Return of the Googlees

And no, this is not a cricket blog.

I started looking at my blog with a new vision, after my first exposure to the Googlees : the search terms, used by Googlers, on Google, to land up on my blog.

The sheer breadth of keywords was intimidating, and some of the phrases found then, like "Soapy massage ", (that too in various Indian cities), "hip hop notaries to big bilder", "what colors should an 80 year old lady wear on her birthday", "x-fight 2nd carving info", and "google ground shove", made me wonder if there was some "Rangeela"(=colorful,casanova) element in Google Analytics at Mountain View.

That was 8 months ago.

One expects, Googlers, Google and my blog to change for the better, as we all grow older. Maybe , evolve is a better word.

While I am totally at a loss to figure out what someone in the US Capital, looking for ""where to find indian sarees in child sizes in the d.c. area?" found on my blog, there was also someone from London looking for "bride with oiled hair".

Of course, in the currently violent environment where eminent country leaders are bombarded with footwear and statues, I was a alarmed to find someone from Osaka, landing up on my blog searching for "president bush" kyoto "take off boots" . Very very direct. No ifs and buts.

I was always aware that anatomically we are all a mess inside, and only medical types would recognize a vagus nerve if they met one, but obviously there is a lot more going on there inside, particularly in the neck; this person from Chambersberg, PA, USA, came to me searching for "enlarge thyroid pinching vagus nerve". Ouch.

Someone from Forest Park, GA,USA, knocked on my blog doors, while searching for "how to measure a sari blouse online", though I wish they had met up with the worthy from Clifton park, NY, who did a search on "online tailors to stitch blouses", and desperately came upon my blog .

Again and again, those puzzling "soapy massage" keywords refuse to dissolve into the ether. Maybe as an indication of globalization, those folks searching for these massages in Bangalore, Mumbai and Chennai, now have fellow searchers in Sydney. I guess some kind of word is getting around. All these visits are New, and one visitor has spent 13 minutes , searching , God alone knows, for what, on my blog !

Away from such dicey situations, it totally intrigues me as to why someone from Dublin, Ireland, would search for "how to retain self esteem with husband and in laws", and then come hit on my blog; but if someone wants to suddenly improve, who am I to stand in their path.

On a lighter note, I once did a post on Ukhanes, a rhyming couplet in which the , the bride and groom weave each others names, as part my community's wedding customs. Someone searching for "Ukhanes English Groom" landed up there. Fine.

But I have a difficult time imagining a stiff upper lip person in a top hat and tuxedo, raising his brolly, nodding at the guests and mouthing the rhyming couplet, as ladies in nine yard sarees avidly watch.

For a long time I used to think that "hr" has something to do with a watch/time . However, subsequent to lunching with what are called blogging corporate HR types, when I saw a search term " "how hr of the company identify the given educational marksheet is true or bogus" , I suddenly had a new respect for what these folks did. And I'd love to know how they detect bogus marksheets. But please. Why did it lead the Googler to my blog ? HELP!

Overall, Googlers appear to be getting more sedate. The number of folks simply looking for Gappa, Gappa blog, Ugich, Ugich Konitari, and Ugich Gappa, make up a large portion. Some folks searching for a place in Pennsylvania, called Gap, often land up on my blog, and I must say that I would find it very disturbing if I had to say I lived in a Gap, PA.

Notwithstanding the fact that things appear to be improving, I think Google Analytics, have some fun loving programmer involved in working on the system.

Why else would someone from Ludhiana, Punjab, looking for "fancy dress pertaining to h1n1 virus" arrive on my blog with a pandemic thud ? And what has he seen that the National Institutes of Health in Washington, the CDC in Atlanta, and assorted places have been unable to trace?



In case all that mirth is giving you a calorie deficit, what would you say if I told you that someone from Lahore, Pakistan, typed in "u idiot open the recipe of gol gappas but in urdu language", and the folks from Mountain View, in one of their Rangeela moments, pointed him to my blog ?

I give up. Maybe you should just enjoy the Gol Gappas. ......

Wonderful Wednesdays !!

Flying on a broom with a rolling pin/belan/cricket bat , raised high, has its pros and cons, I suppose. Besides exercising my triceps in my old age, its a nice place from where to get a 'bai' eye-view of the bai-gone years.

I've always been told I talk too much.

Sometimes indulgently. Sometimes with a laugh. Sometimes with a resigned look. And frequently with a sheer look of undisguised disgust. :-)

And so in the summer of 2006, one took to blogging. Taking inspiration from someone in the family's generation-next, who already did so, on "serious" subjects like cricket, its silly points, deep fine legs, and other weird names.

The nice part was one could "talk" as much as one liked. Write on whatever one wanted. In any form of English. Prose or verse. Even art.

And those who said mean things to you, could be, theoretically deleted. Disagreements , OK. Abuse, No.

Luckily I have not had to deal with any negativity on the blog. Ever. Possibly due to the very middle-of-the-road paths followed while I traipsed through the various potholed roads of Life.

Having reached the magical peak of 60 years ,gives me a new perspective of the old days. So many things I took for granted, now appear special, in their archived state. And I love to write about them. And my forays into the modern world. With an old world attitude. Kamala Bai meets Britney Spears.

So it was with a sense of shock that I saw my blog nominated in the Best Humanities Indiblog category a few weeks ago. Those nominated along with me were some great names I have admired. Some for their brilliance, some for their empathy, some for the rigour, some for their analytic skills, some for their immense versatility, and some for their heartfelt attitude....


Imagine burrowing through a crowd , lugging your sling bag and vada-pav, straight into the first row, straightening up a hurting back, and finding yourself looking at captains of industry, divas of fashion, and various Excellencies and Honors. And no police lathis to chase you away.

The thrill blinds you. You close your eyes and wait.

I did. And when I opened them yesterday night, I had a message from someone in Boise, Idaho congratulating me on a win in my category ! (They had themselves won in one category, and were like runners-up in others).

One duly rushed over to Indibloggies to confirm.

Gappa was the winner in the Best Humanities Indiblog category.

You know, Gappa means Gupshup, or Random Chitchat. There is a lot of virtual ribbing, backslapping, winking, nodding. Sometimes even serious faces. Sometimes we even meet in real life, and then report virtually.

