Sunday Picnic

Finally, it was over. The 20th year celebrations of the NGO where I work. It was exhausting. Draining. And I wanted to spend Sunday in a way I never- ever have, except perhaps when I was down with fever - in bed. I did a good job of it too, till upto 10am. When I jumped up and rang a friend. He asked me to come over within an hour and we (he, his daughter and moi) could then go to a picnic at Mallickpur. His in-laws were having a picnic and his wife had gone on ahead to help with the cooking.

A picnic. Ah! That sounded nice. Haven't been to one in ... maybe... 15 years or is it more like 20. Atleast not those ones where we go with madurs to laze on and hata, khunti and big dekchis and people do the actual cooking there itself! How I love those (as long as I don't have to do the cooking or even the jogar). And I had heard about the home at Mallickpur. Might be physically tiring but mentally, it would be such a break. No more presentations, map litho paper, wiro binding, logos and font size and proof reading (I had to develop and print a bunch of stuff for the 20th year programme).

We inched slowly towards our destination through incredibly congested and narrow roads and not to mention bright hot sun. And to top it all, there was this huge blood donation camp organised by TMC and the entire proceedings were being announced over loudspeakers attached to lamp posts.

And then suddenly, KD took a left turn and turned into a narrow lane (too narrow it seemed to me, for his large car) and the dirty noisy road vanished. The single road snaked narrowly through lush green foliage, past huts and thatched roofs and kochuri pana filled ponds and then stopped at our destination. A rambling two storeyed house, looking very much like an ordinary old small-town home...not much thought given to architechture or spacing, just built in an incredibly haphazard space wasting way (well that was not a drawback since space was enormous). And then, we stepped through the kitchen and onto the back and viola! The huge space behind dotted by tall 'taal gaach', eucalyptus, banana, papaya and host of other trees I cant name, was filled with elderly men and women. Some on chairs, others on madurs by another large kochuri pana filled pond and a sudden jungle of bamboos leaning way over it! And the cooking? Well there were four young men cooking with large kadais, hatas, khuntis and a gigantic boti - obvioulsy there was going to be lots of fish on the menu.

My friend's father in law was the 1st batch of Narendrapur Ramkrishna Mission and he was having an old boys picnic. It was so nice to see them all together. We had missed breakfast: Peas - freshly shelled, slices of coconut and pakoras. But lunch time came quickly and the cooks laid out tables, spread table clothes and served us food. First the men (to be honest, they wanted the ladies to eat first...but most were lolling on the madur and didnt want to get up) sat at the tables and all of them in unison, said their daily prayer from some 45-50 years ago at RKM! It was so sweet.

And then came our turn with the ladies . The menu: Polao, thick finger chips, begun bhaja (fried brinjal) sliced vertically complete with tail, topshe fish fry, Rui fish kalia and a navratan korma, chutney & the obligatory fried papad and payesh (kheer) and although there was no paan, we were served paan masala in small packets. And we sat under the mild sun fitered through the trees, eating al fresco with the odd dried leaf falling on us, a twitter here, a cheep-cheep there, a dog barking in distance...so serene, so placid...

And did I mention, there was a man there with a 'da' ( large knife). He had come in early and climbed the various 'taal' trees and had got an enormous amount of daab. And so we drank daab water instead of water!

And then came the best part. Surrounded by those beautiful trees, no hint of the hot sun, a cool breeze blowing and best of all, no horns, no noisy city ruckus...under a tin roof, on a coir mattress on a hard wood khaat, a long undisturbed full-bellied siesta! I woke up so refreshed, so renewed that I swear I felt years younger...sprightly infact!

The old boys association in between all this eating and lolling around, conducted their association meeting and have fixed up their next meet and venue and I am sure, the menu. But it's three months away. I have time yet to find out about it and gate crash once again. Till then let me savour this unexpected treat as I bump along in autos, choking in the fumes of 'kaata tel' (Adulterated fuel) in city polluto.

