Everyday Heroes.

People who claim Bangalore has the worst traffic woes on the planet and/or the most irritating & oversmart Autorickshaw wallahs should be sent packing to Bombay and made to stay there until they’re down on their knees begging for mercy and asking to be sent back where they came from.

Some days ago, I had to go to this new place in the city (Bombay) for some work. And so I had to catch a rickshaw. After some twenty light years of swinging my palm up and down asking for those yellow-black things to stop, by which time I did not even have to make any effort in doing so thanks to inertia, one finally obliged. When I told the driver (whom we shall henceforth refer to as “Our Hero”) where to go from that piece of paper on which I’d written down the address, he threw me a condescending look and reset his meter.

I said, “Aapko pata hai na kahan hai?”. I swear he nodded.

Ten minutes later, we were in the middle of the biggest, noisiest, most suffocating traffic jam ever.In between two  Best buses suffering from indigestion. And then we were stuck and spluttering long enough for me to count 107 “Horn Ok Please”s, read & reflect on “Girlfriends are like medicines. They come with expiry dates” printed on a particular Bunty’s bike and presumably a Government of Maharashtra khatta that said “It is better to be late than Mr. Late” (A “Drive Slowly” message I guess. You know this was not even mentioned!). Also to notice how I couldn’t find a single license plate from any state other than MH. What…I was bored okay! Plus, in my defence, this really was pretty unbelievable for the Bangalorean in me. Anyway at some point ultimately in the midst of all this, our hero had succeeded in bringing us to a place where he could say with confidence:

“Ab yahan se puchna padega.”

After which dozens of people from all walks of life ranging from Panipuri sellers to Briefcase bearers, habitual Roadrashers to conscientious traffic policemen were pelted with “Aapko Andheri Kurla Road mein Sudarshan Hotel pata hai?”.  And everybody said No.

Around this time we stopped next to a big car with a very pretty driver and our hero asked me to shut up saying, “Hum puchta hai ab”. As if.

He said, “Madam aapko Doordarshan hotel maloom hai?”.

And my responding with “Kya ! Doordarshan nahi Sudarshan!” was enough to send the lady driving off in confusion, and get our hero scowling like an angry Salman Khan and saying,

“Aap sabko Doordarshan hotel puchoge toh aapko Sudarshan Hotel kaise batayenge!”

Okay. I was speechless. Awestruck. And before I could react with anything else,

“Pehle bolte toh main hi le jaata.”

An about-turn later, we braved through that life sucking jam all over again. This time I was too overwhelmed to make such insightful observations as before. I could only marvel at his greatness. When he stopped in front of that damned-to-hell hotel and asked for 80 Rs/- in place of the actual fare of less than half of this, thank god for him I’d already started thinking of this blog. So instead of getting slapped for payment, he actually received 65 Rs/-

As I was leaving he said, “15 Rs/- mein achcha pen khareedo Madam, jo thik se dikhayi de” and snorted at his own wit. And all I could do was nod.

Cheee-yers.

Five years & Aesthetic Endings.

If I could fast-forward five years, I would. And then I would wonder where the last five years went. And then I would think it so unfair that the last five years have been lost to me. And then I would hear people talk about their recent agonies & ecstasies, and I would grow sad. And then I would want those years back. I would sulk then, and make myself miserable. And I would think that if I had been given the chance, I would have done so much more in those years that I could’ve been somewhere else presently, much more happier and much less restless. And then I would hold this thought for as long as a week, then forget about it, and then come back to it  probably as a consequence of some other irrelevant and stupid thought. And keep coming back to it likewise.

Even so, right now, if I could fast forward five years, I would.

By the way, fast-forward or no fast-forward, five years from now, I shall still care about aesthetic endings (to written pieces, ofcourse. Rest can be helped?). That much I know.

And this last line pressurizes me to think of such an ending, and I can think of none right now.  For the time being, I  shall console myself by the notion that infrequent exceptions are as aesthetic as anything else.

