Mamachya Gavala Jau Ya . . . After 25 Years

Photoset | Slideshow

For the benefit of non-Maharashtrians, Mamachya Gavala Jau Ya is a popular Marathi kiddy song about taking a train to visit your Mama (maternal uncle, mom's brother) in his village. The reason for invoking the song in the title was my visit to my Mama's village, also my birthplace, last week. I was visiting after 25 years. I stayed there for a couple of days — time I spent in going all over the village to see how old remembered landmarks have changed (or merely appear different) over time.

Some thoughts and observations from the trip:

• In some trains, the 3AC compartments are way better and modern than the 2AC ones. A case in point was the 3AC compartment of the Sewagram Express from Mumbai to Nagpur. Having failed to secure 2AC tickets, I boarded the compartment with some trepidation, expecting people squeezed together and was pleasantly surprised. The same train on the return journey, two days later however had older and less swanky compartments.
• Nothing prepares you for some unexpected changes and additions to a place you are seeing again after 25 years. Sindi (Rly.), the village I was visiting, is still small (you can stroll from one end to the other in about 10 minutes), but it now has concrete roads. Even the smaller "gallis" are concretized.
• I derived much enjoyment from directing my uncle the way to his home. For kicks, after receiving me at the railway station, he asked me if I remembered the way. Since the journey was in near darkness (the Sewagram Express reaches at 04:40 in the morning) it was also great fun to point out to him and identify barely visible landmarks — "That should be the sawmill . . . those structures over there must be the granaries . . .these buildings are new, but that one tucked in there is the school . . . oh well, this is totally changed, but I suppose this is still the village bus stop. . . " Then seeing my uncle's face I stopped in front of his house but pretended to be confused which was the door to his home. The house had changed so much that the confusion could look genuine.
• One thing that journey from the railway station to the home taught me — If you are visiting after 25 years, people expect you to be lost and take pleasure in it. For the next two days, I played the "What has happened to the village I knew" role to the full hilt. A point to be noted, 25 years is a long time — time enough for landmarks and things change, but not enough to be completely erased.
• Some things do change completely. There were no longer any cattle or other livestock on the streets. The streets are now completely taken over by motorized vehicles. Any cows, goats, chickens and other assorted animals I saw either were in the fields or confined to their pens and coops.
• What is it with villages and early mornings? For the two days I was there, I used to be up, showered, and breakfasted by 08:30 AM. At home on a holiday or even on a Sunday, it would be sacrilege to be out of bed before 09:30 AM. After waking up so early, and having a lot of time on your hands, there was little choice but to accompany my uncle to his daily visit to the village's main temple.
• The Hanuman mandir of the village is really "very, very old." But no one knows exactly how old — "It was here even before I was a child," said the temple's ancient priest. "When was that?" "Hmm. . . I don't know . . . before Independence . . . I remember going to Gandhiji's ashram in Wardha when he was there." I remembered the path to the temple very well but had surprisingly forgotten it's most distinguishing feature — the temple housed a rare two-headed swaymbhu Hanuman idol.
• When you are visiting after 25 years, there are a lot of social calls to be made. In a village the size of Sindi, this was usually in the form of my uncle being hailed from a window or a shop as we walked along the "main street." I soon realized that most of the greetings were to satiate the curiosity of finding my uncle with a stranger. And once memories were sufficiently jogged, it always resulted in a cup of tea. Refusal was not on the cards for that always resulted in the standard "you city folk find the tea of our village below acceptable standards" dialogue and other variants of it. I had way too many cups of tea. 
• One such cup of tea was with an old tailor who hailed my uncle and me from his workshop as we passed by. The tailor later, as we were sipping the tea (and I was somnolently watching the sleepy market place), claimed that he had stitched my clothes when I was little more than a baby. This could be true, for he claimed that back then he was the only tailor in the village.
• In many ways, the village has changed for the better — concrete roads, a few more schools, and even a college. The village has become a sort of a hub for the neighboring villages. There were of course some things that I would have preferred not to have changed. Many of the old style houses have made way for the ugly brick and concrete boxes that somehow only we seem to design and build. And the small river at one end of the village has now become a weed choked and sewage filled nullah.
• Farmers are big gamblers (and optimists). Their entire livelihood is a gamble — Indian agriculture and especially farming in Vidharbha is highly dependent on the rains. If that wasn't a big enough deterrent by itself, many farmers (and this is while farmer suicides are still common in Vidharbha) still gamble on cotton. Cotton prices a few years back had sky rocketed to Rs. 6500 a quintal on the back of a global demand due to crop failure elsewhere. Today the typical Vidharbha cotton farmer still gambles on the price reaching the earlier giddy heights (and using the money to wipe off all his debts). These days cotton sells, if at all it sells, at around Rs. 2500 a quintal.

• Cotton, even otherwise, is a labor-intensive and an investment-intensive crop. It needs regular weeding and care, frequent doses of insecticide, pesticide, fertilizer, pruning, etc, etc. To top it all, if it rains once the cotton balls are ready to be picked . . . A great many farmers have switched to other alternatives — tur dal (yellow pigeon peas), onions, soya bean (soya bean apparently is largely a "sow and forget" kind of a crop, requiring one dose of fertilizer and one spraying of insecticide).
• Farming too is highly politicized. Going by my uncle and the few other farmers I met, the local "native" farmhands are the laziest of the lot but have a lot of political backing due to the born again "sons of the soil" movement. The best workers are the migratory ones from the south and north of India (and now some even from West Bengal in the east) who work twice as hard and are cheaper. But a preponderance of "other" workers in your field can be "damaging" for your crops. This actually is one big reason why many farmers are moving away from labor-intensive cotton. The Vidharbha cotton farming problem, I feel, will eventually be solved not by writing-off the farmers' loans, but by banning farmhands from other states completely.

Sindi railway station has a couple of platforms that are at the level of the railway tracks. You basically climb-up into the train or climb-down out of it — something I had realized after having to stumble down the train's steps on reaching there early morning. The platforms are also short in length. From most of the train compartments, you climb down to the tracks and then pick your way in the darkness towards the lights of the platform. But it was on my way back, I realized just how small and laid back the village and its railway station is even today. Six trains halt at Sindi daily of which only two will bring you from and to Mumbai. After darkness, only the lights in the main station building are switched on. If you have a train to take, you inform the station master, who then switches on all the lights along the platform a few minutes before the train arrives. The same person will also courteously come over and tell you that the train is expected in the next few minutes. I boarded the Sewagram Express on my way back again. I was the only person to board the train at the station. 

I think I have had my fill of village life for the time being in spite of all the fresh food, green farms, etc. I would find the village in some ways claustrophobic if I were on an extended stay. Life is centered on too few things — and these days the one biggest thing is television. Even when you meet other people, television and local politics are the main topics of discussion. Time weighs heavy in your hands — an hour, feels twice as long and I realized I am not as laid back as my friends make me out to be. I also realized I am too much of an Internet addict to stay in any village for an extended time — well at least not till it can guarantee me a good broadband connection. Till then a couple of days every now and then is good enough for me.

Pictures from the trip: Photoset | Slideshow

I am Back — Perhaps

Once upon a time, when I was young and had a lot more hair on my head, I would blog regularly — often do nothing but post numerous silly links through the day. Then times changed and like Samson after his haircut, with my rapidly thinning hair, I lost any urge to write and to post anything online. I haven't blogged for exactly eight months (I had even forgotten my password to the blog and it took some amount of head scratching and concentrated thought to remember it). Times have changed. Professional and personal circumstances in this period weren't exactly conducive to shake myself from the daily chore of getting through the day to write something else.