[It's never too late to learn and I stand corrected: Taal grows on Taal gach and Daab and narkal grown on narkal gaach or Coconut trees].

Kolkata Book Fair 2009

After an 8 year gap, I made it to the Kolkata Boi Mela yesterday. Replete with old memories of multiple visits to this most wonderful mela, alone, with friends, browsing, buying, breathing books (and dust thown up by a million feet), long queues for tickets, little magazine sellers earnestly plying their books....Ah! [And the ISKON cake shop where being allergic to eggs, I asked if the cakes were eggy and scandalised the swamiji at the counter, who put his hand to his ears and said, what else, but "Krishna, Krishna"]!

I finally found the time to visit the fair yesterday, the penultimate day, and was dreading the last minute crush [I adviced an american visitor to our office to attend the mela not only for all things bookish but to experience real life what a crush is]. The venue was not the only thing which had changed, as I found out.

I went in, visited a few stalls, got lucky within half an hour .... in that I found a relatively smaller and emptier stall where I picked up 7 books and the 8th in another 5 minutes...a quick dekho and was out in maybe 45 minutes. And then I walked past the ITC Sonar Bangla via it's service road, to the car park guided politely by several volunteers, policemen, attendants....

Imagine the scale? Lakhs and lakhs of visitors per day...lakhs of cars, at the crossing of 2 rather busy roads and that too by Kolkata standards [and maddening by any other country standard], unruly Bengali crowd [me included...a policeman ticked me off for walking on the road and told me to hurry up to the entrance to the walkaway parallel to the road and bordered by a bamboo fence. As soon as I got a little away from him, I sneaked in through the fence and straight to the ticket counter in front of me, instead of queuing up the mile long walkaway and felt rather pleased with myself instead of feeling ashamed]. The point I am trying to make is that being an average Bengali, am sure there are several queue jumpers / cutters like me and yet a battalion of policemen and attendant, alert keeping things going smoothly and not sleeping on the job ... and yet another horde of attendant controlling the car park. Phew!

Somethings ofcourse don't change. The dust...bhaiya [our driver] at the wheel and me on the back seat, coughed in tandem all the way back home!

And now, the dilemma, as always: Which book to begin with? I have them spread out in front of me....while I savour the thought of reading them, after I solve the problem of order of reading, ofcourse.

And the image above is this year's theme: Scotland and apparently Alexander McCall Smith was there as chief guest. Did want to go meet him and perhaps have a small adda about Mma Precious Ramotswe of the No.1 Ladies Detective Agency....but the queue outside the Scottish Pavilion was a bit daunting even for a seasoned Kolkattan like me. Another time, Mr. Smith.

A bandhday

Today 22nd, was another bandh. 23rd is Netaji’s Birthday, a holiday. 24th is Saturday and the weekend for many, a holiday for lucky people (in my office where we work on Saturdays too) whose leave applications were accepted, 25th is Sunday and 26th Republic day.

I just wanted to point out the really long weekend. Which meant it was important to figure out the logistics of coming in to work today, bandh notwithstanding. Luckily for me, I have an aunt who live close to work and my cuzz dropped me off this morning on his bike. And this meant I got to feel the ‘winter’ – it was shivery cold here this morning whereas at home, it’s almost like winter and yet not quite (although its only 15 km or so away…yes – pollution). I had told him to drive his bike really slow – he is a rash driver – and I am getting old and more afraid of my mortal state. The roads were empty. Mostly a few bikes and cycles and empty autos. He drove so steadily and slowly that soon, cycles were over taking us! Anyhow, reached office uneventfully (thankgod) which means no road blockage, no ‘untoward' incidents like pelting of stones, burning buses and unruly mobs.

It was fun to see who made it and who couldn’t and almost everyone had a story to tell about their commute this morning. And then there were those (who lived really close but wanted to take a day off) who called up the person who lived the farthest off – for moral support – surely he or she living so far away can’t come in and somehow my excuse of not coming in will get support – but alas, those living farthest did come in and those living closest were absent. All in all, it was a normal working day.