And now I sleep. Goodnight, and Cheers.

PS.: Too many “And”s, no?

 

This & that.

1) Dil bole Hadippa.  Aditya Chopra never ceases to amaze. First Rab ne.., then this. The former had the dumbest heroine ever, who couldn’t  recognize even her own husband in no glasses & tight gay-ish tees. The latter has this oversmart hero who can identify the love of his life by just the color of her eye. These two consecutive(?) movies also kind of make you wonder if the producer has a fetish for cross-dressing,no? [:P]

In fact, the movie actually gives an impression of having been made in a hurry. With Shahid still in his Kaminey hairdo, and patriotism/woman empowerment/Hindu-Muslim unity etc. etc. as subplots, it seems as if they decided to make this movie because they had nothing else to do. This I can empathise with, it’s the same feeling that makes me blog some most times. Same feeling minus all the money. Sigh.

2) My intentions of developing a trademark scent for myself are going nowhere. It all began when I realized I don’t have a distinct characteristic scent of my own. So, I started out with all Dove accessories – soap, shampoo, Deo et al. Thanks to the under equipped shopping complex in the campus however, I soon had to change to Nivea. (Yes, This is all I have to say here. Go ahead, curse me. I know I deserve it.)

3) The trip to Shillong was a welcome change, after weeks of excruciating boredom. It was all pineapples and dhoklas and lakes and falls. Still, the highlight of the trip was the driver’s playlist. And I thought I’d never again hear songs like “Tu cheez badi hai mast mast” & “Mujhe neend na aaye mujhe chain na aaye..” for as long as I lived. There was actually one that went “Tumhe mujhse pyar hai ya apne jazbaat se..”.  Amazing.

4) Two lines that have been on my mind all day. Gulzar is an awesome lyricist. I’m not sure what they mean, though. Don’t want to know either. They’re nice like this only. [:P]

“Chikne chikne lachche hai, reshmi se phande

Chupdi chupdi baaton mein bhole bhaale bande”

Cheers. And Happy Dusshera!

Travel Travails.

I have been blessed with a family whose middle name is Travel-quirky. Sure,  we have a lot of traits (such as large flabby arms & flat round noses) passed on from generation to generation, but none so consistently as the Mis-Travel gene. Which explains why the very idea of a happy family trip seems so ridiculously laughable to “our kind”. [:P]

Okay, before you get all the wrong ideas: We love each other. Uhm..atleast deep deep down, we do! And trust me, it isn’t for want of enthusiasm that these outings are such a rarity.

In fact, my Grandmom has set such high travel standards we all strive to live upto them. At 73, she feels so duty bound to shower her blessings on that daughter’s friend’s brother on his wedding that she bears all the pain inflicted upon her pleading legs to reach the marriage hall 3 blocks away, where she is unanimously hailed a living legend. Overwhelmed with her own awesomeness for several days after that, she reaches out to us -the “tender leaves” of the family and discourses on how important it is to maintain healthy relationships among kins, and suggests we make frequent trips to here and there.

A tragic suggestion, if you ask me. Because as I mentioned, not only are we full of our own quirks when it comes to going places, but we also cannot stand one another’s.

Consider this dear uncle of mine, for instance, who thinks the best way to plan a trip is to plan it three years in advance. In his own words, “To plan Antarctica is to span Antarctica!” Of course, the fact that Antarctica sinks under the ocean due to global warming two years after that plan is made would not lead to any change in his intentions. Although his plans are always eventually discarded, I bet he still holds it against all of us and plans to really take us there someday and happily watch us drown.

Closer home, my older sister loves to travel. Seriously, if you could put the house on wheels and arrange for 24-hour room service, I bet you anything you won’t find a better travel companion. Or you could hire a professional photographer to patiently click her exclusive photographs in as many poses as she wants, and she might agree to come along!