Its been wonderful. And fun. I have made tons of friends. Of all ages. From 25 to 85. Across the world. Shared in their good times and bad. They have encouraged me to write verse and draw, all in the blogosphere.

Like I said, I've always been told I talk too much.

I have yet to hear someone say I write too much.

And as for the aforementioned looks of undisguised disgust, there is that little key with D.

Thank you for voting and this wonderful news.....

Upgrading with Grace

I often look skeptically at types who always talk about flying somewhere and how they got an upgrade to some business class or whatever. Of course , those who routinely travel business class , and get upgrades to first, are out of my league.

None of my relatives are employed by airlines. I don't belong to big industrial houses that are special customers and frequent fliers. Though , I should think, that I stand a decent chance of a rare upgrade , if they allow standees in Business Class. Given the rare occasions when I condescend to fly, that is.

My considerable experience in Mumbai's buses should stand me in good stead, handling all the subsequent turbulence. In the air . And in the seats.

Its not as my travelling life never had upgrades.

I have had the pleasure of being bodily lifted and pushed into the door of a suburban train ladies compartment, which was really a very surprising upgrade. And a trifle alarming. Such upgrades often indicate a complete downgrade in the contents of your handbag, thanks to some nimble fingers in the crowd.

Another time, after 3 unsuccessful attempts to get into a bus door, fighting with about 15 terribly agile folks, a bus inspector in blue who saw this state of war, quietly signalled that I should enter the next bus from the front door. Meant for senior citizens. Quite an upgrade , that.

Sometimes, though, upgrades have nothing to do with space.

They have, a lot to do with grace.

A few years ago, at the fag end of my working life (I took voluntary retirement out of concern for my employer), along with many others in my category, I qualified for a bonus . Payment, that is.

It is one of the supreme ironies of governmental rules, that one may get one's salary by cheque, but one must line up at a counter to receive the bonus, in cash. The bonus is often a certain factor of your salary, and the exalted officer category above a certain level of basic salary, and no recordable working hours, is deemed not to require a bonus. The proletariat category, who actually has working hours, and signing in procedures, then spends long hours standing in queues for such payments.

I was the last one to find out about this bonus stuff, and it happened to be the last day for receiving it. I went looking for the counter in question, and found a long line of sweeper/janitorial staff ahead of me. I got in line.

A few moments later, the elderly sweeper ahead of me, turned to call out to someone, and was flabbergasted to see me there. He occasionally cleaned our lab, and there was much smiling and nodding whenever we stood up to leave our PC's to stand outside the room, while he cleaned the premises. A totally uneducated chap, he had somehow developed an expertise for recognising papers of value. Whenever he emptied the huge trash can in the lab, he would glance to see if there were any receipts and stuff that could have inadvertently thrown there along with useless paper. He would come show these to us, and confirm before classifying them as trash.

" Ma'am , how come you're here ?" Loudly. A few fellows and ladies ahead of him turned.

"Like you. To collect my bonus." Me.

"Ma'am, you need not wait. Please go ahead. You can get your payment immediately." And the folks ahead of him sort of nodded all around. Gesturing to me to move.

"No. No. So many people have lined up much before me. I will await my turn. Really, don't worry, its OK". Me.

A look on the old man's face . Something disturbed him.

This was getting embarrassing. I was prepared to await my turn. There was nothing that said that my time was more valuable than theirs or that my needs were more important. This whole thing was gathering attention from passers by in the corridors of the administration building. People off to the canteen for chai. People just walking around. Ladies on a post tea, trip to the loo, leisurely chatting aboou just expiring saree sales somewhere. Someone rushing to some office after getting a summons.

I knew some of the ladies, having trained them in some software usage. And they stopped by to ask what I was doing there. Full well knowing the answer. Standing in line with the sweepers was not done, by anyone addressable as Ma'am.

"Ayya, you're here ? Didnt think it was you ! " , this from someone who was in a permanently upgraded state, regardless of work, which was often non existent.

"What the hell ! Just go to the front of the queue." she said, and gave all the sweepers a look.

I just shrugged and continued to shuffle ahead with the crowd. Mumbai trains you for such eventualities. Queueing. I grew up in the non-IT age. Nothing was done on-line. You stood in snaking queues for everything, your eyes and ears attuned to sudden gate crashers, who were loudly berated with words like "Oye, do you think we are stupid to stand in queues like this ? " or "If its so urgent, why don't you fly?", often causing them to quietly get in line.

Suddenly, I saw the old sweeper ahead of me return from somewhere. In all the waving and conversations with people I knew passing in the corridors, I had not realized that he had left his place.

I saw a bunch of ladies exiting the queue.

"Ma'am, please go to the other counter. There is another queue only for ladies there. " he said. And he gestured for me to follow the sweeper ladies who were lining up there, a much much shorter queue.

It seemed sensible to go. I went and awaited my turn. Collected my stuff, and bent to sign the revenue stamp in a huge muster that was turned around so I could sign. After so many years, and associating with them during training them in their systems, I knew most of the staff.

The old gentleman behind the counter smiled at me. Starting and closing extra counters was usual for them.

"He came to us all agitated, saying, there is a ma'am waiting in line with us all, and she won't come ahead. We don't feel nice about it. Do something. " he told me. "And he suggested that we start a "ladies line". I was sure you wouldn't mind joining the queue here. A few more minutes and we will not need to keep this counter open. But a whole bunch of sweeper ladies will get a quicker bonus, and get home in time. "

I walked back to my office, after seeking out the old man, still standing faithfully in his queue, and thanking him with a namaskar.

He had a look on his face, as if he had righted some huge wrong. He was aware that I wouldn't like being singled out and so had resorted to this suggestion of a ladies line. In a life where his bonus would probably be spent paying off some incurred debts, in an increasingly difficult economic situation, he actually worried about me.

I am not sure such things should happen. Preferential treatments for higher earners, and perceived superior status, that is. Public rules for everyone need to be identical. And honest work, regardless of its description and sophistication, must be all regarded the same.

