38/- toll, to other icons too.

No stoppage. No questioning. Not even a toll fee. That's the least we can do. To global icons & other VIPs.

We then, will have a proud model to display to the rest of the world. As proof of how iconic our stars really are. Even on the highway. To the last Rs.38/-

I wonder how toll roads in distant places like Newark, Chicago, Toronto etc work. Any ideas ?

Now...Newark and other cities are just other cities that came to my mind. Just like that. This post, obviously has nothing to do with this 'major news' (thats been the only vaccine for the media against Swine Flu).

Or whatever else you are thinking.

Exempt !

Covers

There are some covers that stay. Many others are coming off. And yet others are coming on.

The rains usually bring in fantastic innovations from Mumbaikars. As we rankle the informativeness quotient ( if one such exists ) of our brains and cover up our bikes. Our cars and such else. Of course, there are many types of covers.






Thick leather ones. Thin transparent plastic ones. Run down ones etc. The idea is to keep the rain from doing damage to the bike.

And in summer time, there are other less common covers. Like this one. Seemed to be made of a fur like material. But one cant care about the fur.



Its about the looks that this fur will furnish. From 'gaaawd' to 'yeaaaah' ! And there are those that take care special care of these covers. Designing them meticulously and wearing them neatly.

For instance, this taxi.



And of course, this goes beyond pure functionality of protection. That would lead us to people and their dispositions. But we will not go there today.

But of course, people are wearing this funny green masks these days.


Swine Flu cover. Scenes of passengers in a air-conditioned car wearing such masks with their drivers not wearing any, shows more than what the mask can cover.

Messages and jokes on swine flu hit your phone with an alarming regularity, that beats the virus itself.

One such states, ' You wish some people kept their masks on even after the virus is gone'. And almost as a rejoinder came a comment from a colleague. In jest, i presume.

Speaking to another who was talking about a mask, ' You don't need a mask. You already have one on' !

This swine flu business is beyond me. I'd much rather admire the cover on the taxi meter. Whatsay ?

Covers

In-dependence day

So its independence day. Again. At the apartment complex.

The security guards create the background synchronised movement. With some loud banging of their boots and arching their vocal chords! Children play in gay abandon. And some stare with surprise at the normally 'normal' security guards playing 'statue' !

Kurtas rub shoulders with Hawaii shirts. And a 'i love New York' t-shirt, has the Tricolour pinned on it. Like the one pinned on every other shirt and saree. There is discussion about the water problem and swine flu. But all of that dies down soon.

The chief guest arrives. The tricolour hoisted and the rose petals fall. And the National anthem is sung. The tricolour continues to struggle to disentangle and catch the breeze !

And of course, a speech. By the immaculately clad chief guest. A speech that broadly rests on Kargil. On India becoming a superpower. Our pride. The army's brilliance, the economy's resilience.

There is mention of hunger. Poverty. And such else. A gentle nudge that we all should work towards a greater India. Of course, the sacrifices of 'our forefathers' are mentioned.

I sigh, as the speech ends. People shout out 'Jai Hind'. A kid standing close to me, asks her mother, "Mamma is it 'Jai Hind' or is it 'Jai Ho' " ! I struggle not to erupt in laughter.

And then, children sing 'Patriotic songs' as the lovely lady compering the event says. 'Patriotic Songs' gets the emphasis. Many times. Sure thing, that must be specified.

In sometime, i get home. Generally rant, about independence day speeches. About 'all that empty flowery language and a lack of purpose' !

And the missus, clearly annoyed, jumps in. 'So, what would you have talked about if you were giving the speech?"

That catches me by surprise. But i still bravely list out.

Perhaps some stories from everyday lives.... Of teaching children basic manners. The value of money. Water conservation. Closing taps. Treating household help with dignity. Respecting other countries. Other religions. People that are different from us.

Perhaps some stories.... of tolerance and respect for each other. And that means parking cars properly, sorting out garbage, not playing loud music, loudly. Respecting mother Earth...

Independence day is not about a strange alien man or woman who lives somewhere, who will take India and the world to great heights. Its about each one of us. And all of us are dependent on each other......."

And i notice, she is already walking away. She turns around. And says, 'Thank God, you didn't make that speech. People would have moved on before it ended'.