Speaking of photographs, how can I not mention this one old couple who like visiting places only for the sheer, unadulterated joy of bringing a cartload of pics back! Actually, all their trips are composed of two phases:

1. The actual trip.

2. The ensuing visits to all relatives’ houses, during which their hosts are treated to a collection of photos that have

1. The old lady on a horse.
2. The old man on the horse.
3. The old lady beside the horse.
4. The old man beside the horse.
5. The old lady with the horse owner.

….Well, you get the picture.

When this couple bought a laptop, many in the family contemplated suicide. Without the laptop, there was a limit to the number of pics they would bring home. Now, there isn’t.

And sure, I would love to think I’m the only non-travel-quirky miracle of the entire lot, but seems this isn’t so. I am carefully left out of all travel conversations at gatherings. I think it might have something to do with what I say: “Hey I remember that trip…that’s where I lost my gold ring!” or “Yeah nice place that one, but horrible people! Somebody stole my phone there!” And honestly, to hell with them! I mean, why would anybody want to have a conversation with people who react with alarmed and concerned looks when you tell them: “I loved that place so much I lost myself there!” [:P]

You know, thinking of all this is actually depressingly funny for me. I really don’t remember details of the last trip we all made together because I was busy arguing with my sister about who gets the window seat all along, but I do recall a series of events that eventually culminated in the car breaking down, Mom shooting murderous glances at Dad clearly accusing him of having chosen the wrong car, Dad in turn awkwardly making a lame attempt at admonishing the driver, the driver in turn yelling back at us and leaving us stranded in the middle of nowhere. Sigh!

As I said, deep deep down, we love each other.

Cheers, (I guess)

Sadhwi Travel-quirky Srinivas

PS.: Some statements could be exaggerated. But trust me, the sentiments are not!

Right as Rain.

On rainy days, everybody lives.

And even if you’re in the foreign-est and loneliest of places, you won’t feel it so much on a rainy day. Because such days are pretty much the same no matter where you go. Or maybe because, such days tend to make you kind of stupid and contemplative anyway, in that if you’re at home on a rainy day then you want to be somewhere else, out in the rain, with nothing to stop you from getting wet. But if you’re out there in the rain with nothing stopping you from getting wet, all you want is to be home and dry.

In any case, what I want to say is pretty trivial, and I shall keep it that way -  Rainy day memories are mostly eternal and universal. It’s probably been this way forever, but it was only just now that I noticed how I unconsciously equate a wet day with carefully chosen recollections only. I mean, even if there’ve been thousands of rainy days I’ve lived through, I can still count off my fingers the ones I carry around most clearly in my head.

Here are my top recollections.  For all I know, they may change tomorrow. But as on 14th August 2009, a day before the country’s 62nd independence anniversary, rainy days remind me of these:

1)   A lot of ‘96 and ‘97 rainy days, I have spent on my grandparents’ bed. Hardly napping. Instead, it was on some of such days that I read my first comic, discovered the legendary “Rola Cola” chocolate, listened to their stories, learned that my grandma’s purse was a treasure trove of Vicks Tablets and got used to her snores. This ranks among one of my top rainy day memories – not the stuff I did, nor my grandparents. Just the general ambience of their room.

2)   The classroom with the tub of multi coloured umbrellas in the corner, and the umbrella shopping trips. This was  during the years ‘98 – ‘99. In general, nothing beats the awesome-ness of Mangalorean rains.  Also, how I hated coming back in those packed rickshaws after school ended, just due to the thought of  sitting so close to those dirty, muddy and wet boys of my class.

3)   The swarm of earthworms that came out of their holes after every rain in Chandigarh (‘96, mostly). And how the crazy boy on top of our house went around sprinkling salt on them (he probably didn’t realize he was killing them by doing that), to decide which of them would go to heaven and which of them to hell*. He was also the first boy ever to have been slapped by me  [:P]

4)   “The Photograph” – my most favourite Ruskin Bond short story ever!