Maybe I shouldn't have agreed to go to the other queue. Maybe I should have stayed put where I was. But slowly , the attention was shifting , to what was observed as my stubbornness, and the emphasis was shifting from orderly procedures to personalities.

It was imperative to find a mean.

And the old man managed that.

In a world, where upgrades often happen as a quid pro quid , the old man had just done something, maybe airlines could learn.

Upgrade with grace.

Technology and Parking

When I started school, in 1955, it was one of the few English medium schools in Pune. The textbooks prescribed were totally anglicized. And somewhere in the first or second standard, I remember seeing maths books with symbols of pounds, shillings, pence, rupees, annas and pice. On a scale, of various levels of imprisonments, ranging from rigorous imprisonment, to a suspended fine, this was like the former compared to what today's students' learn, which is akin to the latter.....

For one thing, life was not decimalized. 20 shillings made a pound, 12 pence was a shilling. Emulating the Raj, India had 4 pice making an anna, 16 annas making a rupee. And so arithmetic was like someone taking vengeance on you as you calculated the cost of stuff. The only good consequence of all this was that we were motivated to learn our tables well. Calculators were non existent. We, were the calculators.

By and by , in 1957, India switched over to the decimal system, 100 paise to a rupee, and I cannot tell you the ecstasy with which one enjoyed putting a decimal point to figures. It looked like the days of agonizing over outrageous arithmetic, to buy simple things like pens, stationery and compass boxes, , were over.

So I thought.

Turns out that some people in Britain have a thing about equations in daily life. Most people across the world have equations with other people. There is this academic who has equations with cars.

Prof Blackburn from the University of London's Royal Holloway College has developed a foolproof formula for parking your car.

"...use the radius of a car's turning circle and the distance between the vehicle's front and back wheels.

Then, using the length of the car's nose and the width of an adjacent car the formula can tell exactly how big a space needs to be for your car to fit.

By applying this to basic parking guidelines, one can work out exactly when to turn the steering wheel to slide in perfectly...."

I fervently hope he keeps this formula a secret, despite the Telegraph publishing as above.

Mumbai has just got a new mayor. The last mayor did 17 overseas trips in one year. To " study " facilities. In other cities. And how they solve problems.

This might be a golden opportunity for the current mayor. To get the "parking solution", and of course assorted photo opportunities in the UK , with the Lord mayor etc, doing her thing for the parking problems of Mumbai .

Methinks the formula will need a bit of tweaking and approximations.

What happens, when a cow is established in a parking space, shaking its head, and swiping its tail around, occasionally standing and issuing a kick ? How does your car assume a size of the adjacent car ?

When cars with drivers are double parked all over , with the drivers in reclining bucket seats listening to Hindi movie hit songs, which car do you consider as adjacent?

What happens when a motorcycle person zooms in after taking a wild U turn from the opposite side, when you are doing the calculation, and takes up the space ?

Some cars are not blessed with power steering. Ulnar and radial nerves have occasionally been stretched to the limit, as cars do the back and forth dance to fit into a parking space, only to have an adjoining car go, and a huge one replace it, making it impossible for you to come out.

What happens, when there is a deep wide groove between the footpath and the road, and there is all kinds of suspect water flowing there ? Does the formula provide for time dependent permanent dangerous obstacles in the immediate vicinity of the car?

Does the formula have an olfactory correction for situations where heaps of trash occupy a place meant for a car ?

Are cars going to come with a built in robot calculator that senses all this and automatically does the steering stuff at the press of a button ?

And will the British be willing to install certain additions to Indianize the contraption ?

Like , some old trendy music like, "Baboo, samjho ishare, horn pukare, pum , pum, pum " playing through the blinking headlights as the calculations happen inside ?

Or, on seeing a cop approaching (who earlier promised to turn a blind eye), a perfect rendition of " Jo Vaada Kiya Woh Nibhaana Padega " emanating through the exhaust pipe.

And of course, permanently playing in the background, the popular Govinda hit, "Mai raste pe ja raha tha...."

A successful parking would result in a sudden rendition of "Thing is King, thing is King" based on the recent hit "Singh is King", which of course, is as apolitical as it gets. And Parliament will debate and have opposition walkouts when the ruling party refuses to allow "Jai Ho" as the successful parking song instead

I can see the government appointing a committee to study this proposal. Depending upon who gets included from which political party as part of the mayor's entourage on an all expenses paid trip to the UK, , the proposal will pass. Then , the government, in a typical move, will say that the first implementation will be in South Mumbai. The Police Commissioner, will asks for several evaluation tests to be carried out at secret locations.

Some newspaper will receive a well designed leak regarding this. Page 3 types will rush to buy these contraptions, for each of their cars. There will be a rush, and the stuff will disappear from the market. Mukesh Ambani will give interviews saying he is getting one fitted on his helicopter, sorry helicopters. You never know who is trying to park their helicopter on your helipad.

Chinese imitations with 3 days warranty will appear immediately in the market. Some enterprising entrepreneur from Noida, Ludhiana, or Kolhapur, will come up with car attachments that increase the virtual length of cars as sensed by this parking robot, to keep pesky cars from parking nearby. Someone else may design some electronic wheel installation operatable with a click, that misleads the wheels of an adjoining car trying to park.

After a year the mayor will change. Possibly his relative will have an agency for this contraption.

The new mayor will go on a new trip. This time to check out bus parking robots.

Professor, this whole thing boggles the mind. An innocent well meaning calculation to solve the parking woes of the British public can have international repercussions.

But maybe there is a ray of hope. In keeping with Britain's friendship and special relations with the US of A.

Maybe , in the UK, they can start driving on the right side of the road.

That way the mayors can be told to wait for the lefty version, when they arrive.......

The richest meal ever....

There are magazines who make it their life's mission to calculate someones riches, and prepare lists of the richest people in the world. These are declared every year, and avidly commented upon, by various print and electronic media , who are, at least in India, fed up with reporting grown men doing the fisticuffs in Parliament, various wardrobe malfunctions, by folks who make a living out of exposing more skin than cloth, fake interviews given between two urgent trips to Europe by people with size zero whatever, and political expressions of austerity by some wordy worthies, while actually enjoying dedicated rooms and loos at a five star , for free.