To tell the truth, not much has changed about my life after these eight months — some of the living is decidedly bleaker and soul-sapping with little prospect of changing for the better. But then, knowing that like Samson I can't expect the hair on my head to grow back, I could at least make use of the little I have left (while I still can) to start writing again. So I have decided to make a concerted effort to return to my abandoned blog and scribble and scratch something out whenever I can. As of now, I can't make any resolutions to be regular but I have decided to blog whenever I can, on whatever I can.

I expect the journey back will be tough (is anybody still lurking on this blog?) — Something I realized as soon as I tried to get my rusty brain to type out this post. The writing for the blog no longer comes with the same ease or intensity as it once did (not that it was exactly easier earlier). While this was expected, the struggle to think and write is still shocking. Hopefully, with some practice, and a few more posts, I'll find myself back in the right frame of mind.

Meanwhile readers, if any, please come back and watch this space as it resumes in fits and starts over the next few days.

(Phew! Time to wipe the sweat off my brow!)

Follow me . . .

. . . on Twitter.

I got myself a Twitter account over the weekend. Wanted to try out micro-blogging — just for the heck of it and to explore its possible uses, especially in the work I do.

At the moment I am not much enamored by it. There's only so much you can update it before your "tweets" start getting mundane — I mean, how many updates would you put up letting people know that you are off for a meeting/currently having coffee or lunch/reading/watching a movie . . . before it gets all too narcissistic and (worse) pointless. And really, who would be interested in whatever you are doing in your life? Currently I don't see much use for it apart from being a sort of a delayed "IM" for the people "following" you on Twitter. I suppose the people you follow and interact with on Twitter will determine if it is worthwhile in the long run. It, of course, has its uses when you are posting about a live event (I tried that yesterday for a family function). But beyond that . . . well, lets give it a few weeks and see how it pans out.

Anybody of you out there who have found Twitter worthwhile?

Me on Twitter:

The 99 Things Meme

Picked up (and copy-pasted) from Geetha Krishnan.

Things you’ve already done: bold = 30 (actually 29.5)

Things you want to do: italicize = 35 

Things you haven’t done and don’t want to - leave in plain font = 34

1. Started your own blog. (And stopped. And started again) 

2. Slept under the stars. (The last time I did that, I was in Pokhara, Nepal)

3. Played in a band. 

4. Visited Hawaii. (One day, when I will have enough money . . .)

5. Watched a meteor shower. (Do it every year, weather and office permitting — the Leonids and the Geminids)

6. Given more than you can afford to charity. (How does one start a charity for oneself?)

7. Been to Disneyland/world. 

8. Climbed a mountain. (Everyday. I stay in a hilly place. Ok, Ok, but quite a few.)

9. Held a praying mantis. (Once. I was in school then.) 

10. Sang a solo.

11. Bungee jumped. (Only when they get cords that will not snap with my weight)

12. Visited Paris. (Does an hour at the airport, on the runway, count?)

13. Watched a lightning storm at sea. 

14. Taught yourself an art from scratch.

15. Adopted a child. (I leave them alone. They leave me alone.)

16. Had food poisoning. (Details here)

17. Walked to the top of the Statue of Liberty. (Why? But would like to try it. . . One day, when I have enough money . . .)

18. Grown your own vegetables. (potatoes, spinach, fenugreek, brinjals, tomatoes . . . also some fruits and herbs  — a very long ago)

19. Seen the Mona Lisa in France. (One day, when I have enough money . . .)

20. Slept on an overnight train. (Often. Very common in India. The last time was when I visited Bandhavgarh, Kanha, and Pachmarhi)

21. Had a pillow fight. 

22. Hitch hiked. 

23. Taken a sick day when you’re not ill. (Most office leave falls in this category)

24. Built a snow fort. (In this part of the world?)

25. Held a lamb.

26. Gone skinny dipping. (Too much skin, never enough water. Also, can't give people nightmares)

27. Run a marathon. (Ha, ha, ha . . . I prefer short sprints — regularly do the 20-meter dash when a train is pulling away)

28. Ridden a gondola in Venice. (One day, when I have enough money . . .)

29. Seen a total eclipse. 

30. Watched a sunrise or sunset.

31. Hit a home run. (I'm Indian — have cleared the boundary rope quite a few times) 

32. Been on a cruise. (One day, when I have enough money . . .)

33. Seen Niagara Falls in person. (One day, when I have enough money . . .)

34. Visited the birthplace of your ancestors. (I might have considered that if them lazy buggers had made enough money for me to lead an easy life.)

35. Seen an Amish community. 

36. Taught yourself a new language. (Tried French when I joined college. Promptly forgot it all as soon as I could. Want to learn again.) 

37. Had enough money to be truly satisfied. (One day, when I have enough money . . .)

38. Seen the Leaning Tower of Pisa in person. (One day, when I have enough money . . .)

39. Gone rock climbing. (My motto: Conserve all energy.)

40. Seen Michelangelo’s David in person. (One day, when I have enough money . . .)

41. Sung Karaoke. 

42. Seen Old Faithful geyser erupt. (One day, when I have enough money . . .)

43. Bought a stranger a meal in a restaurant. 

44. Visited Africa. (One day, when I have enough money . . .)

45. Walked on a beach by moonlight. (Of course)

46. Been transported in an ambulance. (Yes, but not as the patient.) 

47. Had your portrait painted.

48. Gone deep sea fishing. (One day, when I have enough money . . .)

49. Seen the Sistine chapel in person. (One day, when I have enough money . . .) 

50. Been to the top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris. (Does a view from a circling plane count?)

51. Gone scuba diving or snorkelling. 

52. Kissed in the rain. [Nobody loves me :( ]

53. Played in the mud. 

54. Gone to a drive-in theater. 

55. Been in a movie.

56. Visited the Great Wall of China. (One day, when I have enough money . . .)

57. Started a business.

58. Taken a martial arts class 

59. Visited Russia. (One day, when I have enough money . . .)

60. Served at a soup kitchen. 

61. Sold Girl Scout cookies. 

62. Gone whale watching. 

63. Gotten flowers for no reason. 

64. Donated blood. (Quite a few times)

65. Gone sky diving. 

66. Visited a Nazi Concentration Camp. 

67. Bounced a check. 

68. Flown in a helicopter. (One day, when I have enough money . . .) 

69. Saved a favorite childhood toy. 

70. Visited the Lincoln Memorial. (One day, when I have enough money . . .)

71. Eaten Caviar. 

72. Pieced a quilt. 

73. Stood in Times Square. (One day, when I have enough money . . .)

74. Toured the Everglades. (One day, when I have enough money . . .)

75. Been fired from a job.

76. Seen the Changing of the Guard in London. 

77. Broken a bone. (Yeah (sometimes the world can be too much of a burden to shoulder), my right clavicle (a.k.a. collar bone). When I was a kid.) 

78. Been on a speeding motorcycle. (Many times. Only pillion though.)

79. Seen the Grand Canyon in person. (Yep. Wasn't impressed though. The Sahayadris are so much better. Check this. And compare with this.)

80. Published a book. (I am assuming college textbooks and workbooks can be counted.) 

81. Visited the Vatican. (One day, when I have enough money . . .)

82. Bought a brand new car. (One day, when I have enough money . . .)

83. Walked in Jerusalem. (One day, when I have enough money . . .)

84. Had your picture in the newspaper. (Thrice)

85. Read the entire Bible. (Forgot most of it. Promptly.)

86. Visited the White House. (One day, when I have enough money . . .)

87. Killed and prepared an animal for eating. (Only the second part of that) 

88. Had chickenpox. 

89. Saved someone’s life. (Twice. Had help.)

90. Sat on a jury. 

91. Met someone famous. (Do novelists, poets, and bloggers count?)

92. Joined a book club. 

93. Lost a loved one. 

94. Had a baby. (I stay away from them. They stay away from me.) 

95. Seen the Alamo in person. (One day, when I have enough money . . .)

96. Swum in the Great Salt Lake. 

97. Been involved in a law suit.

98. Owned a cell phone. (Hello?)

99. Been stung by a bee. (Quite a few times, actually. The bees paid for it — they all died, them stupid suicide stingers.)