5)   Monkeys, music, coffee and Priya – Bangalore ‘07  [:)]

A pretty lame list, I probably agree. Still, this is how it is with me right now. Someday, I shall possibly be reminded of the day I spent in the forgotten land of Mashobra exchanging life stories with Sherpas, or doing photography in the Amazon forest, or discovering Hogwarts in some architectural ruin <Touchwood>. Till then, I live with these. And wait for other memories which I already have with me, but have not yet sunk in, to replace them.

And listen to other people’s own recollections, and trick myself into believing that the most fascinating of those actually happened with me <hint,hint!>

And learn fully how to work on Linux [:-/]

* The Heaven-Hell theory is best not disclosed here. The last thing I want is to make this post disgusting [:P]

Cheers.

Somebody with a quest.

One day,  somebody paid a visit to the hardware shop in the corner of a town and bought the biggest ribbon of parrot green satin. What that somebody planned to do,  was to spend entire days wrapping the ribbon over all kinds of stuff around him until he came upon that one thing which looked better with the ribbon wrapped around it than without. Which, in fact, looked better with the ribbon wrapped around it  than with any other thing  done to it. As if the sole purpose of that thing to exist was so that somebody can wrap a parrot green satin ribbon around it.

Surely, there must be something that’s been made for this sort of thing to happen to it. Getting a parrot green satin ribbon wrapped around itself,  I mean. Just like there’re things that exist only to be sold to a bargain shop, or to be kept in a corner of the windowsill at your neighbour’s place, or to be locked in an iron box and thrown into the ocean.

And so, this particular somebody directed all his energy over the next few weeks into finding that blessed thing, which was waiting only to get wrapped around in a green satin ribbon.

During the course of his quest, he stumbled upon a lot of things that would’ve been totally perfect wrapped in a parrot green satin ribbon, only shorter than the one he had with him. Or longer. But then, the whole point was to find a thing made to be wrapped in the ribbon that he possessed, not a shorter or longer one. In any case, he figured that if there’re things that are made to be wrapped in a shorter or a longer parrot green satin ribbon, there also has to be something that must be wrapped with this particular one. Fair enough.

He looked, and he looked, and he looked, and the last time anyone heard of him, he was still looking. Since then, not surprisingly, this somebody with a quest has kept the local gossip mongers very busy.

Last time a sensible word was  spoken in any of their discussions was when a gentleman put forth his opinion that the somebody was only wasting his time, that the parrot green satin ribbon he carried with him was probably meant for doing something other than being wrapped around  something else. And then they wondered what it would mean if this somebody did actually accomplish what he had set out to do.  They wondered if they could then say that the ribbon had fulfilled its sole purpose, just as the thing the ribbon had been wrapped around had.

And the somebody, what about him? Would it mean that his purpose had just been to find the thing that’d had the parrot green satin ribbon wrapped around it? And that the purpose of the hardware shop had only been to sell this man the parrot green satin ribbon. And that the sole purpose of the man who ran the hardware shop was to run it so that it could sell this somebody a parrot green satin ribbon which could then be wrapped around a specific thing? Eventually, they saw where this was leading, and when they did, they laughed off the thought that the whole universe could’ve been made just so a certain parrot green satin ribbon gets wrapped around a certain thing made to be wrapped into the parrot green satin ribbon.

And although none of them said this aloud,  each individually thought it would be pretty sad if it were so, and began to secretly, and fervently  hope that the somebody never found what he was looking for.

Goodness.

Retrospect.

Today:

1) Sat through the Science Elective hour without a single yawn. Surprisingly, it wasn’t hard at all, I was too busy counting the number of times he said: “So, what we will <sudden drop in pitch> do-oo-ooo” and repeated the start of every sentence twice.(“According to this method according to this method…” OR  “And now we shall see and now we shall see…” and so on.)

2) Bunked probability.

