School

You had to wear something called 'uniform'. You had to carry something called a 'school bag'. You had to go buy books & notebooks every year. You had to wrap your notebooks with brown paper and a 'label' with space to write your name !

Of course the wrapper and the book were a Hollywood couple of sorts. Parting as soon as they came together !



You had to carry a lunch box. Sometimes, bringing back the lunch you were supposed to have had, if the food didn't catch your fancy. For you had the raw mangoes for 50 paisa sold outside school.


You travelled in the school bus where your best friends reserved seats for you.

You had homework to do and exams to write. You could never understand Trigonometry or why that man shouted 'Eureka' although you kind of had a vague image of him running naked through the streets !

You revelled in English while your best friend was alive only in the Maths class. He thought Shakespeare was the devil in disguise and you thought 'Differential Calculus' was the devil without any !

Yet. He managed to beat you in English. And you beat him in math ! You thought it a big mystery and began to respect the devil a lot more.

You had holidays. Of a full two months. Where you had nothing else in your mind but cricket in the hot sun. You played and any 'whining' about the heat didn't register !



You fought over who would bat first. Fights that would disappear between the stumps the minute it started. Fights. You moved on. You just knew how to.

You had favourite teachers. You had your favourite partners.Your friends were the world to you. You would do anything for them. Of course, your parents were God. Most of the time !

You didn't understand money or loans as much as you understood good food and a great time.
Neither did you understand when some elders said, 'enjoy your time now. You'll treasure it for a lifetime'.


You ran with gusto. You played with frenzy. You read with passion. Your tears were rare and you rolled with laughter.

And then you grew up.

Looking back every now and then, wishing it was then, instead of now.

School

Washroom Snaps !

Well, that title could sound like a porn peddling paparazzi beating his chest in pride ! If it did sound like that to you, well, there is disappointment in store !

Don't get stressed. This post is about relief. Well, its actually about stress !

Where is the relief ? The men's room often gets depicted in various ways. The various depictions by themselves constitute a separate topic ! Perhaps for a PhD (let alone a blog post)!



Signaling, perhaps of the only place a man can think of himself to be a king. Stoking the mind to imagine a band of retinues and such luxuries while he 'relieves' himself in the public toilet, is perhaps equivalent to anesthesia for surgery !

Seen at the Mumbai International Airport. A grand sum of Rs.2/- (to be paid specifically before he can bring some 'relief' to himself ) !


'Entry Charges' ! You don't have to relieve yourself. We charge you for entry ! And pay before entry !

Perhaps the only things left to be said is 'punishment for non payment. 15 days jail or setting a Special Investigation unit after you' ! Sounds plausible !

On the other end of the spectrum, is this collection box with a lock at a restaurant on the Mumbai - Ahmedabad highway.



Donation ! The lock perhaps is to signify the crores that can get collected ! With an appropriate assurance that all such collected amount would be used for cleaning the toilet ! It can load guilt in the heart if he went without dropping a coin or two.

Especially considering the 'relief' thats been brought about !

On another note, there are these queer messages. Like this one that dominated the walls when the movie '3 idiots' was launched !


Whatever was that ?!? Meditate ! Meditate !


Or think of this message seen in a office loo. "Winners are too busy to be sad...and too determined to be defeated" it says ! For Gods sake, the man has come there to take a leak !


'Too determined to be defeated... ' !! What did those folks want him to do. Rush through his business and bolt through the desk to take on his boss ?


5 star hotels raise the bar ! Television sets ! Ok, that sounds ok.


But a live telecast of the budget presentation by Pranab Mukherjee is not a sensible man's notion of relief ! Pranab Mukherjee and his English, four inches from the face when taking a leak is not a normal man's notion of relief !

Relief. Bah !

Washroom Snaps !

Old Talk !

This is a 'mandapam', as called in Tamil territory ! Found in the middle of what once used to be the Vaigai river. Its still called the Vaigai river. Its but a pale stream of a river. With only the river bed, odd plants, dhobis and sand thieves to show.

Most of the water is held up in dams upstream. A population lives of it. The river seems to grin and bear.

But right there, right in the middle of what was once a river, there is this structure. Pillars. Steps. Floor and roof.

"A flowing river, a gentle breeze and a cleaner air, all provide the ideal batter for simple wonderful conversations. Right there in the middle of the mandapam !" Those were a great grandmothers words. Many years ago.

Today, it seems empty. Not many go there. At least not for conversations ! Perhaps because, the river flows occasionally.

The mind wonders if this place doesn't miss conversations ? Well, but who doesn't ?

In times when conversations happen only through chat windows, scraps, comments and text messages, who has time for plain old conversation ?

Tweet me. Scrap me. Text me. DM me. Ping me. Mail me. Those resonate well with the modern day world. But 'Speak to me' ?!?! hmm !

Mandapams like this still stand holding evidence of conversations, the plain old way. Taking the mind to a different time. When one human being could connect to another. By sitting down and chatting up !

I am an old fashioned chap you see, and it could sure sound queer, but would you mind if i can talk to you without having to use my fingers ?

Old Talk !

Passion Parathas

You are in Mahabalehswar. Its the middle of the afternoon. Right there in the main market. There is a hustle-bustle in the air that the chill clime seems to struggle to ward off.

You squint your eye, catch more the air and store some smell of strawberries before you head back to the plains. You have told colleagues who would care to listen that you have gone there to 'renew' yourself.

There is a chatter in the air. Sound of cameras clicking. Of Bargain and memento hunters and odd tractor.