------

A similar list here.

Some earlier memes:

Tagging Books

Books you Couldn't Finish Reading

Worst Books Ever/ The Most Overrated Books/ Purple Paragraphs

Anatomy of a Perfect Diwali Holiday

Day 1: Thursday, November 8, 2007; Time: Morning
Wake up with a fever.

Day 1, Time: Mid-Morning
Realize you have a stomach upset too.

Day 1, Time: Noon
Correction. Make that a very bad stomach upset.

Day 1, Time: Afternoon
Lunch: Lemonade + Electral, Medicines.
Other Activities: Look daggers at insensitive family members polishing off special Diwali lunch.

Day 1, Time: Evening
Snack: Lemonade + Electral, Medicines.
Other Activities: Look daggers at insensitive family members polishing off Diwali faral (namkeen and sweets).

Day 1, Time: Night
Dinner: Lemonade + Electral, Medicines.
Other Activities: Look daggers at insensitive family members who claim to be "too full but will have a little more of that chiwda, chakli, etc."

Day 2: Friday, November 9, 2007; Time: Morning
Wake up. Check status.
Status Report: Fever persists.

Day 2, Time: Mid-Morning
Status Report: Stomach upset persists.
Breakfast: Lemonade + Electral, Medicines, half an apple.
Other Activities: Look daggers at insensitive family members polishing off some more Diwali faral.

Day 2, Time: Mid-Morning
The computer conks off. No technicians available due to Diwali.
Related Activity: Curse and sulk.

Day 2, Time: Afternoon
Lunch: Lemonade + Electral, Medicines.
Note to Self: Take your sustenance before (or in a separate room from) insensitive family members enjoying a "proper holiday meal."

Day 2, Time: Evening
Snack: Lemonade + Electral, Medicines.
Note to Self: "Eating" alone is so much better.
Related Activity: 1. Ignore noisy family using the pretext of Lakshmi puja to polish off some more Diwali faral.
2. Ignore noisy guests dropping in to polish off Diwali faral.

Day 2, Time: Night
Dinner: Lemonade + Electral, Medicines, remaining half of the apple.
Other Activities: Try to watch TV. TV conks off too.
Related Activity: Ignore insufferable jibes of being extremely infectious and a risk to the living and the inanimate. Quarantine self in room and try to sleep.

Day 3: Saturday, November 10, 2007; Time: Morning
Wake up. Check status.
Status Report: Fever down but still persists.

Day 3, Time: Mid-Morning
Status Report: Stomach appears settled but with warning signs all over - "Don't try to be adventurous."
Breakfast: Lemonade + Electral, Medicines, one apple.
Other Activities: 1. Try switching the TV on. Give up.
2. Try switching the PC on. Give up.
3. Ignore noisy family.

Day 3, Time: Noon/Afternoon
Pesky guests arrive to celebrate Bhai duj early.
Lunch: A small bowl of rice and curd, Medicines.
Other Activities: 1. Ignore pesky guests enjoying lunch.
2. Ignore noisy family enjoying lunch.
Related Activity: Sulk.

Day 3, Time: Evening
Pesky guests leave.
Snack: Lemonade + Electral, Medicines.
Other Activities: 1. Watch brother and Sis-in-law pack. Recollect that the two are off to Nagpur later for a week.
2. Try some emotional blackmail on Sis-in-law.
Note to Self: Emotional blackmailing skills need some work and updating.
Related Activity: Sulk.

Day 3, Time: Night
Try some more emotional blackmail as brother and Sis-in-law are leaving.
Note to Self: Emotional blackmailing skills need thorough updating and revision.
Dinner: Check what Sis-in-law has left for dinner. Find some more rice and curd. And medicines.
Other Activities: 1. Try switching the TV on. Give up.
2. Try switching the PC on. Give up.
3. Quality reading time.

Day 4: Sunday, November 10, 2007; Time: Morning
Wake up. Check status.
Status Report: Fever gone. Stomach still has a "Fragile! Handle with Care!" warning.
Breakfast: One apple, Medicines.

Day 4, Time: Noon
Lunch: A bowl of rice and curd, Medicines.
Other Activities: 1. Read
2. Try to ignore thoughts about office.

Day 4, Time: Evening
Snack: Lemonade, Medicines
Other Activities: 1. Venture out for a walk with friends.
2. Try to ignore thoughts about office.

Day 4, Time: Night
Dinner: Some more rice and curd, Medicines.
Other Activities: 1. Read
2. Try (unsuccessfully) to ignore thoughts about office.
Related Activity: Succumb to feelings of immense loserliness.

Meanwhile in my Hometown. . .

A visually challenged man has two wives and is planning to elope with his girlfriend. The two wives get together to cut girlfriend out of the picture. Drama unfolds at Ambarnath railway station.

Six days later . . .
Said visually challenged man pulls a bluff: He cons his two wives into getting his girlfriend out of a welfare center and elopes with her.

At first glance, this seems to be nothing more than another example of the kind of messy, tangled, and tragic webs we humans weave. But with a bit of imagination and a generous helping of artistic license, a good script writer should be able to fashion a story for a great masala movie on a love rectangle out of all this.

Ambarnath is happening. And how!

Sadly, not for me.

As my office friends helpfully remarked: Arre! But you spend more time in office in Andheri keeping India shining.


Immense feelings of loserliness overwhelm.

Blogging had Been Temporarily Suspended . . .

. . . For nearly three months. Some illness, a PC in sick bay, work that occupied too much of my limited mindspace, and a general feeling of loserliness ensured that blogging was afflicted. Well nothing much has actually changed. The tons of conference calls, meetings, storyboards, writing, reviewing, and "fire-fighting" at work continue. And after doing all that there's still so much more to do that on a Sunday evening I am already aching for the weekend to arrive the next day.

Well but . . . today I decided to dust the cobwebs from the blogger interface (and some from my mind) and see if I can get back to blogging. This post is a start. Blogging may still be infrequent for some days to come but I hope to build up some momentum and get back to regular blogging soon. If I can do a bit of my usual filter blogging and a longish post every week or two, it will be a good enough start. Normal blogging service will resume soon.

If any readers are still sticking around, please come back. And let the others know.

I Am Back . . . and how!

Waiting to board our flight from Kolkata to Mumbai (the last one we took on our way back from Katmandu, Nepal), I remarked to my friend, "I was wrong. Completely wrong."
To which he provided his characteristic response, "Eh?"
I continued to elaborate, "I have always suspected that the patron deity of airplanes is very anti-me. This time around when we managed to catch our flight to Benares in spite of the mother of all railway megablocks, sputtering rickshaws, and lunatic taxi drivers, I thought the god of airplanes had seen the error of his ways and was now trying to make it up to me. But . . .”
"Will you shut up and let me sleep? I am tired after all that running around and I am not interested in your idiotic theories. . ."
"But as I was saying, I was wrong," I refused firmly to clam up and continued. "The dude was merely luring me into a false sense of complacency. And when I least suspected it, he socked me one in the eye."
"Good for him. He should do it more often. But not when I am with you."
I ignored and forgave my friend's grouchiness, putting it rightly down to the stress and the fatigue born of the events in the past eight hours or so.
"I mean there we were. We should have been still relaxing in Katmandu at the moment, but instead we are here waiting in this supposedly city of joy. And there's still no sign of this flight to Mumbai. If I examine all the data, I can draw only one conclusion. . ."
"Shut up."
"No, listen . . ."