3) Spent four hours in the lab setting up drivers and softwares on the stupid system. All that, and we still had to show the assignment on a friend’s comp, that too after everyone else had left. Somehow, our system refused to have anything to do with PDF files.

4) Sought refuge in the Admin canteen. General conversation ensued – courses, profs, classmates, food and intern. Somewhat on these lines:

Me: ” Hey has any of you heard of that company, Robosoft?”

Rup(h)a: “Umm no, something like that though, umm…”

Komal: “Yeah, something like that. Kya tha…” <thinks,and thinks,and thinks.>

Finally,

Komal: “Oh haan. Microsoft!”

Me: <choke on my glass of water> “Never do this again without a warning, okay!”

Rup(h)a: <throws the two of us thoroughly disdainful looks>

5) Saw a rainbow. It started raining, and the sun was still out, and we knew there’d be a rainbow. So, after looking above for a while, and exchanging trivia such as “If it rains when the sun is out, it means that a crow’s getting married to a koel “, we finally saw it.

It was a huge rainbow. My second one ever!

6) Returned to room. Spilled hair oil by mistake, and didn’t even notice until half of it was gone and the room started smelling strongly of camphor.

7) Decided to sleep. Decided to study. Decided to blog. <Spent around twenty minutes deciding each of them. And then decided each of them all over again. And again. And again.>

8 ) Had a long chat with an old friend, and decided we still have loads of time to “become responsible”.

9) Watched Gugu itch himself all over, and speculated on the probability of Hamam Sabun being available in the shopping complex.

10) Blogged.

After a day as pointless as that, you can hardly blame me for such a post. Anyway, in closing, here are some wisdom perks:

• Be careful who you imitate. Because, sooner or later, your friends start telling you that you really do closely resemble your favorite targets.
• Raw mangoes do not ripen when they’re kept closed in a bag for 10 days. They rot.
• It’s important never to have anybody breathe down your neck, especially if it’s a flying cockroach.
• And even if it’s the last thing you do when you’re alive, learn how to tap dance.

Cheers.

The “Unspectacular” Quirks.

The Rules:

1. Link the person who tagged you – Rohit Pande
2. Mention the rules on your blog.
3. Tell about 6 unspectacular quirks of yours.
4. Tag 6 following bloggers by linking them.
5. Leave a comment on each of the tagged blogger’s blogs letting them know they’ve been tagged.

Quirks:

1) I still don’t know how to read a thermometer.

2) I can keep listening to a single song I like day in, day out. For several days. And then, I get so bored I never listen to it again. Same goes with movies. And dresses. And books. Sheesh.

3) I have never known how to comb my hair properly. My hair always looks messy, no matter how much I try.

4) I’m very very very absent minded. I can lose anything, anywhere. I have lost three cellphones, 2 key bunches, atleast 20 books and infinite rubberbands/clutchers/handkerchiefs till date.(forgot, infinite pens too! Reminded by Rupa )

5) It took me an year to learn how to use the pipette in my eleventh class Chemistry lab.
My friends never could understand why. They used to tell me it was just like using a straw, but somehow I could never recall how to use a straw at times I had to pipette something out. Finally, my teacher had to order a pipetter for the lab so that I would pass my practicals. But I learnt how to do it just before the exams. He was so angry that day!

6) I like trying to look for non existent meanings in statements. I can drive myself crazy doing this when I want to.

I tag Garima, Gargi, Nakul, Shobhan, Arun and Surya.

(A)musing

As it happened, I’d almost completely forgotten what it’s like to go shopping with Mom.

Yesterday saw the two of us taking a stroll in the dingy, but alive market near to where we stay. First stop, the Mobile shop. Mamma reckoned I should get a Bombay local connection, now that it’s home, kind of, almost.

“Scheme batao, bhaiya.”