Also there were guests who had come in for some training session were leaving today. They had to be taken to the airport before the bandh was over and so as a safety measure we were told that we should have a sign on the car saying any one of the following: Delegates, Emergency etc. The car finally went out with loads of signs: Disability + Emergency + Delegates and the icing on the cake was a sign on the wind shield “Apod Kalin Service”! This was a typo …The sign should have read Apot Kalin which meant emergency and not Apod which meant ‘nuisance’!! Thankgod the guests couldn’t read bangla. Ofcourse the sign was changed before the car left.

Similar discussions and phone calls before we left for our homes – whether the bandh was over, were buses running, auto plying, was there any jhamela anywhere…and all of us reached home safely, as usual, through empty roads but crowded buses. Well that’s it then, isn’t it for the bandh story. Oh yes…it’s the first bandh in West Bengal for the year 2009.

Some managed to not go to work, others managed to; Daily wagers lost one day's wage, SUCI said the bandh was a total success, Oppositions said it was a total failure...it does not merely sound familiar, it is infact cliched, tired as can be, stale and infact it doesn't sound like anything, anymore and if it does, we dont hear it. It's just another day: you know, Monday, Tuesday,….Sunday, Bandh day.

Taxi, Taxi

I have to admit that the bright yellow of the taxi with the blue stripe, does add, if nothing else, a bright splash of colour to this otherwise dreary drab polluted and most beloved city of mine.

A walk in the park

It's been months since I last went for an evening walk. Just as I was getting very serious about them, I landed a job with a 6 day work week and that was that. I found some free time this Sunday evening and so I went to dear old Maddox Square. Having sweated it out in summer (trying to lose those unwanted pounds that had piled on), I thought winter would be pleasant.

Like an old hand (at walking that is), I sauntered in around 5:30pm. Some known faces, some new ones. Walkers slow, fast & furious. Ah! It felt nice. The paths were all beautifully paved - thanks to the annual overhaul for the Durga Pujas.

Two games of football in the centre green (not so green and bare in patches), a dad showing (off) his remote controlled helicopter more to others than his kid. A few kids burning scrap papers that had collected from the annual sports of a school held in the morning. Same place, same people, doing the same things (more or less) except smoky wintry atmosphere and of course winter clothes: sweaters, shawls, mufflers et al to remind us that this was - er...winter.

Good thing that - reminding us of it being winter. Otherwise one would think it was spring, in January. Very nice.

PS - Hope this does not portend a blistering summer.

Through a smog, hazily

Smog does have its advantages afterall. Victoria Memorial does look dreamy and nice! [Instead of a cold empty marble, OTT relic of the Raj].

Almost made it to the list...

When I saw the Top 10 most polluted places on Listverse I kept expecting Calcutta to crop up as I scrolled down the list in reverse order. India was there on the list twice - Sukinda (Hexavalent chromium and other metals) and Vapi (Chemicals and heavy metals). Calcutta however, didn't make the list.

I wasn't too convinced. I mean, I am living here and know what it is like. Feel vindicated today (vindication ruined somewhat by coughing and gasping and a heavy choking feeling in my lungs) by a report in a daily which said that Behala Chowrasta - epicentre of 6 routes and 1500 autos plying was the most polluted crossing in Calcutta. And these are the controversial two stroke autos (major pollutants). At a height of 15 feet, the Respirable particulate matter (RPM) is 115 micrograms per cubic meter. National upper limit is 60.
Dunlop is 110, Tollygunje is 109 - all merrily adding to pollution count in Calcutta.

Applause! for being top most in something, anything and for me and a million others who survive despite it!