But I have allowed myself to get ahead of the story. I can imagine the least patient of my readers have by now already closed their browsers and gone back to reading their newspapers and books. I am sure at least one reader somewhere has opened a Wodehouse in a marked manner and is muttering curses under her breath. Is there anyone hanging around yet? What? Eh? Ya right. I know. I should stop my meandering and get on with it. Begin from the beginning and continue slowly till the end and all that sort of thing. I intended to do that but in the excitement of telling the story I jumped . . . Yes, yes. Sorry. Enough of my rambling. Here's what happened. You sure you want the story right from the beginning? Ok, remember you asked for it.

Where to begin this story? It will have to begin with this aborted attempt of mine to get to San Francisco about a year and some back (You wanted the story from the beginning!). No I am not narrating that one here, not again. But it's important to mention that incident because that experience still haunts me and colors the way I approach any travel by airplanes. Each time I decide to take a flight, there's a part of me that keeps crossing its fingers and toes for it knows surely there's something that has to go wrong.

This time around when we decided to go to Benares and Nepal and booked our flight tickets for the various stages of the journey, I kept a wary eye out for potential trouble.

And my fears weren't misplaced. The patron god of airplanes seemed to have pulled out all stops to ensure that I didn't board the Benares flight. The Saturday we were supposed to fly to Benares from Mumbai, Central Railway announced a mega megablock for five days. Central Railway was beginning work on the 5th and 6th lines between Thane and Kalyan. Train services were operating at the rate of about a train an hour with the resultant jam-packed crowds. We had planned to reach the airport around 12.00 noon for our 13.20 flight. The railway megablock meant that we were going to be off-schedule. . . very badly off-schedule. A journey that involved a hired car, a sputtering rickshaw, and a maniac taxi driver saw us at the boarding gates 20 minutes before the flight took off. Thankfully we were allowed to take the flight. As the flight taxied down the runway, I felt with reason that the worse was behind us and things would be ok from now on. There was also a feeling that maybe the patron deity of airplanes had maybe initially tried to throw a spanner in the works but had finally rallied behind me and ensured that my friend and I boarded the plane.

But as you already know I was wrong. After the planned stops in Benares and Gorakhpur and after three bus journeys we reached Katmandu early morning on a Tuesday.

We had planned to spend the Tuesday and Wednesday in Katmandu before taking a bus to Pokhara on Thursday morning. We were taking a 13.30 flight from Pokhara to Katmandu on Saturday and a morning 7.20 Royal Nepal Airlines flight on Sunday to Delhi and from there an afternoon IndiGo flight to Mumbai.

Things went well right up to Saturday noon. Then briefly they got better. Used to Mumbai traffic and security checks, we reached the Pokhara airport at 12.00 noon. Turned out that the 12.30 flight still hadn't arrived from Katmandu. We strolled around the airport, clicked a few pictures of the runway and watched the 12.30 flight touch down and taxi from close quarters. At 12:25 the airport manager came looking for us and asked if we minded boarding the 12:30 flight as two passengers were late and the seats were available. We were more than happy to avail of the offer figuring it would allow us more shopping time in Katmandu's Durbar Square. At 14:00 we walked into our Katmandu hotel where the manager was waiting for us with news that would change our entire day.

He greeted us and then said, "Royal Nepal Airlines called today morning (we had provided the hotel numbers when we re-confirmed our tickets on reaching Katmandu). Your flight tomorrow is canceled." He then took a dramatic pause as he watched our stunned expressions. Then added, "Actually they have canceled all flights to Delhi for a week. Two of their planes developed snags and they don't have any spare planes to divert to India."

"But we have to be in Mumbai by tomorrow evening," that was my friend.

The manager suggested that we check in our luggage at the hotel and said that he would take us to the Royal Nepal Airlines office to see what can be done. It started raining heavily when we set out. Within 20 minutes we were at the Royal Nepal Airlines office where a large number of irate passengers were arguing with two hassled staff. Turned out that it was a holiday and these two had been offered as sacrificial lambs. When we finally managed to get an audience with a staffer, he first repeated the information that our hotel manager had already passed on to us. Then he added, "We are trying to adjust passengers on other flights. But that is proving difficult. You might expect a seat optimistically only on Tuesday, that's 8th of May. But realistically nothing till the 10th."

He noted our expressions and added, “I am sorry. But there's nothing we can do. If you have to reach India urgently, I suggest you cancel tickets and try to arrange alternative tickets on your own."

So we canceled the tickets and the hotel manager took us to a travel agent whose face had a perpetual "still processing" expression. It turned out that the travel agent's look was a true reflection of his processing capabilites. After we explained to him our problem and he took his time processing and understanding it (Think of Atal Behari Vajpayee's style of talking) he remarked, "Hmm (long processing pause) . . . So you want to go back to India?"
"Yes, urgently."
"Hmm (long processing pause). . . You want flight tickets?"
"Ya. We have to reach Delhi by tomorrow afternoon."
"Hmm (long processing pause). . . Royal Nepal has canceled flights? Hmm (long processing pause). . . Let me see what I can do. Hmm (long processing pause). . . Why don't you wait at your hotel and I will call if I find you tickets?"

Considering the agent's evident capabilities, that was not an option. I glanced at my friend. His thoughts too seemed on similar lines.

"We will wait here and you can tell us if tickets are available."

"Hmm (long processing pause). . . Ok. Hmm (long processing pause). . . I will have to make a few calls to the various airlines. Today is Saturday. Most of these offices will be closed. Hmm (long processing pause). . .

"He doesn't have facilities to check online?" I asked the hotel manager.
"No. Faster this way. To call and find."
"Provided he picks up the phone."

He eventually did. And proceeded to pause and talk (in the local language) and pause some more, shake his head mournfully, and talk even less. After an eternity, and after he had made about half a dozen calls, the travel agent turned to us and:
"Hmm (long processing pause). . . There are no flights available for Delhi till the 12th. Not even business class."

"Oh, shit" (That was my friend and me).

The travel agent just looked at us more mournfully. The hotel manager murmured something about us relaxing for the next week in Katmandu. I quelled his murmuring with a glare and turned back to the travel agent:
"See, we have to reach Delhi by tomorrow afternoon. We have tickets for tomorrow to fly from Delhi to Mumbai. I have to be in Mumbai by tomorrow evening. Please suggest a solution."
"Hmm (long processing pause). . . Hmm (long processing pause). . . Hmm (long processing pause). . . You can fly to Nepalganj."
"Where's that and how will that help us?"
"Hmm (long processing pause). . . From Nepalganj you hire a car or a taxi to Delhi. Hmm (long processing pause). . . Or there is a train on some days."
"How far from Nepalganj to Delhi?"
"Hmm (long processing pause). . . I think it is 32 hours."
"What!"
"Hmm (long processing pause) . . ." and he nodded his head (slowly).
"That will not help. I have told you already I have to reach Mumbai by tomorrow."
"Hmm (long processing pause). . . "

Then I had a brainwave. I remembered that Kolkata was quite close from Katmandu.
"Any other destinations from Katmandu? Can we fly to somewhere else and take a flight to Mumbai?"
This time, surprisingly the response was immediate, "Yes. Bangkok."
I almost beaned the guy with the metal vase on the table next to me.

"Any other destinations in India from Katmandu?" I said it very slowly, putting much emphasis on India. "Maybe Kolkata."
"Hmm (long processing pause). . . Let me check."