From the other room, she shouts, 'Now, don't go put that on your blog'. I think about it. And head here, to post. Heck. Today is independence day !

Happy Independence day people !

In-dependence day

Events

There we are returning from Daman. And somewhere close to Daman, we see a sea of safron walking. On a pilgrimage. There are boys. Young men. And some sprinkling of women.

There are autorickshaws. Tempos. Cars. Bikes. Et el. Most sport saffron. We drive fast. And the sea of orange whizzes by. Or rather we whizz by. The orange seems to be an unending sea.




Curiosity gets the better of us. We stop at a bridge. And enquire, part in sign language and part in Hindi. The pilgrims are only too happy to talk. And they talk about the month of Shravan. And a pilgrimage.

And as we speak, many more just walk by. And i wonder, if walking comes naturally to India! My mind races to the pilgrimage of Sabarimala. Palani. Velankanni. Shirdi. All have thousands of people walking many many kilometers. And most times without footwear.

With all that, i wonder if Keep Walking was a slogan that Johny Walker picked up from India and its scriptures. And at that moment, i decide to keep my grand discovery hush hush. i don't want some lofty custodian of moral values find one more reason to stage a protest or disrupt parliament ! Sigh !



And just a few hours back, we witness a ceremony. By the 400 year old fort. Someone has passed away. And the 14th day rituals are on. At least, that's what a local tells us. Its a simple, sombre ceremony.


Where a paraphernalia of flowers, coconuts, garlands and such else are immersed into the river. Just as it meets the sea.

And the fort just looks on. Stoically. Perhaps its seen one too many of such ceremonies. After all 400 years is no small time.



Just a while earlier than that, we spot this banner. Narial Purnima is the coconut festival. Where coconuts are offered to the sea God.


But this is the city folk celebrating.

Mehendi is at 10.00 am. And then something called 'Mass Drawing' at 11.30 am. And ofcourse, there seems to be an interesting event called 'mummy's dance' ! (with an apostrophe). And because theres nothing else mentioned there, the Mummy's dance perhaps goes on till 6.00 PM.

Hmm. Seems to be an interesting festival. I am sure there must be something that i am unable to get here. We try talking to the local fishermen. We discover the importance and profoundness of the festival for them. They speak of coconuts, puja and the sea God.

I prod them some more, about 'Mehendi', 'Mass Drawing' and 'Mummy's dance'. All i receive is a stoic silence.

And since then, i have rued the fact,that i didn't get to see the 'Mehendi', 'Mass Drawing' and 'Mummy's dance'. Yes, the same ones that were sponsored by the tourism department.

Events

VIP !

There have been numerous ads for new flats going on sale. Enticing they seem, from afar. Only when you go closer, do you realise that the asking rate for these flats is an arm and a leg.

From this birth and the next one too.

You drop the idea and want to walk away. Only to be enticed into seeing the sample flat. And the salesman wants you to remove your shoe to go inside and look at the sample flat.

You frown hoping that he gets the translation of the frown as 'you must be nuts to ask me to remove my shoe'. Surprisingly it works. He asks you not to bother, and leads you to another part of the room. To this box.






He asks you to put your leg into the box. And voila, there is a plastic cover that envelopes the footwear. Like a spiderman web. Or something like that.

And tells you that after walking about in those blue semi-transparent overalls, you can discard the plastic and walk away !! And keep your shoes on.

You stare open mouthed. The salesman is quick to spot that all his talk about the flat, its layout and features didn't get you as excited as this plastic vending gizmo. He adds. 'This is for VIP customers sir. We cant ask everybody to remove their shoes' !

VIP customer ! You try best to control the laugh. A chuckle escapes. And almost at the same time, he says, 'In the US this is used in hospitals. Doctors use them'.

You are silent. Still struggling to come to terms with a label like VIP customer, and a special distinguishable perk : A blue plastic covering your shoe.

He walks you around the sample flat. It is immaculate. He explains every corner and commode. With a swollen chest and beaming pride, almost certain that he would get you to buy the flat, he asks, 'So, sir...do you have any questions?'

And you answer. In a hesitant tone.

'err...can i keep these plastic covers on my shoes?'

His swollen chest shrivels. He still smiles. And walks you to the door.You walk with pride. You are a VIP. With a funny blue plastic on your shoe as proof.