And what with only 8 autos banned since the ban on two stroke autos started on January 1, 2009, this means, there are 66910 still left merrily increasing the RPM. Political parties are still hemming and hawing...first ruling party imposes the ban. Opposition opposes it (at the fag end and just before the ban is to begin) and ruling party wakes up to "what will happen to rozi roti of the two stroke auto drivers" on first day of the ban! [Yet another normal democratic political excercise in West Bengal...more or less follows the same pattern only issues vary, opposer and proposer vary].

And Listverse...Calcutta might be making your list soon...hope I live to see it (as I cross Behala Chowrasta everyday and RPM is responsible for irreversible lung damage)!

Louis Braille birth bicentennary

January 4th 2009 was the birth centennary of Louis Braille.

Another anniversary which would have come and gone for visually un-impaired (In light of this post, "sighted" sounds incorrect) people like me. I saw it on the news and read about it. And my visually impaired (VI) colleague had mentioned that he would be taking part in a procession which would incidentally start quite close to my home, on Sunday. I did toy with the idea of joining it. But then what with the now on- now off auto ban and Hazra more being the nerve centre (a huge auto depot and close proximity to TMC chief Ms. Bannerjee's home), I decided against. The rally did happen, peacefully and some 700 people had participated and the procession ended at Rabindra Sadan.

This morning, I saw him standing near the large room usually used for training and workshops. "Can I help you with something?". I have this urge to help him although he is very self sufficient and makes the long commute from home and back alone, everyday. Infact, it's me who needs frequent help in navigating the crazy traffic on Kolkata roads.

"Actually, I am telling everyone (who passes by) that we - he and RS the other VI collegue - are holding a small exhibition of our Braille Unit (the NGO where I work is probably the only NGO with a braille printing unit, atleast in this part of India) on the ocassion of Louis Braille's bicentennary. The exhibition consisted of a variety of tools and equipments, a good majority of which he had made himeself and now are available in the market were laid out on tables. The rest of the staff went around and asked questions about each equipment and its usage. Most of them were teaching materials. Braille alphabet in bengali and english using bindis; Set squares, protractor and even a compass, clock, abacus etc adapted for the VI. There was a set of braille playing cards. Identical to normal ones except the card - say four of hearts written in braille in a corner. We had great fun taking out cards at random and showing them to S and each time, he answered correctly: he is fluent in braille! One of the older staff told me to stop testing him. Afterall, he made the set. "We needed S to make a fourth for playing 29 (a game quite similar to bridge)!!

The exhibition was an eye-opener, literally. Not very different from other people am I? I didn't even remember. And that despite spending the best part of the last two months helping to develop various materials which talk about Inclusion of PWDs (people with disabilities) all the time. Inclusion and not assistance.

Shocked about lock-up

There is a first time for everything. Recently, I had to go to a police station to get permission for holding a fair for the NGO I am currently working for. So far, my familiarity of police stations have been limited to films (both Hindi and English - Bengali cops and robber films I avoid because you need a cast iron stomach and more to digest those). How many times have I seen interiors of jails, corrupt cops, seasoned criminals, seemy side of underworld, dons, don’s den’s and of course Mona darling - in films ofcourse.

Even then, I didnt think much about it. When I arrived there, the PS was a hive of activity. There were people outside the PS, inside the compound, in the reception and in front of the Duty Officer. While waiting for my turn, I noticed vertical bars in the wall in a corridor. Inside, there were a few men sitting on a thick cloth, on a dirty floor, surrounded by grimy walls. Above the door was a small board with “Men’s Lock-up”. Criminals? What is the correct word? Regular men that one might meet on the road, everyday. Young, old, fat and thin. I found it shocking. Not the men themselves...but the lock - up, people who got caught for a variety of reasons, handcuffs, police files, photos, aliases, courts and bail. (Middle class morality).