This same magazine, has now done a list of the Worlds most extravagant meals.

Makes me wonder. I mean, the food ingredients used world wide are finite, the human stomach has finite capabilities, and size, methods of cooking are finite. The only thing not finite seems to be an urge, to be seen , as having infinite amount of money, and the infinite ability of restaurateurs to fool the rich folks.

Why else , would millionaire types pay $100,000, through their (false ) teeth, to have dinner in a giant dangling crane (of German innovation) above a cathedral in France, to eat vegetables, grown by the chef at his own farm 90 minutes outside Paris ? At Daniel Boulds Caviar in NY City, you can pretend you are slumming at $205 a meal, unless of course you have caviar starters at $805 for 50 gms. Flying to Russia to steal the fish eggs for less maybe an option. Nino's Bellissima Pizza, in the same city , fools folks with a $1000 pizza studded with the same stolen fish eggs. Out West, if you are dying to eat in a Laundry, the French Laundry in Napa Valley, will present you with 2 menus of $240, with unique ingredients that are not repeated. In Istanbul, at the Ciragan Palace Kempinski, you can eat a $1000 cake made of French wheat, Jamaican rum , dry fruits, Polynesian vanilla, and finally sprinkled with Turkish gold dust, just in case you wonder whats Turkish about it. And then again, something called the Fleur Burger , with some ancient wine, for $5000, all this, appropriately, in Las Vegas, where money flows out of machines and card tables.

So does the sugar taste any sweeter, or the wine any tarter, because your account is debited more ? Does your digestive system find itself wallowing in floods of pepsin and renin of some special superior quality ? Does the hydrochloric acid in your stomach get an upgrade in view of receiving 50 gms of fish eggs stolen from Russian fish ?

They say having food is a state of mind. A mind, happy in wonderful company, removed of all anxieties, gets satiated with the simplest foods, which , far from debiting your life, credit your body in the most wonderful way.

Forty years ago, girls going to the US at 19 for graduate school was considered total madness on the part of parents. Once there, people wondered about the red dot on your forehead, admired your grasp of English, it was not usual to see thousands of Indian students wandering about on campus, and stores that sold Indian groceries were there only in big metros.

She was a vegetarian, knew how to cook the basic stuff, and had a wonderful American roommate, who undertook to make her initiation into America , a very enjoyable venture. The roommate would go ga-ga over potato subji, and dal and rice, but doing the chappaties (=fresh tortillas) was not a frequent occurrence due to a busy schedule at college, and the habit of always having had them hot off the griddle at home.

A year passed and she got a call from some folks she knew in Los Angeles . They were like 10 years older to her, just had had a baby, and the baby's maternal grandma was visiting to help with the first six months . Grandma knew she was at the University almost an hour away, and wanted to meet her, as she knew her folks back home. Would she like to come one weekend ?

She certainly would :-)

"Tell me what you feel like having when you are here and we'll try " grandma said, and urged her to let her know in advance so she could source the ingredients , if she didn't already have them.

The young girl really didn't have to think much. Visions of early winter mornings in Pune, the sun streaming in amidst jamun trees and mango trees shading the windows, and someone sitting at a table, amidst an aroma of burning coal, water boiling in copper vessels, rubbing her hands, eyeing a plate, as a fresh fragrant jowar bhakri slid on to it, wallowing in that little dollop of white butter , melting indulgently on it, winking at the fresh green chutney on the side, with besan pithla and spliced chilies to spice things up.

Grandma laughed. She didn't really expect this. But then she too was a Pune lady. So was her daughter. She understood the yearning. All those ready to cook tortillas and stuff were no match at all, but were OK for a daily rushed schedule.

"Let me try", she said ," I have seen some Mexican flour here that resembles Jowar flour. I'll figure out something. You come for sure ...."

The following weekend saw the young girl land up in LosAngeles mid morning, carrying some gifts for the baby, and a lot of anticipation . Grandma wanted a few things picked up before lunch, and she went out with the young couple while grandma attended to the baby . When they returned, cooking was on, the tawa(griddle) was on the stove, and there were a bunch of plates on a table in the kitchen with a lot of fresh vegetable mustardy pickles in bowls alongside.

"Wash your hands and come eat " she said, flipping a bhakri on the griddle, as she watched it puff up. It was just like a piece of home.

And so she sat , face to face with grandma's daughter (the son -in -law , a wonderful person, offered to entertain baby) , and the two of them , with blissful expressions, one even sitting crosslegged on the chair, kept getting layered bhakris in their plates, with the white butter, and the pithla and the chutneys and pickles.

No words were spoken for some time, as plates shone bright with all the stuff being wiped clean by the hot bhakrees. Hot and sweet lemon pickle, garlic chutney, fresh vegetable pickle of the type made here in winters.

And then grandma poured us some tall glasses of thin buttermilk, lightly flavoured with coriander, ginger, black salt and lemon, the type that is called "mattha" and is still served in some traditional Pune weddings.

The son in law watched, not terribly surprised at the gluttony of the girls, looking at his own daughter, and wondering what she would be like, at that age, born and brought up in the US . Of course he himself ate like a glutton when it was his turn, with his indulgent mother-in-law urging him to have a little more , but he , the epitome of good manners and bringing up, shook himself out of this food reverie and insisted that grandma join him in the eating, now that the girls were done with their Bhakri attack.

To this day, that is the richest meal I can recall. No fancy ingredients, implements, ladders, hanging from cranes, stealing from fish, sprinkling of golden dusts, and pouring of liquids from ancient cellars with controlled temperatures.

Just a comfortably cluttered kitchen, two wide eyed Pune girls ecstatic about the stuff coming of the tawa, a smiling grandmother, saree tucked in at the waist, turning over the bhakri on the tawa, with her bare hands, and then stirring coriander into the pithla on the stove alongside, getting it slightly burning brown at the edges.

And all the while, the young new father, waited his turn , looked once at his daughter, and once at his wife, shook his head indulgently at the visiting young girl, and looked for the TV remote to check out the latest football game.

We are not on the world's rich list.

However, should Forbes ever condescend to value this meal, it will find itself regretting its inability to find numbers , high enough, to allocate.