VIP !

Free Business

And so the TN government is distributing free TV sets to anybody who has a ration card ! What was supposed to get you two kilograms of rice ( amongst other stuff ), getting you a television set... is a giant 'freee leap' in fortune. And we talked about it.

Tax payer money being frittered away. Scheme being misused by well off folks who use their four wheelers to go and get themselves a free TV etc are legitimate and important issues that need to be debated.

For the moment, lets look at this 'Free' business. Visit any mall. Or any kirana store. Or watch the ads ( the serials are boring anyway & Rakhi Sawant has chosen). Or flip a magazine. What catches our eye, are the words, 'OFFER'. 'SALE', and of course 'FREE' !

We ( the missus and me) are quite often amazed at the freebies that are being away. And the combinations.

Buy 'Mixed fruit Jam' free get 'tea bags'.
A brand of soup, free with chicken. Soap with shampoo.
Get Shampoo free with shoe polish.
Vacum Cleaners free with 'Holiday resorts'.
Dish washers with toilet cleaners.
Magazine subscriptions with zoo entry tickets,
cars with TVs,...and the like.

You get the drift..don't you. And theres the other genre. Discounts.






Flat 50 % off. Upto 70 % off.
70 % + 20 % off. ( An offer where you get a 70 % off, and a 20 % off on the balance)
Buy one get four free !

(And obviously with that ubiquitous asterix leading to a 'conditions apply'. Of which we will not speak of now).

Such offers tempt. And i am sure must be some part of the brain which gets activated, when this word 'FREE' is seen. Maybe 'aroused' is a better word there. And sometimes ( read 'often times') reality, need and such else is suspended. The card swiped, the purchase made and the deal done.

And leaving the wondering on whats to be done with the freebie (Or the main product), for later.

Like here. In this motel on the way to Daman. Buy 'one Pakoda, get one tea free' !!! Phew !



This was the most elegant offer that i have seen ! And unfortunately seen when we were well into plouging into our meal.

I was amused in a surprised sort of a manner. And even before the surprise was settling in and the lips could contract from the smile, the Pakodas were ordered, ( i bet they wouldnt have been ordered if wasn't on offer).

And voila, after the sumptuous meal there wasn't space in the tummy for tea ! Some freebie. This tea.

But today, i must tell you, we got two kilograms of sugar free. For using some card or something like that. And we have been gloating like Mohammed of Ghazni after his conquest of Delhi. Or some place like that.

PS :

1. Please notice, that i have said 'WE' all along.
2. And i must say this again. Any indication in this post that i am poking fun at the missus or that she is solely involved in this, is pure conjecture.

Just saying.

Free Business

In awe of a plastic pot

I am in awe. Among other things, At the number of snaps of plastic pots that i have clicked.

There are many aspects of small town and village living that the 'sophisticated' cannot understand.



Amongst them, is the plastic pot. A very important lifeline to many. They come in different colours. Bright pink. Yellow. Orange. Green. Of course, the pot had to be identifiable in a sea of pots waiting for that trickle of water.





Getting to the tap, before anyone else can is important. At the dead of the night. Sometimes earlier than that. And take a place in the queue.

But that's not where it ends. That's where it starts.




It really ends when a pot full of water gets balanced on the head. And another on the hip. And gets home by walk. When home is a perhaps a kilometer or two away. And a flight of steps to climb, by the way. Careful that not a drop drips. For each drip means more trips to the tap.


And as this is getting written, there are other folks in big cities of the world. Who think water and such else, are in perpetual supply like a television soap. And the worst water woe is parked at the doorstep of the municipal corporation. But then, this post is not about them.

This post is about awe. And the plastic pot. The pot that helps carry water. With much love and such else.

I truly am in awe. Of a different life on the same planet. Of daily struggles. Of people. Of water. Of pots.

And of course, of mothers. Especially, one that i know, that carried many pot fulls, from the community tap. And climbed the stairway, many times. As her young sons fought over the plastic ball that each wanted for himself.

And she let them be. And they played, watching their mother amble along for more water in thirsty summers. Those were different times.

And so, the plastic pot opens a dam of memories.

And now, indeed there is awe. Now that i see.
What it would have taken to raise my brother and me.