Most of them were quite blasé about being behind bars. They were not looking dejected or depressed, weeping or animated. Suddenly, some one shouted for one of the prisoners to be brought out. An armed constable unlocked the bolt. The shutter was a long one which went into a hole in the adjacent wall and the lock was fitted in side a small alcove built in the wall, so no one from within could have easy access to it (filmy style). A scruffy young man with blond highlights in his equally scruffy hair came out and was taken some where inside the precinct. When I asked to meet the OC, I was told to wait since the OC was interrogating. Could I return after an hour? Interrogation. Horror and excitement is what I felt. (Ofcourse it could be normal procedure for small stuff ... but I thought about mafia and gun running or drugs smuggling).

I returned after an hour to find the precinct more crowded than before and this time full of really enormous police men, all striding around and shouting (and what loud voices). It was lunch time. A man was sliding aluminum plates of rice, dal and one sabzi through the gap between the grill and the floor of the lock-up. The prisoners slid the empty plates, post lunch. A large 20 litre bottle was kept within reach just outside the grill. They tilted the bottle and poured water into a glass kept on top of the bottle.

Just as I was about to ask if the OC was free, we heard a really loud voice shouting out that the “Ashami” were to be taken to the court. And sure enough, a van with grilled doors was backed into the precinct and suddenly, all the prisoners, some 6 men and one woman were taken out in a single line, each held firmly by the arm by a gigantic policeman. The solitary woman in a yellow salwar kameez, green shawl and blue high heels was led by a policewoman. I wanted to ask what the woman was in for. But seeing the police women (in plain clothes...read that as ordinary printed cotton sarees), I didn’t dare. I shrank to one side and tried to make myself as inconspicuous as possible (not an easy task that since I am taller than the average Bengali – man or woman)! I kept imagining that a car would come screeching and people with firearms would rush out, lob a tear gas and make off with one of the ashami in the ensuing chaos. Nothing like that happened of course. The prisoners were loaded into the van and it made off as did the OC in a spanking new Maruti Gpysy with a red sire on top. And the PS looked quite empty. The people left behind, I realized were families of those taken to the Alipore court. There was the wife and a tiny child not more than 4 years old – of the chap with the blond highlights – the one who was interrogated. She looked more resigned than worried and not making eye contact with anyone who were looking curiously at her and there were a few (including me).

I felt tremendously sad for her. How different it must be for her; She not only has to live with her husband in lock-up and interrogations and courts, she also has to deal with others who like me visit PS's via films and is agog, shocked, horrified and all sorts of stupid genteel things, when they come in contact with it in real life.


PS – The Duty officer was quite cordial and apologetic about the delay and the necessary permissions were granted quite quickly.

The brighter side of a bus strike

Today, there was a private bus strike in West Bengal. (In protest of section 304 A on drivers involved in fatal accidents. Section 304A is non-bailable).

Luckily for me, the long (about 45 minutes) commute to my place of work has lots of shuttle autos plying. I usually avoid these since they are much lower than buses and whenever they are stuck at a signal or in the middle of a jam, passengers in the auto end up choking on the exhausts fumes of buses lined up on either side of the auto. Throat and lungs seem to be on fire, eyes water, especially in the evening. Today I took the first auto which came along and reached home faster without stopping at any jams. But I did have to walk from deshopriyo park to our home (about two stops for buses). It was good exercise and above all, the thing to cheer about was...less pollution. Afterall, nearly 22,000 buses were off the road including 12,000 in Kolkata.

I was one of the luckier ones no doubt. Many have had to face enormous difficulties (buses are so much cheaper than autos and do not ply on many routes)....but the idea of a fractionally less smoggier Kolkata, calls for CELEBRATIONS!

Sunday kay Sunday

If it is sunday, it has to be in Kolkata. For me.

That special combination of laziness, contentment and mellow-ness.

I went out for a quick errand: tickets for a play. Got great seats and bonus: a good soak in the sunday pre-lunch air of kolkata.

There was hardly any traffic on the road, by Kolkata standards that is. It would constitute a major traffic jam in some countries though. Could hardly recognise Rashbehari avenue. Despite the red signal, a bus lumbered by, a man slow cycled and a couple ambled past. And nobody complained, no horns blared. No one going any where in particular, and not with any purpose. Oh the sheer bliss of it all.