Priceless.

Out to lunch ....

Click the Grahic to Vote Now

Thank you for voting .....!

---

British physicist Tim Berners-Lee, commenting on the Web, is supposed to have said :


“Anyone who has lost track of time when using a computer knows the propensity to dream, the urge to make dreams come true and the tendency to miss lunch.”


He may be right about the dreaming. Obviously he was never part of blogger lunches. In Mumbai.



Blogger lunches, like everything else , are getting more and more entertaining

The least of the complications, is the fact that people don't know how the person they have come to meet , looks. Since this was an anniversary lunch meet for us bloggers (the first one was in Dec 2008), many of us were aware of how the others manifested themselves. But this time we would have two new additions. Of the younger generation. And as is customary in situations where the modern generation participates with such ease, these folks were joining in from places hundreds of kilometers away.

The venue, by popular demand, was the same, as that for the immediately previous lunch; a wooded place on the banks of a crocodile infested lake. It may not be out of place to say a this point that we've had leopard warnings in the last 2 days. Maybe they heard about the lunch. Leopard blogs could be next. Who knows.

One of the bloggers, the eldest , was hotfooting it to the venue as she stayed the closest , when she suddenly got a message saying , "I have arrived!". A number, not a name. Wondering who it could be, she kind of accelerated on foot a bit, (no power brakes, no power steering, just some nice windscreen facility of the nearsighted type and limited by a bag she was lugging with her.).

Turns out that the person who had arrived was the second eldest. He had recently retired, and possibly drove faster than his old company driver.

This is the wedding season in India, choc-a-bloc with "auspicious days; this place was adjacent to a wedding venue, and the possibility of guests veering to the restaurant couldn't be ignored. There was a lot of "movement" all around, prompting them both to rush to the restaurant and reserve a table. They came down soon, to anticipate the next arrival.

To their immense surprise, a cavalcade of official looking cars , all in a hurry, drove in. Red beacons on top, police security escort jeeps, guys sitting stiffly in front, with "eyes -front"; one suspiciously tinted ancient Ambassador car, and a bunch of slightly modern cars, just accompanying them ,all driving just outside unposted but specified speed limits, just because they were powerful and free. Could be a Minister, or an MP. Whoever.

Bloggers don't make such drastically grand entries. But there is certainly more variety and grace in their entries. Well, at least in some entries. And some of us look like we don't need any security as such.

While this Director General of some very powerful official security set up zoomed around for some hi-fi conference, he was followed in solitary splendour by one of our most peaceful bloggers, as her car floated in noiselessly, and came to a stop on spotting the two older bloggers. When you follow blogs, you worry when the frequency drops. She had been unwell for sometime, and they were very pleased to see her fine again.

They went up and waited at their table. The other five would shortly appear. Waiters hovering with menus were intentionally ignored. One of them almost tripped over the bag belonging to the eldest, and then prudently stayed away for sometime. Spilling something over senior citizens isn't the done thing. You never know what they would blog about.

Phones rang, folks on their way, stuck in traffic jams, kept mentioning their coordinates. The others glued their eyes to the door.

All of a sudden, a shadow loomed across the table.

It was the marathon HR type. All that jogging and exercising probably gave him a light tread, and they realized his arrival only when the shadow of the abs and clavicles fell across the table. He looked a bit preoccupied. Almost wistful. They let him be. Maybe fried eggs were not a patch on idlis. And pancakes never stood a chance versus dosas. Never mind.

All this while, the last time's virtual blogger, and founder-member of these lunches, who had earned the wrath of his better half when he called us then from Pune (so he could be there in spirit), was in reality, today, on the last leg of his arrival path, through the obstacle path that is Mumbai roads. His lateness could be excused. He was travelling with luggage and after lunch, would go 200 kilometers straight home directly, to have a wonderful dinner with his wife.

For the first time, now, the phone presented disturbing news. One of the bloggers was being held captive at work. By an ad agency which should know better. They were working on ads for Food Courts. And they didn't realize that they were keeping her away from her best inspiration. It was one thing to be considered talented, and quite another to be denied a decent Saturday lunch.

She called to apologize. Maybe the guys in her office need to learn how to value HR . Particularly female. Maybe the recently retired HR type could tell them a thing or two. But bloggers lunches apart, keeping her away from her young daughters on a weekend was totally inexcusable. Not done.

We awaited the new arrivals . Didn't know how they looked. And every time a young lady would saunter by, 5 pairs of eyes would follow. The young ladies continued unperturbed. And no one could find phone numbers. The waiters, decided they had waited enough, and slipped in with the menu lists. Fancy food wasn't really on anyone's mind. Normal traditional food was ordered, and "starters" were quickly refused.

And while the food cooked, slowly the packages came out , with little gifts for everyone. This has always been a fun feature of all the previous blogger lunches too.

Just then a young girl in a sunny yellow top, came up to the table, widely smiling. She had been asked to look for a bunch of elder types with a marathoner on the side, and she hit bull's eye. One of the new bloggers at the lunch, she immediately won over everyone by whipping out of her bag, a traditional mango delicacy from Pune from where she had just arrived. While they enjoyed this stuff, and worried as to the whereabouts of the remaining blogger, it was noticed that the marathoner's hand was slowly inching towards the mango stuff.

But they let him be. He could afford the calories. Maybe it was comfort food. He was very quiet. And contemplating about things. Absent and present.

Lunch appeared, and was dug into by the hungry folks. No sign of the remaining blogger. But Eureka ! the young recent arrival had her contact number, and as everyone dug into their assorted parathas, veggies, dal, rice and raitas, the missing blogger, maneuvered herself in a rickshaw through various northern suburbs of Mumbai, dug up roads, interesting potholes, all leading to the lunch.

Even the waiters were sympathetic. They were almost apologetic asking about the dessert, and were actually relieved when told that that would have to wait till the remaining member arrived.

The planets must have changed configuration, because soon enough , she called in from the building garden, to say that she was on her way up. She arrived , beaming, the Nuest member , finally there. The quorum was complete.