And he embarked, on what seemed to me like an endless monotone of all SIM Card schemes that have ever been offered on the face of earth. I’d only just begun to appreciate his flawless, fluent delivery when she interrupted him shortly.

“Bas bas, Vodafone daal do.”

I know for a fact that she’d decided it’d be Vodafone even before we’d left home. Scowling, he ducked under the counter and thumped 4-5 covers onto the desk.

Great. The number selection phase.

I was asked to pick a number of my choice at first, but she soon seemed to realise it was a mistake. As I was about to pick the cover nearest to me, she stopped me with a most disdainful look and said,

“Will you ever learn? This one ends in an 8!”

After this, she took it upon herself to find me a suitable cell number. Twenty minutes, half a dozen yawns(me!), and a dozen snorts of impatience(the sulky shopkeeper!) later, having applied all permutations & combinations, and all invented laws of numerology, she finally settled on a number (the most complicated of the lot). I swallowed this comment however, muttered a sheepish “Thank you” to the shopkeeper and hurried out of there.

I shall not even begin to describe what happened at the clothes store. By the end of the selection process, the poor guy was so confounded that he forgot to include a whole list of items in the bill. Upon being reminded, it was when he was about to add them on that my mother uttered what I thought was the final straw.

“Bhool gaye, Sardarji!”

I, for one, was hellishly embarrassed, and considered this remark highly offensive, and was on the verge of giving Mom a particularly painful nudge, when he broke into a good natured smile.

Hmmm. Friendly city, Bombay. Sure enough, all day long we had people knocking at our door and getting introduced.

“Tum Aunty ki choti beti ho na? Tumhara naam kya hai?”

Much to my wonder, not a single one of them seemed unable to grasp my name the first time, atleast none of them asked me to repeat it. Something that happens with me four out of five times.

I didn’t have to wonder long, though. I’d hardly stepped out of the building when I noticed, in large, bold lettering, apparently providing services to those living in our apartment at discounted rates,

                                       “Sadhwi Power Laundry”

Bullshit.

The old goat from Dominican Republic.

Once upon a time, in the Eastern part of the Dominican Republic, there lived a wise, old goat. There were few places in the world our old goat hadn’t explored, and fewer books he hadn’t devoured. He’d met every kind of person one can ever hope to meet, and had thought about every little thought that has ever been thought of.

Even so, there was one thing that’d nagged him for as long as he could remember. No matter how much he tried, no living soul had ever seen even a hint of expression on his face.  Undeniably, he felt. He felt with an intensity most of us can’t even begin to comprehend. Yet, his face remained the same.

“Expressionless” isn’t the right word, probably. Rather, he carried an expression which had never been thought of as so important that it had to be named. This, understandably, added to whatever feeling of insignificance he already had.

Objectively, he had nothing to crib about. The nameless expression was common to all of the goat race. Ofcourse, our goat had always felt rather more agitated about certain stuff  which few others of his kind had ever considered worth a thought. Still, he had nothing against being a goat. It was, on the contrary, very convenient if you were one. As a goat, it’d always been easy for him to rise above expectations, especially his own.

For that matter, an eternally nameless facial expression had its plusses too. People never made much of what the goat said, since they could never be sure what he actually wanted to say. Which meant that he ultimately had fewer foes than he deserved. His count of friends wasn’t affected much however, because although he was an old goat, and a wise goat, he was not a very nice goat.

But, that is an entirely different discussion, and beyond the scope of our present story.

So, our old goat now knew that he hadn’t much time left on earth, and before he died, he wanted, atleast once, to wear an expression other than the one he always wore

Certain things never change, though. And the goat died without his only wish being fulfilled.

Perhaps, there was no other way this could’ve been.

But also, perhaps, our dear old goat would’ve led a much happier life if only he’d had the fortune to meet someone who would’ve told him how hard it is to always wear a nameless expression, since one can never be certain what exactly the expression is that one is supposed to wear. The goat had been a natural.

There’re certain things, I figure, that we will never know.