Shopkeepers invite you to buy trinkets and trumpets with an ease and swank of sophisticated socialites slipping from subject to subject in another sundry party that would get a Page 3 feature!

Amidst all the chatter, noise and sights, a song reaches your ear. Its not melodious. Its not classical. You don't know, for you are not trained. But you don't think it can be classical music. You are sure it perhaps will not pass the muster of the entrance gate of a music studio. Or perhaps it could.

All the same, the song grips you.

You look around. Without too much difficulty you spot the singer. An man kneading dough and making parathas. At the restaurant nearby !

You spot a small crowd outside the restaurant. They seem to be standing there to watch him make parathas. You wonder what attracts the crowd !






You wonder if its the man. A well built man singing loud enough for the market to hear is not common sight. But you realise quickly,its not about him.

You wonder if it is his antics that attract people. Antics. Of tossing up the dough. Catching it. Tossing it into the Tandoor. Picking it right back tossing it back to find the plate, so much so that it could put an established marksman to shame !








Singing all through.

You aren't sure. Perhaps, perhaps...you think, its the song. You smile. You realise. You nod your head.

Its not the song. Yet. It is the song.

There is a song that the lips sing, when the heart is 'in' what you do. You don't realise that you are singing. When they say, 'you really are on a song'.

It doesn't matter, what you do. Arranging clothes in a retail store, keeping books in a bank, making movies or composing music ! Or for that matter, making parathas for people that you don't know. Or know.

When you are on a song, it shows.

You smile. You know whats missing in life. Realisation that what you were looking for is right here. You feel light.

You squint your eyes, tilt your head and ask yourself... when was the last time you were on a song !?!

Passion Parathas

Bag-in-Bag !

Malls, these days reflect life in its entirety ! There are many aspects of life that come alive here. Perhaps representative of 'progress' !


This is one.




A bag to house your hand bag. As you enter the mall, this big see-through bag is given, if you are carrying a handbag ! This bag, to house that bag. The handbag !

Assuming ofcourse, that you don't want to hand over your handbag at the security counter. Perhaps because it contains some secret potion or diamonds. Or perhaps you have invested all the money to be seen carrying this handbag around !

Ofcourse, mall security has had enough of fancy people walk in with fancier bags and respectfully walk out with the reams of toilet roll and tissue paper. Perhaps with the odd bits of titanium or Gold or Platinum or whatever...tucked in somewhere !

They aren't going to be enthused with the prospect of one more handbag undoing their annual bonus !!

Enter this bag.

It is transparent. It a lock, the keys of which are with the cashier ! It holds your handbag , for the world to see! Although, you cant 'access' contents of the handbag, but you can take comfort in the fact that you still are carrying it with you !

When through with all the shopping, the cashiers 'unlock' the transparent bag and delivers your handbag back to you !

Of course, that's how you have access to your credit cards and wads of cash !! We are progressing, as mankind. Aren't we ?

We first walked about with just leaves on us. Considering how much clothes are on in some of the Fashion shows, we are not too far from where we started. In some cases we have bettered that too.

Some years ago, the plain and transparent polythene bag was just about OK. I guess we are getting back there ! Step by step !

Perhaps bag by bag !

Bag-in-Bag !

Pole Power Blessing !

Rural India is littered with sights that get me open mouthed. Well, if you are a regular reader here, i can almost hear you say that i get open mouthed at the drop of a hat. Or at a buzz of a fly or whatever ! Sure. And yes !

Take a loot at this, for instance.



Seen somewhere in rural India. A common sight in urban India too. Power ! I quake in my boots to think of the chap who would climb the pole to fix a electrical problem. (Problems which must be as common place as a puny Tamil film hero fighting of ten people twenty times his size ! On screen of course !)

Here i sit. Not knowing which socket will hold which plug on my computer ! Heck, i cant tell between the printer cable and the phone cable ! Of course i fret and make the odd murmur of how complicated life has become and how powerless i feel !

To think that the chap who climbs the pole, figures out the problem amidst that maze of wires, unplugging the exact wire and replugging after 'some' work, is mind numbing to say the least ! Phew !

A chap like me will think that he deserves a 'life time achievement award' for just climbing that pole with a combination of ropes, bare hands and some degree of energy .

Oh yes, the other chap does it with no fuss. No noise. Only the odd instruction to his partner on the ground ! Often times, i wonder if i know how blessed i am. On the same keel i wonder if he knows how blessed he is.

On another note, the missus wonders if i chose this post because i relate to the tube light well.

Well. Well.. Blessings. You see !

Pole Power Blessing !

Colour !

It takes some odd block of what seems like a solid wooden block. And some blocks of colour. Today, they are applied with some deftness of art. And craft. With some heat to add.

You watch. From a distance. As nimble fingers of the old man, work their magic on that block of what seems to be wood.

The heat work its magic. In some time there is a delicate, well rounded straight line. With stripes and design. You shake your head half in disbelief. Half in awe. Just a few minutes back, they were blocks of colour.

The hands are at work again. Somewhere between the holding and handling of what looks like a small piece of wood, emerges the first signs of what would finally emerge. A bangle. With a dash of colour and a design thats by design !

Some shaping. Some more heat. Some more tapering. Voila, a bangle. Perhaps a work of art ! In some time, all set to bring joy. To the lady wearing it. Or perhaps the chap who is buying it for her.

Seems like the story of life. Of each one of us. The transformation that some colour, some heat, some shaping and deft work brings to us is a story that we perhaps miss !

Celebrate life ! Add some colour. Give into some shaping. Soak in the moment. Life is beautiful. Of course, nothing can be holier than that !

Happy Holi !

Colour !