Houses snoozed, sighed contentedly, squat and tall, happy on lazy roads which on any other day would be narrow, over crowded, dirty, full of rubbish etc. (No, its not a touch of the sun. I am not making it up).

Even the constant humidity didnt feel opressive. The sun too was on sunday behaviour, shining on and off. And off home for that all important sunday lunch: mangshor jhol - Goat meat curry. Ah!

Just like old times

It was going to be just like old times (ancient times if truth be told…but really I don’t want to be that honest): Another Batman movie, a bike ride to a cinema hall (and not one of those multiplexes), maybe grab a bite at Friends Home or a roll from Nizam. What fun!

As per plan (like old times), I took a shuttle auto to Hazra More. (Found out that the auto stops much before the "more" and it is quite a walk to it). A hair raising (never quite got the hang of it) crossing the road to the other side, where I waited in front of Ashutosh College for my cousin B to come by on his bike. A flyover has been the only addition to the otherwise straight route to SN Bannerjee road. I found on my first bike ride in 7 years that I had lost the hang of it. Actually it’s the advancing years…I was petrified…kept imagining a car would rush in from a side road and hit us or the bike would skid on a pothole and we’d come under the wheels of a bus etc. And in the process, missed out on the lazy, relaxed air of a Kolkata Sunday (this is really something to be savored).

The hall was more or less as I remembered it. In those old days, New Empire and Lighthouse were our first choice, followed by Elite, Chaplin, rarely at Roxy and almost never at Tiger. But things have changed. "Does anyone go there anymore?", was the common reaction from quite a few people. As it turned out there were quite a few people but not house full. The tickets were cheap at 80/-. The hall was as I remembered it: Enormous, icing sugar pink walls, maroon ruched curtains, mildly seedy air, non-reclining seats and vendors of popcorn coming in with trays selling Chips with a sibilant Cheeeeeeeeeepsssssssssss.

The seats wre non-reclining, the audio was bad and video dark. But somehow, it all added positively to the Dark Knight which was overall a dark film: The gist of this convoluted sentence is that the Dark Knight became really DARK. Yes we all knew how disturbing and menacing and different and far from funny the new joker was. But till you saw it here, you'd never know just how much!! The Hollywood bosses should watch the Dark Knight here.

My knees hurt badly after being cramped on the non-reclining seats for the nearly 3 hour long movie. Thrice during the film, I thought that the film was over only to find out that there was more explosions and glass shatterings. Wobbly knees, hazy eyesight and hearing, we walked out and after another hair raising ride, grabbed some momos and returned home.

Yes it was like "old times" and not very like the when-I-was-Young times I was trying to re-capture!

Walking the Talk 2

So I got out my sneakers. A bit worse for wear, the laces all knotty (I don't quite recall why it had tiny knots at various places). This caused some problems since I was neither able to tie the laces properly, nor take them out to de-knot them. I wore them nevertheless - one shoe a bit wobbly and lose and the other a bit tight (given the variation in length of laces). And then I stepped out in grand style - there - take that - see that (to the multitudes in Maddox Square who have nothing better to do except eye my foot wear or lack of it, or so I imagine) - no sandals anymore.

But my feet felt so tired ... weary, heavy after only one lap. They felt as if weights were tied to them. Laces. Proper laces is what I need. And so, K got me a pair of laces from Lansdowne Market - hurrah. And for only 5 Rupees. Imagine. But my joy was shortlived: The laces are very short. I could not tie a bow, a tiny knot is all I can manage. Nevertheless they were an improvement. I did get a pair of long laces from Bata - but they had only white ones.