This particular blogger, strangely, is often "First !" on many blogs while commenting. The eldest blogger had once offered to celebrate that with "pedhas"(= milk based celebratory traditional sweets), and was actually carrying a little box of those, which was presented to her. Maybe she had had a late brunch, maybe it was the sudden shock and joy (maybe awe), of seeing the other bloggers, hitherto seen as pages on an LCD screen, but she didn't want lunch. Desserts were ordered and demolished.

The absent blogger, who normally presided, ratified, and divided the bill was sorely missed. They shortly left and descended into a cool cloudy afternoon with a gentle breeze. The new folks would enjoy the lakefront and they walked over leisurely across the slope.

The old banyan tree, which had made light of the swinging marathoner the last time around, looked a bit older. It seemed to have lost a few of its ravishing roots. It looked expectantly at the motley crowd sauntering by. . Hopefully, the heavyweights wouldn't want to swing. Trees had limits even if people didn't.

The marathoner looked wryly at the tree, as the rest proceeded further, to enjoy the lake shore. Glistening waters, hazy shores, some willful hyacinth floating on the lake, and the sudden turn of breeze inspired the marathoner into taking some photographs. There was something inspiring in the clump of trees protectively covering the Devi temple, as it jutted into the lake on a promontory of sorts. Unchanged, unfazed, and constant over more than half a century.

It was soon time to leave. The two newest members, left. One rushed to her folks, to visit someone 25 years junior to her; someone who appears on her own blog, toothlessly smiling at the world. And the other to take a flight 500 miles away. Back into her family's fold, but with a good chance of returning to Mumbai again, professionally. The others walked back to their cars the long way, chatting away.

The smile was returning back on the face of the marathoner. Maybe he remembered someone. Maybe he remembered something. Maybe he received a funny tweet.

Then they saw the box of the sweet mango candy from Pune. Safely and firmly ensconced in his hands.

Sort of ideal for popping pieces into your mouth, while you typed your blog, as someone arrived with a steaming cup of hot filter coffee of the South Indian kind ....

Its been an interesting year. With interesting folks, And its amazing, how the persona that a blog implies matches up with the actual person so well. Which is why whenever they meet, most of these blogging types get along like a house on fire. ........

Soon it was time to go. They all smiled at each other, waved and left. Some to their homes, and some to catch a nice snooze in an airconditioned bus on its way to Pune, 200 kilometres away.

One year over. Many more blogger lunches to plan. Who knows where everyone will be. Some may move house. Some may move jobs.

But the banyan tree will be there, like it has, for the last 80 years.

Waiting.

For someone to come, and swing on it and blog about it again.

Turning over a new leaf : Tobacco ?

Click the Grahic to Vote Now

Thank you for voting .....!

---

I am not obsessed with folks in  Parliament and their performances.

I don't even begrudge them their extremely cushy jobs, where they immediately get a fund of  Rs. two crores (20 million) to spend as they like, supposedly for their constituency.

I am not even jealous  of a salary of Rs 12,000 pm, a daily allowance of Rs 500/ - per day in session, a constituency allowance 10,000 pm, 14,000 p m office expense allowance, 32 free air journeys , unlimited  highest class rail and steamer.ship travel per session (for self and spouse/relative/companion), free virtually unlimited landlines and cell telephone service etc etc

And how can I,  say anything about  their ability to get a life and family pension  with travel benefits ,after enjoying a single 5 year session (if the government doesn't fall earlier, due to defections etc) ?

And these are all the visible benefits.    Its not considered advisable to talk about the others.

But why  am I talking at all ?  Lets just say, that after 21 years of Government service, I went to the library of the Institute that gives me a pension,  thinking that one could borrow books as a retiree,  a facility that exists for the so called upper class retirees. The answer was a firm negative.   Regretfully.   The regret had something to do with the fact, that major part of my work had to do with just about everything related to their library circulation software,  including training lectures,  but the rules were made by someone in New Delhi,  who was convinced that the higher your post , the higher your brain and reading ability post retirement , and vice versa.

But maybe times have changed (On second thoughts , no). I just read about our MP's coming up with what looks like a very simplistic solution  regarding tobacco and cigarette consumption.

No rules about who the smoker has to  be. Upper class. Lower class. Invisible class. Exalted class. Royal class.  

Folks in Delhi  differentiate. Crabs don't.


Members of Parliament in India have just come up with what they think is a unique idea. The Parliamentary Committee on Health and Family Welfare has suggested that tobacco companies be asked to include within every cigarette packet, a coupon for a free cancer check up.

While I thought the earlier initiative, of including ghastly pictures of oral cancers on cigarette packets was OK, this one sounds very simplistic. What about free cancer check up coupons for the Gutka (chewing tobacco) packets ? What about those who get their lungs affected by secondary smoke, blown in rings around them by people who should know better ? Do they get coupons as well ? And once you are diagnosed, God forbid, as positive, what about the rest of the expense ? Of surgery ? Of radiation ? Chemotherapy ?

What about  cancer check up coupons along with sales of alcoholic beverages ?  All those shameless companies, that show ads on TV for "Casettes and CD's"  bearing a whiskey brand name , because TV bans the ads otherwise ?

And why not get truck and car manufacturers along with oil companies to issue coupons for cancer checkups of the respiratory kind ,  since they do much to spoil the air quality around me ?    Maybe three wheeler manufacturers can give an extra coupon . Cars, trucks, three wheelers increasing by huge leaps and bounds in Mumbai, people taking loans to buy them, and the least the sellers can do is give free coupons with each sale. 

By the same logic,  the Mumbai Metropolitan Regional  Development Authority (MMRDA), along with the Municipal Authorities,  can issue coupons for Orthopaedic and Neurological checkups.  A  senior person, travelling across town  for a conference with a group in an official  bus, had a briefcase fall on his head when the bus went through a pothole, and was rushed in for a checkup on arrival at the venue. He was a neighbour earlier, and told me himself.  Another colleague, developed scoliosis after travelling for a year by a bus, to a different venue for  work on a daily basis.  ( Mumbai buses are not about cushioned seats, sanitized air and polite conversation with your neighbor as you traipse daintily to the exit).