In awe of a plastic pot

Of hotels and offers : Random rambling !

While on travel, my mind wanders. Not that, it stays at one place, otherwise. But the travel, accentuates the wandering. This travel was no different. Sample this.

On the way to and from Daman, there are very many hotels. Its a busy highway, with a zillion trucks (and slightly less than a zillion demented drivers. But thats another post).

The names of the hotels on the road, keeps me intrigued quite a bit.

Obviously, a Simla Inn transports the mind to Shimla.




And a Nilgiris takes the mind to Ooty !

Wonder why they have named these hotels here in the Western Ghats after scenic hill stations in the North and the South. Perhaps there are other meanings to the name that i am clueless about.



And then, there is Vegas hotel. I mean, what was that ? When the moral brigade runs out of ideas like Valentines Day, they will get here. And organise a protest against foreign names to Indian hotels. Culture. Heritage and such else will be recalled. I don't want to go further and sound like a regular newspaper or TV channel. Out to depress people.

But.

Why on earth would they call a hotel in the Western Ghats Niligiris. Or Simla. Or Vegas for that matter.

Thomas Friedman told us that 'The World is Flat' . I am sure my geography teacher must have been glad that the book wasnt around when i was a student. She would have had a hard time teaching me that the world is round.

Especially when this Friedman chap, made a mountain of money, proclaiming that the world is flat. ! But still Vegas in the Western Ghats is out of place enough to occupy my thoughts for sometime.

Suddenly, i want to become an IAS offcer with a fancy designation. Like "Commissioner of Appropriate Names". Or something of that kind. An IAS officer with an Ambassador car and the read beacon light on top, passing orders.

Hmm. Like this : 'Moutains in the ghats of India, will respect local sentiment and choose names that will have ryhming consonants from the local dialect !' Or something like that.

And, then i see this.


Mansoon special offer. And the thought bandwagon jumps.

How do you do that ?

I mean, making of a man.
And that too, soon ?
And that too, under a special offer!
For all of Rs.350/- !

Whats on earth can be on the curriculum ?

Hmm. My mind wonders.

Ideas anyone ?

Of hotels and offers : Random rambling !

Crazy in Daman !

The entrance to the fort

We got to Daman.

Planned as a weekend night away, we drove into Daman. And got to Moti Daman fort. And asked a chap who vends ice cream, what Daman was famous for. We have always stopped to ask such questions to ordinary folk, and the answers are usually very incisive. And far apart from what tourist guides tell you.

And so we ask this gentleman again. He looks up from what he was doing, and says without a flicker of his eye, 'Booze. What else. The low taxes means booze is dirt cheap. There is NOTHING else here. NOTHING else". He thunders. With special Spielberg sound effects on on 'Nothing' !

I smile. I am genuinely amused.

There we are. Standing within the precincts of the Moti Daman fort. A fort built by the Portugese, some 400 odd years ago. Yes, 400 odd years ago. Almost the time when Columbus was discovering America. And here it was, still standing. In its majestic splendour.

A view of the fort, the river, the sea and the old lighthouse

A gateway that leads to the boat jetty

Lighthouse. Arches. Columns. Doors. Chapels. Pews. Prisons. Municipal office. And the precincts of the fort. Standing, as it seems, almost in fierce defiance of the Arabian sea and whatever that lies beyond. The fort itself houses this church built in 1603 AD ! And its such a fabulous sight. The camera cant quite tell the complete picture.

The Church of Bom Jesus

Imagination wanders on how life would have been here. 400 years ago. What it must have taken to build a fort, with relatively sparse technology in a foreign land. Kissing sea, river and land.

And to do all this, after sailing the high seas from Europe. There sure must have been something that coursed the veins of those people.

I have my hands on my hips and and smile at this chap. Who tells me that there is nothing but booze here. Standing right here in this fort. And silently mutter 'you must be crazy' !

Back in Mumbai. I talk to friends. About the the Moti Daman fort. They listen. As my excitement reaches a crescendo, one of them waves me to stop. And says, "you went all the way to Daman. To look at some fort. And not touch the booze''.

And as i look at him. He smiles. And says. "You must be friggin crazy !"

The yesteryear lighthouse atop the fort

Crazy in Daman !