A phone call later:
"Hmm (long processing pause). . . There's one Indian Airlines flight waiting at the airport to fly to Kolkata. Hmm (long processing pause). . . It is supposed to fly at 15:30."
I looked at my watch. It was 15:15. I had a strong urge to pick up the vase.
"Hmm (long processing pause). . . It is raining heavily so visibility will be bad. The plane will not leave for some time. If you leave immediately, you might just get it. Maybe in the business class. Hmm (long processing pause). . . And I think there is an Air Sahara flight to Kolkata at 16:30. So you are bound to get that one surely. If tickets are available . . ."

We thanked him and rushed to the hotel, picked up our bags, jumped into a waiting taxi, and rushed to the airport. The hotel manager accompanied us to the airport. Half way to the airport the hotel manager received a call on his cell phone. He spoke for a few minutes and then turned to us.
"It was the travel agent. He called to say there is no Air Sahara flight to Kolkata. It is only this Indian Airlines one."
"Oh, shit" (That was my friend and me).
"Can this guy drive the taxi a bit faster?"

We made it to the airport, through all that rain and the slow traffic, around 16:15. The security at Katmandu International Airport wouldn't let us in since we had no valid tickets (Remember, our Royal Nepal Airlines were canceled). It took five minutes to explain to them our circumstances at which we were allowed in without any baggage check or frisking. The hotel manager said he would wait for us outside in case we didn't get tickets.

A couple of inquiries later we were standing at the Indian Airlines counter for the Kolkata flight. That was adjacent to another Indian Airlines counter for a flight to Delhi. My friend went to the Delhi counter to ask if tickets were available.

"No sir. We have a waiting list of 25 for the business class tickets. There are no tickets for the next week. Royal Nepal flights have been canceled so . . ."

There was no other option. I asked the guy manning the Indian Airlines counter for the Kolkata flight if there were tickets available. "Even business class will do."
"There are no business class seats on this flight."
"Oh." (Panic)
"The entire flight is economy class. We have some tickets for those." (Relief)
"I will take two."
A guy who was hovering around the counter, barking into a walkie-talkie now butted in. "Please buy the tickets immediately and come to the boarding gate. The flight is already delayed by an hour and I cannot delay it further."
I nodded and turned to the other guy. "Two tickets please. How much?"
He muttered a figure close to 15000 Nepali rupees for the two tickets.
"Ok. Here's my card." And I pulled out my credit card.
"Sorry sir. Cash only. We don't accept credit cards."
"What! This is an international airport for #$%***#. . ." (Despair)
"We don't take cards. We have no facilities for card payments."
The walkie-talkie guy butted in. "Are you going to be on the plane? I have to close boarding in 5 minutes."
I turned to the other guy. "See, I have to be on the plane but I don't have that much cash. Please suggest a way out."
He looked at me appraisingly and then pointed to a duty free shop at the other end of the terminal. "You could go to the shop and convince the shopkeeper to make a bill for you for the amount and swipe your card in exchange for cash. I have heard they sometimes do it." (There's still hope)
I turned to sprint to the shop when the walkie-talkie guy butted in once again. "I will hold the boarding open for you for 5 minutes. Please get the cash in 5 minutes."

I ran to the shop and explained the situation to the shopkeeper. He nodded and said, "I would do it but I don't have that much cash today."
"Oh, shit" (Despair once again)
"But you can go to the bank there (He pointed helpfully). They might provide cash against a credit card." (Hope rekindled)
So I sprinted to the bank and breathlessly (try doing 100 meter dashes in Olympic record times with my bulk) tried to explain to the person manning the counter my problem. After sometime he said "Yes we can give you cash against a credit card swipe. But you have to fill this form first."
And proceeded to lay a long A4 size form in front of me. I glanced at the bank official in exasperation, then dragged my eyes back to that humongous form. Just to confirm I glanced at the bank official again. There was no way out of it. I pulled out a pen, handed the card to the bank official and said, "Why don't you swipe the card for 16000 Nepali rupees by the time I complete this form?"
"Sorry. I cannot swipe without the form."
"Oh, hell!" (Exasperation) And proceeded to enter the details in that complicated form (address, amount, card number, purpose of withdrawal, credit card expiry date, passport number, passport issuance date, and a hazaar other things). Out of the corner of my eye I could see the agitated walkie-talkie guy gesticulating wildly in my direction.

The form was duly completed and presented and scrutinized. After the bank official was satisfied with the form, he took my proffered card and swiped it. Then he handed me the receipts to be signed. After I had signed, he proceeded to count the cash. By this time the walkie-talkie guy seemed to be having an apoplectic fit. "Will you hurry a bit please?" I requested the bank official.
"Money matters take time."

Finally the money was in my hands and I sprinted across to the Indian Airlines counter. I avoided looking at the walkie-talkie guy who now looked as if he would like to cut me open and stomp on my entrails. The money was exchanged and the tickets made and handed over and the boarding passes readied. We handed over our luggage, when the guy at the counter remembered, "Airport tax?"
"What?!"
"You need to pay airport tax in Nepal. I can't give you boarding passes without the airport tax receipts."
"Where do I pay the airport tax?"
"In that bank over there." It was the same one from where I had withdrawn the money.
I turned to the walkie-talkie guy who seemed to be having fantasies of dipping me in boiling oil. "Sir, please 5 more minutes."
"I'll give you two."

I must have set a record for the 100 meter airport dash twice over on that day.

The airport tax was paid, the receipts procured, handed over, and the boarding passes collected. I heaved a sigh of relief. No way was that plane taking off without my friend and me on board.

But I hadn't reckoned with the walkie-talkie guy. "If you don't clear the immigration and security check in the next five minutes, I will have the boarding gates closed. I'll meet you two there." Well, it was time to start sprinting again.

As we dashed to the escalators, my friend suddenly stopped. "The Hotel Manager! He is still waiting for us at the entrance. And we have to pay him."

It was the time to set new records for the 200 meter airport dash. I asked my friend to proceed to the immigration and have our immigration forms ready and I ran towards the entrance of the airport. I ran past the security guards who I suspected now looked upon me as a specially provided gift by god to bring some entertainment (sort of an obese male version of Run Lola Run) into their humdrum routines . I found the hotel manager and quickly pressed some money in his palms - enough to cover our stay for the day, taxi charges and a lavish tip for his help - thanked him and then sprinted back. The laughing security guards just waved me on. The more intelligent and imaginative ones amongst them probably thought I was using every available opportunity to burn all my excess calories.

I made it to the immigration area to find my friend holding two blank immigration forms.
"Why haven't you entered our details in these?" I was peeved and it showed in my (breathless) tone.
He pointed to the immigration area. There were about five counters and all of them had long, snaking queues in front of them.
I turned to my friend, "But, how does that . . ."
"You forget I can't read without my glasses," he cut me short. "And they have been checked in with our main luggage. Besides, I don't have a pen on me."

So I entered my details in an immigration form and completed another form for my friend. Then we proceeded to the immigration and stood in the queue that looked the shortest. My friend tried explaining to the people in the queue that we were in a hurry; a walkie-talkie guy was threatening to leave us behind if we didn't make it to the plane in another 90 seconds, etc. But heartless all of them. His requests to be allowed to move forward in the line fell on deaf ears. None budged. Well, I decided the time for niceties was past and we barged ahead using my superior weight and my friend's superior height to our advantage. 10 seconds later we had elbowed and swatted our way through the queue and were at the immigration counter. My friend started explaining again, but the immigration official was not interested at all. He glanced at our passports and stamped the forms and waved us away. A short run brought us the security check line and after some more elbowing and swatting we were ahead of everyone else (I am afraid we both weren't awfully good ambassadors for India there) and had our cabin bags security checked and tagged. 20 seconds later we were at the boarding gate, a full 40 seconds before our 5 minutes over.