Also, both shoes had slits near the big toe. (Eeks ... did my toe nails actually do that? Maybe, but imagine how formidable a weapon - my toe nail - a kick with a sharp toed feet could come in quite handy). And my socks (I have, good girl, several pairs) are all white. And did I mention my sneakers are black. The white socks do show through the slit - and those who stare at my feet might wonder - but nothing I can do about that. Every week on Wednesdays a cobbler comes to our building - I can have the slit repaired but ever since I got the sneakers out, he has not been coming (Now why doesn't that surprise me).

And I figured out the weariness is nothing to do with the laces....I need to do some limbering, ankles stretches before my evening walks.

And despite all that walking the talk (all in my head)...I have improved very slightly. I can manage 5 laps easily and last two panting and gasping.

And if you have missed and are really interested to know about how it all started, here it is Walking the Talk 1.

Walking the Talk

It has taken me many, many days (sounds better than putting the actual number of months) to shake off my lethargy and begin my evening walks at Maddox Square, which is right next door. [The thought however had occured to me many many days earlier - full points to me for that, at least]. Then one humid evening, I just did it - went for a walk that is. And found several problems, not the least being shoes.

My sneakers are packed away some where and so I went out in a really comfortable pair of rubber sandals. They provide a nice grippy cushion to my heels much in the manner of a pair of sneakers. I however felt very very conscious. Thought everyone was staring at my feet. Perhaps they were. So what? So, everything it seems (to me). Also, I was terribly out of shape, out of breath. Geriatrics were running rings around me. There I was panting and gasping and barely managing 4 laps before giving up. Perhaps this was enough - I was soaked to skin and so it must mean I had achieved a lot. [Kolkata is almost always 100% humid and so even if I just sat smelling the roses in the park, I'd have gotten sweaty].

Perhaps if I got a better pair of shoes. I have this pair of keds (looked smart when I bought it) in bright RED and BLUE (that would be scarlet and turquoise blue). I put them on and asked R if she thought I'd need socks. Nah - I don't think so - just go ahead. So I did. And it was even worse. People (I thought) were now staring at me and for a proper reason....I was looking ridiculous in a pair of shoes that would look better on a teenager and top of that I was gasping, panting (as usual) and now limping! One lap around the park in my sock-less keds and I had blisters on both my smallest toes and a goodish bit of skin skimmed off my ankles. Oh god. I however, soldiered on and finished my four laps and spent the next few days recovering. While I waited for the ankle to grow new skin, I wore my comfy sandals and hey ... now I had an excuse...should anyone ask that is: My ankle has grazed...I cant wear a sneaker till they heal. No one asked, alas. And then

Good news: I found my sneakers. A bit worse for wear but they are fine. More on that in a subsequent post...

Sparing the rod

There were no really small kids in our bus, when we were studying in Kuwait. The youngest was in class V. The trip to and back from school was relatively peaceful. Most of us caught up on our sleep specially in the morning (our school began at 7am).

One day, after school, I went with a friend to her home and therefore took a different bus. There were only 4 seniors in the bus. Rest were all tiny tots, squeezed 4-5 to a seat! Once the bus started ...oh my god. The kids were everywhere except their seats - half inclined over the back rest, climbing up the large windows, lurching in the aisle and more often than not, flat on their back. Oh and the DIN. It was INCREDIBLE.

The ones in front were, for the lack of a suitable word to describe them, the MOSTEST. I guess they were kept there so that the driver and his helper could keep an eye on them. Except for me, no one batted an eyelid. Certainly not the driver and his helper who carried on a conversation in malyali. The driver would take a turn, stop at the traffic light, change a gear, box a child, pick up another crawling child by his or her galices, pick up the heavy wooden ruler and rap loudly on the engine to stop a child from crawling under his foot to press the brake or something. God.

Now, why this rambling post? Was reminded by the Parliamentary debate before the Trust Vote yesterday and today. Hardly a debate....more an uproar. The Hon'ble Speaker Mr. Somnath Chatterjee's exasperation was so apparent. I was feeling incredibly sorry for him. He goes on and on in his stenorian bengali accented voice,"Will you keep quite? / No I cannot give you more time / Please sit down / This is TOO much / etc!! And even as I was writing this post, he adjourned the session twice and sad this was the worst day that he had ever seen in Parliament.