And the possibilities of what could happen to the coupons  make me shudder.  Someone will come up with counterfeit coupons.  With unscrupolous folks in business for creating bogus Ration cards, Passports, PAN cards, College marksheets,   this kind of coupon production will be like asking a Ph.D to teach kindergarten.  The market will be flooded with these check up coupons. There may even be made-to-order coupons, for maladies of choice.  Further policing rules by the government will naturally lead to creative flouting of the same.

In the meanwhile, political parties will smile and accept massive political donations from tobacco companies, give candidatures to people close to Gutka manufacturing,   accept gratis flights in planes belonging to alcoholic drinks manufacturers at election time,  and turn a dangerous blind eye to the flouting of rules by road contractors with the right connections up there.

A government that can spend crores on security  for their top people,  specialized stem cell treatments abroad for selected politicians, and millions on decorations for various inaugurations, shouldn't find it difficult to subsidize  and encourage cigarette manufacturers to  enter the new field of  using the tobacco plant as a vaccine factory.   Yes. That's not a misprint or a figment of my imagination.

According to a study coauthored by  Ronald Levy, an oncologist at the Stanford University School of Medicine and reported in Scientific American :

"......anti-cancer vaccines work by pumping a patient full of the same protein / antigen that is on the surface of tumor cells. Researchers believe that if the body contains enough of the protein, the immune system will recognize it as a potential danger and send out armies of disease-killing cells to seek and destroy tumors harboring it.

Researchers took a sample of a patient's tumors, (white blood cells that help the body battle disease and infection). They then extracted the gene from the cells that coded for the antigen they needed (to help the immune system recognize the tumors as threats).

The scientists achieved this by inserting the gene into a plant microbe known a tobacco mosaic virus (TMV). Plants are infected with TMV simply by scratching their leaves and depositing the virus into the tears. Researchers discovered that the virus spreads throughout tobacco plants within a week, in the process cranking out a surfeit of the coveted proteins. The scientists ground the leaves and separated out the antigen, which they then injected into volunteers and noticed encouraging results."


I am aware that tobacco manufacturers are cognizant of this research.  There was recently a presentation in New  Delhi about this.  

In a typical scenario, they (MNC's) will sell off their inventory stock in Third world countries with lax rules, when the First world makes new rules , banning things.  This must stop..

We have the knowledge, we have the trained humanpower for research and the facilities.  We have numerous tobacco plantations, possibly nurtured by these companies.  We, in India need to take the initiative and persuade these companies to turn to vaccine production.

Not coupons. Buy one cigarette pack, get  two free : a coupon, and cancer .

Is it too much to hope that those in power , take an initiative in furthering and implementing the research and look beyond filling party coffers ?

Or is research  all about introducing genetically modified  Monsanto aubergines (baingans)  to the nation ?

Richer than rich

Click the Grahic to Vote Now

Thank you for voting .....!

Mornings are a busy time. There are buses to catch, keys to search, lunches to pack, doorbells to answer. We have a chap who comes each morning to ask if we need any groceries, and you need to remember and write it in a book for him. Once everyone has left for work/school et al, one searches and collates all the newspaper pages together, and prepares for a relatively relaxed read.

One of the greatest pleasures of my life is to be comfortably ensconced in a chair, feet up, reading the paper, and for my household help, M, to land up (she has a key to the front door), potter a bit in the kitchen, and ask me if I would like a cup of tea ! There is nothing more wonderful than to have a cup of gingered tea brought to you, in your own house, without you having to ask, and without you having to move an inch.

M has been with me for the last 25 years. She has seen me through the childrens' childhood years, happy days, worried days, sad days, and days of wonder. She has seen the respective grandparents on visits, chatted with them, indulged them, taken their messages on the phone (initially holding it upside down), in my absence sometimes, and sympathized with me like family when they one day were no more.

She has had a very difficult early married life, and has now come into her own as a strong woman head of household in her own family.

That day she finished her work, and sort of hovered around as I sat writing something.

"I need some help" , she said, wiping her hands on the edge of her sari pallu. "Will you write a speech for me ?"

My moving fingers, came to a sudden stop . M, and giving a speech ? This was wonderful. Of course I would. But I needed to know the details and the occasion.

Turns out that her elder sisters husband was attaining his 60 years, and also retiring from his job as an office clerk. The entire extended family, his colleagues, and many others were planning for a big event , to wish him well for the future. This man, with a greatly altruistic bent of mind, was someone everyone consulted, and he was always available to help, whether it was advising on procedures, helping with admissions, jobs, litigations, helping with the sick and disabled, fixing marriages, handling acrimonious family misunderstandings , and just about anything that you needed help for. He always harped on the importance of education, and was about to publish a book of Marathi poems he had written over a number of years.

M's family was to attend, and were thinking of a decent gift. As is traditional, they thought of a shawl and coconut for the gent and a really nice sari for his wife. And then M had an idea.


" You know, the shawl and sari looks good, but everyone will gift that. What good is receiving 35 shawls and an equal number of sarees, some of which , his wife may not even like ? And who uses shawls in hot and humid Mumbai ? Besides you can wear only one sari at a time...." she said.

" So what do you have in mind ? " I asked, "and why a speech ?"

She hesitated a bit. Thinking.

"You know, Bapu (her sister's husband), is not a rich man in the conventional sense. Still, he has made it his life's vocation to help and guide other folks looking to improve themselves through education and guidance from the correct folks. Sometimes, he even ends up spending from his own pocket, when the person is very needy or old. I wanted to put all this saree and shawl money in an envelope and present it to him, to use in such situations. . What do you think of my idea ? And do you think its too little an amount ?" Saying so, she sat down on the carpet, wiped her forehead, and looked to see if my tea cup was empty.


I was speechless. It didn't really matter what the amount was. I thought her idea was brilliant. It rocked. And she rocked.


"But why do you want me to write you a speech ? You don't read yourself . " I asked.

She sort of got a bit embarrassed.

"You know , its going to be a big felicitation for Bapu. Many people will speak . I want to say something about what we learnt from him. I can't read or write. But the children can. And my eldest daughter-in-law who has completed plus 2, will read the speech on the stage.