But hang on, what was this long line doing at the boarding gate? And why had that walkie-talkie guy (put two more heads next to his present one and you would have the airport version of Cerberus) barred the boarding gates? Was he going to disallow over a 100 passengers from boarding the plane? Another passenger enlightened us. He pointed out of a window to the heavy rain.
"It is raining so hard that they have stopped boarding the flight. Also there is no bus to take the passengers to the plane."

Some 10 minutes later a bus arrived at the gates. We managed to cram ourselves into the bus along with about 50 others and the bus trundled towards the waiting plane through the rain. When we reached the flight none of us was allowed to disembark. One person was allowed out at a time. An Indian Airlines official who had boarded the bus explained that under the Nepal law, passengers had to be frisked and their cabin baggage rechecked before actually boarding a plane. It was however raining so heavily that it was impractical to frisk the passengers and check the baggage. So boarding was halted. We waited in the bus for the heavy shower to blow away. About 10 minutes later the heavy shower had dwindled to a light drizzle. Frisking and baggage checking proceeded briskly and we were soon fastening our seatbelts. Soon all the passengers had boarded the plane. It was now around 17:00, nearly a full hour since we had reached the airport. The flight (luckily for us) had been delayed for almost two hours but we were now impatient to be on our way. We still had to get to Kolkata and then arrange for our tickets to Mumbai.

Just as when it looked that we were finally going to be off, the captain made an announcement. Air traffic control had denied permission to takeoff because of more heavy rain and poor visibility. The flight finally took off at 17.30. We landed at Kolkata an hour and 15 minutes later at around 18:15 Indian time.

We disembarked, cleared the immigration and picked up our luggage. Our checked in luggage had been thoroughly drenched in the Katmandu rain and now weighed a ton. 15 minutes later we were at Kolkata airport's domestic terminal. I asked my friend to proceed to the IndiGo counter and cancel our tickets to Mumbai from Delhi. Meanwhile I decided to see if any of the other air services had tickets for us to fly from Kolkata to Mumbai. Jet Airway's only remaining flight was full. So was Air Sahara's. Indian Airlines had two flights, one delayed and one on schedule, both leaving in under an hour and a half. None had any seats available.

"What's so special today? Why is everyone traveling from Kolkata to Mumbai?" I vented my frustration aloud.

The official behind the counter took it as an inquiry. "Sir, an IndiGo flight has been delayed. It was supposed to leave at 19.20 but still hasn't arrived. Many passengers switched over to our flights. You might get an IndiGo ticket."

I ran to the IndiGo counter where my friend had just finished canceling our Delhi-Mumbai tickets. A couple of questions later and after another swipe of the credit card (no running around for cash, thankfully) we had tickets to Mumbai in our hands. The 19:20 flight had been rescheduled to 22:00, the girl who sold us the tickets informed us. As we turned to move away, she added, "We hope it arrives by then, if it does."

"What!"

"See this flight is the same one that flies from Mumbai to Nagpur. From Nagpur it comes to Kolkata and from here it flies back to Mumbai." She paused, "The flight still hasn't left Mumbai."

She noted our expressions and hastily assured us, "Sirs, we are sure that the flight will operate. We hope it is by 22.00. It might get more delayed but it will not be canceled."

We nodded. A delay was not a problem for us after what we had been through the day. We walked inside the terminal. The time was around 19:00. We found ourselves seats and made ourselves comfortable. A cup of coffee helped. Soon I had pulled out a book, crossed my legs over our bags and was lost to the world. My friend decided to exercise his muscles and went for a walk. He returned sometime later to announce that the IndiGo officials had informed him that the flight had taken off from Mumbai for Nagpur.
"We will be in Mumbai, today," my friend said.
I returned to my book.

Around 20:30, my friend came back with an update. "They have opened the check-in counters for our flight. Let us at least get our luggage screened and out of the way." And we proceeded to do just that. At 21:15, another IndiGo official came and informed the waiting passengers that the flight was on its way to Kolkata from Nagpur and was expected in about an hour or less. That cheered us immensely. Soon a security check for the passengers of the IndiGo flight was announced. 15 minutes later we were waiting in the boarding area for the flight and having the conversation that started off this longish post.

If you felt that everything after this point was smooth, you are mistaken. The gods and the fates never let me off that easy. After I had explained my theory to my friend and he had roundly cursed me for disturbing his snooze, IndiGo announced that the flight would be touching down at Kolkata only around 23:00 and will take off for Mumbai around 23:30. It finally took off at 23:45. We touched down in Mumbai at around 2:00 AM on Sunday morning. The plane taxied and parked itself in the boondocks of Mumbai airport. It took the bus nearly 15 minutes to get us passengers to the baggage claim area. Finally at 2:30 AM we were out of the airport when a new thought struck me.
"It's 2.30."
"Ya, so?"
"So we have no trains to take us home. The last train from Ghatkopar station left an hour and 15 minutes back."
"B#$%* Hell!"
"The next train is only at 4.45 AM, provided it's on time. Saturday and Sunday are maintenance days for the railway. This train might have been . . ."

A few more curses were dispersed in the warm Mumbai air. My friend remembered that he had the keys to his new flat in Mulund on him and we took a rickshaw to his flat, finally reaching around 3.30 AM. There was no point in sleeping then, though we did manage to nap a bit. On Sundays the railway megablock usually begins at 8:00 AM and we wanted to be home before that. We finally groggily made it to the railway station at 6:00 AM. By 7:30 I was home, the door opened by my very surprised sis-in-law.
"Now isn't that a first?" She welcomed me in. "You are actually before time and by 12 hours."
I muttered something under my breath.
"What happened?"
"Not now. I need a shower and some sleep."
"Please tell."
"Or better. You wait for the story till I have had the time to post it to my blog."

There that would shut her up, I thought. Besides my sis-in-law is not that net savvy.

"Alright. That's the only way you will actually find a reader for what you write."

It was time to retreat and sleep and wait for my luck to change.

Am Off

I am off for a week with a friend. First going to Benares to check just how clean the Ganges is after the humanity and its uncle washes all its sins (and much else) in the river waters everyday. From Benares we take a bus to Gorakhpur to attend a wedding. From Gorakhpur we are hopping the border at Shinoli (I hope I have got the name right) and going across to say a hello to the king of Nepal and the Maoists. A couple of days in Kathmandu and another couple of days in Pokhara. And then back to the grind in Mumbai .

I plan to steer clear of any computers for the week. Hope my friend remembers to get his camera along so that I can post some pictures to the blog when am back.

Be good and explore the archives a bit.

New Job Designations

What happens when some instructional designers (IDs) and editors get together over some coffee in the middle of a hard, hectic day (on crazy projects the middle of the day is 7.00 PM) of reviewing storyboards, correcting punctuation, and fixing bugs:

[Of course for obvious reasons, names have been eliminated in this conversation all together.]

ID-A: Accha listen, ID-B and I are distributing important designations and portfolios.

Chief ID: Chief Idler for me please. And with a job description to match.

ID-A: ID-B wants Senior Fullstop-Putter.

Chief ID: I heard about that.

ID-A: And ID-C has expressed interest in being Deputy Hyphenation Manager. By the way, I have a job offer going for Head—Apostrophier. Care for it?

Chief ID: No, for a change I want a simple title. How about Comma—nder? A Comma—nder can do what he wants.