Pity, the Hon'ble Speaker hasn't been given a heavy ruler to maintain decorum of the hallowed institution. So it is left to his fervent, sad appeals to maintain peace and quiet and dignity of the Parliamentary tradition and all that.

Hockey Hogs Headlines

Since yesterday, hockey has upstaged cricket as a newsmaker: Pick up a paper or switch on to any news channel.

Alas it took a debacle to get it the attention long long overdue: India's failure to qualify for the Beijing Olympics.

But it won't be long before the dust settles and all eyes, ears, bytes and columns are full of the upcoming IPL cricket series. India, it seems has "Chucked" Hockey, our National Game.

Debt of gratitude

P Chidambaram has announced a waiver of farmer’s debt amounting to Rs. 60,000 crores. That is $15bn or 7.6bn pounds.

These are farmers who have under 2 hectares of farm land and have taken a loan from a government bank.

This, according to Mohan Manidwar of Farmers Agitation Group, which highlights the large number of impoverished farmers committing suicide, will exclude most farmers in the Vidarbha region of central India.

Also, close to 80 per cent farm loans are taken from private moneylenders and not banks.

While the FM has not spelt out where this money will be coming from, this loan waiver is welcome relief to as many as 4 crore who will benefit from what Chidarambaram calls “an unorthodox response.

However, one question remains: why did it take so long for the Government of India to redeem this “debt of gratitude”? Farmer suicides have been more or less a constant fixture since 1997.

Maybe I am being cynical, but I keep wondering if this one time loan waiver will be the solution or will it at best bring temporary, much needed relief to many.

Read here and here.

I will survive

An astonishing news of a pregnant woman on a train, who went to relieve herself and delivered a premature baby which slipped out down the toilet onto the tracks, survived the fall, the midnight chill and subsequent discovery by linesmen and eventual reunion with her mother. Details here.

A sort of reminder that despite the skewed sex ratio and rampant female foeticide, its not so easy to snuff the little girl child out. She will survive...against all odds.

Catching Mithya

A few summers back on a lovely evening, when we were in Paris, we wanted to watch a movie. We tried hall after hall (Odeon has three or four multiplexes and a few smaller ones) only to find all shows full. At last, we found one which had only two tickets remaining, so we bought them...and found ourselves in the front row, maybe 4 or 5 feet from the screen. Halls there are on average much smaller than in India (or atleast in the Metros, maybe even elsewhere). The images were pixillated at that distance and matters were worsened by the fact that it was a Ben Stiller movie...

The other day, went to watch Mithya, 11am show - no rush for tickets - reached the multiplex with seconds to spare... and were "ushered" in by the usher who led us into the theatre and up the stairs and said, "Sit anywhere you like and enjoy the movie"!

We were the only one in the large hall!

A bit like we owned it! Or a private screening for just the two of us!

Am not sure if I was entirely happy with it. I like to watch movies with others, certainly with A, or friends or in a full-ish hall. Its a bit like when I read an interesting book, I have to get others to read it, or read out bits to them...

However, a novel experience!

Its just not cricket

India’s current series in Australia, the umpiring decisions, the racist comment(s) controversy and now the IPL bids … cricket is always big news in India and more so now. Naturally, the news of the winning bids for IPL has been hogging headlines everywhere. Shahrukh Khan, Vijay Mallaya, Ness Wadia and Preity Zinta all wining the bids among others.

Naturally, the fate of the Indian Women’s Hockey team got mere mention. Returning to India from a training camp in Australia, the team had to spend a chilly wintry night in very shabby accommodation.

Also, they were unaware of a Rs. 5 lakh grant for purchase of equipment and so they had to shell out their own money.

So despite the appeal of “Chak De” and SRK and the women’s hockey team winning the hockey world cup in reel life, in real life, its cricket all the way.