ID-A: Sounds good. So, does this person add more commas or delete existing ones? By the way, am also looking for Colon—izer and Semi-Colon—izer, if you have any suggestions

Chief ID: Colon—izer is a good title for Editor-1 (said Editor-1 is from the USA), except that it sounds a bit incorrect, politically.

ID-A: And since Editor-2 is half-Indian, she would be apt for Semi-Colon—izer. wot say?

Chief ID: Yup.

Wot to do? We are like this only.

You Know When. . .

You are Spending Way too Much Time in Office . . .
. . . when you see a buffalo on the road, note its sad expression, and remark to your friend, "That buffalo looks like its project manager has asked it to double its milk output on one-fourth the earlier allotment of hay and to do it twice in a day. Sad, na?"

Your Family has Really Low Expectations From you . . .
. . . when you shave your beard for the first time in four months and the family thinks it is an occasion worth celebrating. "We never know when you will do something as worthwhile," the head of the family helpfully remarks.

You are a Loser . . .
. . . when you have nothing to blog about and yet blog about sad buffaloes, shaved beards, announce to the world your "general loserliness" and expect readers to come back to your blog for more.

Oatmeal

My sis-in-law gets these bouts. Every once in a while she remembers that she is a trained doctor and that role needs to extend into and find expression at home too. This always translates into episodes of obsession with "health and being healthy." Earlier, probably during her first episode of this healthiness malaise (and when she still hadn't figured that mules take correspondence classes in stubbornness from my brother and me) she tried to get my brother and me to go for early-morning walks. My horrified "And waste 30 minutes of precious sleeping time?!!" put and end to that. Ditto for yoga that she offered to teach us.

Unfortunately for us she soon realized that while she probably couldn't get us to exercise, she could significantly control another aspect of our lives. And thus started (and still continue) her experiments with "healthy" food. My brother and me have since being subjected to various diets and dietary restrictions and monstrosities. If I remember right, the first thing she tried with us was honey and lemon in warm water in the mornings. I protested and complained. I hated the taste of that concoction and the honey and lemon in warm water smelt awful. "Just pinch your nose and drink it up," was her helpful advice when I remarked one morning that the smell made me nauseous. That continued for a couple of months or more till I came across (may the lord be thanked) this article in a newspaper that said commercially packaged honey may not be all that healthy as it may have some unmentionable additives.

Next followed experiments with the humble chapati. Wheat flour was mixed with soya bean (soybean) flour in different proportions "because eating soya is healthy." In subsequent versions the flour of various assorted food grains was obtained and mixed with the base combination of wheat and soya bean. A later and (a still continuing) version of the wheat and soya bean chapati does away totally with any oil. Me and my brother have grudgingly come to accept the newer version (not that we had much choice). We have had a salad only diet for sometime and we have had a vegetable only diet. We have had food where the salt (for a period of time it was only rock salt) and the spices were merely a suspicion. And we have had all of the above with different cooking oils — from groundnut oil to sunflower oil to god knows what. I spotted a can of olive oil in the kitchen yesterday and I shuddered when my brain conjured the image of cabbage, methi (very healthy), and karela (very, very healthy) stir-fried together in olive oil with a dash of salt and smirched (if we are lucky) with some turmeric and a couple of chopped green chillies.

Often, when I am in the mood, and am having a dry wheat and soya chapati with the above mentioned veggie (with whichever cooking oil in favor at the moment) I describe to my sis-in-law in great detail about the pizza topped with extra cheese and various meats that I had for lunch followed by sizzling chocolate brownies with ice cream or chocolate mousse. And I watch her shudder. Sometimes, when I am having particularly healthy dinner, I conjure up a vision of piping hot dal-khichdi served with dollops of ghee and with fried papad and lots of mango pickle and chopped onions on the side. All that followed with gulab jamuns. Whenever I do that, I think my sis-in-law, has nightmares.

The next day (I always think it impossible till I see and taste it) an even healthier meal is prepared.

But I digress. The point of all this is my sis-in-law's latest obsession with oatmeal. Over the years my brother and me have learned to recognize the symptoms of the onset of the healthiness malaise early. For the past few weeks she would occasionally pepper her talk with the high fiber content of oatmeal and pointedly mention its "popularity" as a health food. I knew then that we were doomed. For days my brother and me managed to "forget" to buy oatmeal whenever she packed us off on various errands. When that excuse started feeling a bit overused we tried the "out of stock" gambit a few times. But that was only delaying the inevitable. Two weeks back a huge jar of white oat bran appeared in the kitchen.

Since then I have had that gooey, bland stuff in countless variations as my sis-in-law tried her hand at cooking that tasteless shuck in a way that would suit our palates. We had the traditional boiled version with some milk added to it. And we have added the other traditional version of boiled oatmeal with some salt for taste. We have had boiled oatmeal with milk and sugar. My brother was persuaded to try the oatmeal-with-some-chopped-fruit variation and an oatmeal-with-curd variation. Both the times, it didn't look like he was enjoying the bowl of gloop he was having. My sis-in-law since has tried her hand at oatmeal kheer (By the way, I hate kheer. I pinched my nose and gulped it down and quickly put the bowl in the sink before another helping could be served), oatmeal sheera, and oatmeal upma. Then she made kande-oatmeal which is where you make Maharashtrian kande-pohe not with the pohe but with oatmeal. I refused to have anything to do with.

I suspect (actually, I am sure) yesterday dinner's wheat and soya chapatis (without any oil) too were spiked with a liberal helping of the oatmeal. And after all that consumption of the bran, I still glumly note that the huge jar of oatmeal is still half full.

Then today via Desipundit I came across this post and after reading the first few lines I thought I had come across a kindred soul that would understand my plight:

Oatmeal tests convictions. Its taste, appearance, origins, the varieties available, and the uberhype surrounding its health benefits - oatmeal was a big challenge to this Indian palate.

I am not alone in suffering, I told myself. All that needs be done, I thought, is to take a printout and hand it to my sis-in-law and let her be convinced by an expert on cuisine. But then I came across these lines:

Even though oatmeal is still a classic case of food I do not eat for the taste, I am glad I choose to like oatmeal and to make it a part of my daily routine.

The printout idea had to be discarded. For a while I contemplated emptying that jar of oatmeal into the dustbin. But that, apart from the wrath that I'll have to face, might see me being subjected to more oatmeal recipes.

It’s a tough life for brother-in-laws, take it from me. (The same could be said of the husbands, I suppose, but at least for them it is (usually) by choice.)

Oh well (sigh), hopefully this episode too will pass and the sis-in-law will be cured of her oatmeal malady.
.
.
.
And am I glad my sis-in-law is not net-savvy and doesn’t know that this blog exists.

Happy New Year

Noticed how no one wishes a simple "Happy New Year" any longer?

The first New Year’s sms popped into my inbox early morning on the 31st. Among other things, it thanked me for "contributing substantially" to the sender's life over the last year and helping him have "enriching experiences." This came from a person whom I haven't seen in about six months. I received the same sms from a train friend (people commuting by local trains in Mumbai have this category of friends too — basically the people with whom you commute everyday) that evening. I never knew that I can have such an impact on people's lives with just five minutes of daily conversation (Post the five minutes I open a book or go to sleep. . . often both).

Just past midnight, barely a few minutes into the New Year, a friend sent this:

Bond Best

in

Bond Year

WELCOME. . .

2000...............007

HAPPY NEW YEAR

A little while later, another invoked God and a bit of schmaltzy philosophy to say:

Always ask GOD 2 give u what u 'deserve'. . .,
not what u 'desire'.
bcoz ur desires may be few, but u deserve
- a 'LOT' . . .! Wish u n ur family a HAPPY NEW YEAR.

An ex-colleague (a professor of literature) sent me this:

A RELAXED mind,
a PEACEFUL soul,
a JOYFUL spirit,
a HEALTHY body,
& a heart FULL of
LOVE. That
is my wish for you for
the year 2007.

But this one, I felt was the best of the lot:

Na ZUBAN SE,
Na nigaho se,
Na dimagh se,
Na Mithai se,
Na greeting se,
Na gifts se,
"happy new year"
direct
*dil se*
2 u:

Whatever happened to plain, simple greetings?

An office friend did receive a simple new year's greeting. It read like this:

Wish you a prosporous new year.
(Italics mine)

What to say? I guess I should be happy with the ones I received.

Happy new year to you all.

Update: A colleague had this New Year greeting to share:

We
Wish
You
A

Fantastic
January

Lovable
February

Marvelous
March

Foolish
April

Enjoyable
May

Successful
June

Wonderful
July

Independent
August

Tastiest
October

Beautiful
November

Happiest
December

HAVE
A
VICTORIOUS YEAR. . .
(2007).
AND HAPPY NEW YEAR
WISHES.

I don't know what happened to September.

If you are Seeking Matrimony With a Nice Computer-Engineer Girl . . .

Yesterday, along with a friend of mine, I happened to pay a "Diwali visit" to one of his family friends. He had been directed by his parents to visit the family as they were unable to go themselves. My friend called me up and mentioned all the (imagined) times he had stood by me whenever I was having a hard time and asked me to accompany him for the visit. "I guess my parents don't want to miss watching their favorite saas-bahu serials," my friend muttered darkly. "And I have been offered as the sacrificial lamb," he continued. "Relax," I told him. "All that we have to do is walk in, smile politely, eat some faral (Marathi for special Diwali sweets and savories) and then beat a retreat. No problems. I'll go with you." I only got a mirthless laugh in return.

We paid our visit in the evening. As luck would have it, the only people home were a couple of oldies — a grandfather and a grandmother (as we Indians are brought up to address people who are two generations elder to us). The "uncle and aunty" had gone out for the evening. "Good," I whispered to my friend, "we can leave early." He just shook his head miserably and smiled fixedly at the old people.

Since I was meeting them for the first time, introductions were in order. It turned out that both the grandfather and the grandmother were hard of hearing. So the introductions were conducted at high decibels with bits and parts of it repeated numerous times. Finally the venerated elders gathered that:
A: I was a Maharashtrian.
B: I stayed in an area they were familiar with.
C: I had studied Arts (humanities) in college.
D: I was single.

With that out of the way, we got down to what I felt was the main agenda of the visit. Two extra-large plates heaped with chiwda, chakli, karanji, besan & rava laddoos, sev, and Kadbole were pushed into our hands. My (loud) protestations that it was too much to eat at one go were promptly brushed off. "Shut up and finish everything quickly," my friend whispered. After bringing us the two heaped plates of faral, the grandmother dragged a chair to about three feet in front of us and plonked herself on it. From her strategic seat she watched us closely as if to make sure we ate every bit of what she had heaped on our plates. The grandfather seemed to have lost interest in the proceedings and had settled himself in an easy chair in what seemed to be his favorite corner in the house. A transistor tuned to a radio station that was playing some ghastly classical music was glued to his ear. As we stuffed ourselves silly, my friend conversed in a loud voice with the grandmother. Most of it was along the lines of what he was doing, where he was working, how his parents were fine, etc.

"Harmless people," I thought to myself. "My friend was being unnecessarily paranoid," I concluded.

After we finished the faral the grandmother placed two cups of very sweet tea were in front of us. "Soon we can make our excuses and leave,” I told myself. But the grandmother had different ideas. She settled once again into her strategically placed chair and now turned her attention to me.

She first peered closely at me as if searching my face for something. Now I am not used to people giving me even a second glance. This prolonged study of my map was therefore a bit unsettling and I glanced at my friend questioningly. He only gave me a very pitying look and turned his attention to his tea again.

"Why did you study Arts?" the grandmother had bowled me her first googly.
"Eh!!??" that question coming on the top of a plateful of calorie-rich foods, sweet tea and a prolonged examination of my face, threw me totally.
"Why did you study Arts?" the grandmother asked me again in a tone that clearly indicated she would get to the bottom of it all even if it took all her remaining years on this earth.
"I liked the subjects and I. . ."
"Speak up," it was old lady again. I had forgotten she was hard of hearing.
"I liked the subjects . . ." I started to explain at the top of my voice.
"Idiotic. Very idiotic," she sniffed and then added, "You should have become an engineer."
I nodded. That seemed to be the only thing to do.
"You should have become an engineer," the grand old lady continued, "It is all there in your face."
"What!!!?"
"You have the face of an engineer. I can read faces you know. You should have studied to become an engineer."
I stared at her.
"Useless," she said. Then she looked at me closely and sadly shook her head, "Waste. All waste."
I looked at my friend. He was looking at us very seriously as if all that the old lady said made very good sense. And took yet another sip of his tea.

"What to do with people like you?" It was the grandmother again. "You should have come to me right after your SSC. I would have told you to study science and engineering. Now it is all wasted," she paused and took a deep breath, "No wonder you are not married yet."
I just goggled at her.

"Had you been an engineer, you would have married two years back," the grand old lady declared looking intently at my face. A dramatic pause and with a sigh for added effect she once again said those words, "Useless. Waste."
I nodded silently. There was nothing else to do.

My friend now decided to take an interest in things. "He works with computers," he informed the old lady. I glanced at my friend. I guess surfing using a web browser and writing using a word processor could qualify as "working with computers."
"Really!!?" For some reason that perked her up. My friend apparently knew what he was doing. The old lady looked at my face again closely.
After peering at my map for what seemed to be a lifetime, she closed her eyes and muttered a prayer. ("Now come on, you are not ugly enough to warrant that response," I told myself.)

After a few minutes in prayer, the old lady opened her eyes and said, "You can still marry. There is still hope."
I didn't know what to say to that but evidently the grandmother was not expecting any response.
"It is good you work with computers. Now you do as I say and you'll find a nice computer-engineer girl to marry. Or at least a girl who has studied science."
I goggled at her once again.
"Next Sunday, wake up early and take a shower before the sun rises."
I nodded.
"Then take a square red-colored cloth. What?"
"A square red-colored cloth," said someone loudly next to me. It was my friend.
"Take a handful of wheat," the old lady outlined the next step in the ritual.
"Handful of wheat," it was my friend again. For all his earlier misgivings he now looked as if he was enjoying the visit.
"When the sun rises, put the cloth on the ground and face the sun. Using the wheat draw a sun with seven rays on the cloth. You got that?"
"Sun with seven rays on the cloth," my friend dutifully echoed. I nodded.
"Then pray to the sun god to find you a nice computer-engineer girl.”
“Or one who has studied science.” My friend added his two bits.
The old lady assented and continued, “Offer a nevaidyam of milk and sugar to the sun."
"Right." It was my friend again.
"Then tie all the wheat in the cloth and hide the bundle in your home where no one else can find it."
I nodded. I saw my friend nodding vigorously sitting next to me.
"In seven days from the time you do this ritual, you will receive a request for marriage from the family of a computer-engineer girl."
This time even my friend was silent.
"Seven days. Just do what I say. And you'll be married."
I nodded.

My friend was looking at the old lady with great respect in his eyes. However painful his past experiences with that old lady or her family might have been, I could see all was now forgiven. He looked as if he could easily spend the next few hours in that home happily.

I stood up and touched the old lady’s feet. "May we leave? I asked, “I have to go and buy that red cloth."

She smiled, nay beamed.

"Go with my blessings. Remember to invite me to your wedding."