Can you write all that "Bandhu and Bhagini "(ladies and gentlemen) stuff , and then add something that says, that Bapu has taught us to think of those that are not as fortunate as us, and help them. That every time something good happens to us, a little of that needs to rub off on those who are still trying to improve. And that giving support morally to someone who is trying hard to succeed honestly, is the best thing anyone can do. Richness is not all about money. And possessions. Its more about being rich enough to give. And so we save this money and plan to hand to Bapu to use as he sees fit, to help someone. ....."

I was totally dumbstruck. What a brilliant idea ! And what a wonderful woman, who takes such great pride in a daughter-in-law who is more educated than everyone else including her husband, ( M' son), and no one gets insecure about it ! It certainly took guts to go against the existing tradition of gifting shawls and coconuts and sarees, and possibly stupid comments from some others in the extended family outside.

I wrote her a short speech for her daughter-in-law to say. She was back, a day later, with the young lady, and asked her to say it once in front of me, as she stood behind, with an envelope in hand, and pretending that her family was standing with her, trying to simulate the event as it would happen in a few days.

I just wondered about one thing. She has two daughters in law. The other was a wee bit younger. And would feel left out. I thought entrusting the felicitation aarti for Bapu to her would be a decent idea. I offered to lend my aarti paraphernalia to M for that.

M had a smile playing on her lips. She understood why I suggested what I did. She liked the speech, and the way the elder daughter-in-law did the stuff in a respectful manner. The younger one would stand along side with the aarti lamps. Both the girls were great friends, besides sisters-in-law, and this would please them no end. And no one would feel left out.

I heard about the event a few days after it took place. Many folks liked what M did. Most of all, her own mother, 86, who attended the event, peering from the front row, through thick glasses, at what was happening on stage, and quietly approved, removing her glasses to wipe her moist eyes with the edge of her saree pallu. M's late father would have approved.

Mumbai is full of rich people , possibly still itching to get richer. Hankering after one more house, one more building, one more cellphone, one more car, one more factory, one more son, one more designer outfit, one more extravagant piece of jewellery, and one more upping of the nose at the neighbors. Two brothers, still fighting, on the Forbes Rich peoples list, but at the end of the day, not rich enough in mind .

I thought M, beat all of them, just plain hollow.....

A Suitable Technology.....

Click the Grahic to Vote Now

Thank you for voting .....!

To get on with things.....

When I finished high school(1965), the college system forced us to choose between three streams. Arts, Science, and Commerce. School was 11 years. You then did 2 years of college.

After the first year, you chose either the A group (mathematics) or the B group (Biology), say , in the Science stream. One more year later , you could then choose to enter, what were then considered the hallowed portals of Engineering or Medicine, depending on whether you came from A or B respectively. Which was a bit unfair to folks like me who enjoyed French, English literature, Physics, Maths and Biology equally. Those were the days of emerging illogical willful thinking, and despite suggestions by many on how good engineering would be (given that I qualified , marks wise), I continued in the Science stream for two more years, to get Bachelor of Science degree (and more later).

Ever since then I have had a sneaking admiration for usage of a technology for something other than what it was intended for.

Think seat belts. In our 36 year old faithful Fiat, we were grateful to have seats, forget belts. The new cars that suddenly came with the new economy, came with seat belts, and immediately, the Mumbai Police made a law about wearing them. The demarcation between laws, breakage, and penalties is fuzzy by definition. Different cities have different rules about who should be compulsorily wearing seat belts.

But I have a suggestion that should have seat belt manufacturers drooling in anticipation.

All the legislatures, including our Parliament , should have seats with seat belts, the additional feature being that they are remote controlled. To pacify the members , there may be different colors of seat belts. Like black belts for worthies in the first row, blue ones for wide eyed followers, green ones for shirkers, and red ones for fence sitters at the back benches.

I was also going to suggest helmets. Since worthies wearing their seat belts , will still have their hands free.

The purpose is to bring a modicum of discipline in the normal behaviour of legislators, as they get up, and dash to the well of the house, sometimes even holding some other front row worthies by their collars, and punching them. Legislative TV is full of videos where so called peoples' representatives shake their fingers at the speaker, shout, and shove people around, yanking out microphones, chairs, flinging them with abandon.

An impressive electronic console behind the speaker could lock the seat belts remotely once the session has begun. The microphones would work only when seat belts are locked and the helmets on. The speaker can change rules, that allow members to sit (instead of standing up) and participate in the proceedings. A giant screen , similar to the one that says "Sachin, not out" at stadiums, can solve the problems of visibility in the constituency, as the members endeavour to exhibit their speeches.

Should one of the pear/apple shaped worthies, mechanically break the belt and try to throw things, the helmets would provide great protection. It goes without saying that the helmets provided to members will be free. Like they say in company reports, and mostly as a formality, "no current member of the House, is deemed to be interested in the manufacture and supply of these helmets". Which is probably untrue, given the fact that replacements for helmets are also free, and the coincident increase in buying of two-wheelers by the kith and kin of members is to be ignored.

Of course, leading industrial houses, some Reliable, some not so reliable, will be in the fray for providing the software and hardware for the system console. In addition, training of personnel would be done, with 33% reservation for women , in the selection of console operators. See, the timing is important. After the disastrous comment made about women by the Indian Air Force Chief, and Her Excellency , the President's outstanding sortie in a fighter aircraft at the age of 75, there will probably be no opposition to the idea.

It is entirely possible that in a few years, someone will expose what will be called the Helmet Controversy, or the Seat belt Scam. I am confident though, that the system will sail through and continue, given that some judge appointed to look into this, will take 18 years to give his report. Which will not see the light of the day, as someone will have lost the papers.

I guess I am getting patriotic in my old age. Its not as if I only think about the high and mighty.

I often think about those I encounter on a daily basis, those dodging obstructions on the road, wild wandering animals, those driving through red lights, those turning a blind eye .....

And there are also simple technologies.

Did I tell you about the whistle......

Candiddate Gappa

Despite what you might think, I am not threatening anyone with the rolling pin or cricket bat(depending on who is reading this).....its just my bai-style :-)


You know how it feels when someone old enough to have her own blogging child, and from a perfectly ordinary middle class background, is sort of plucked from somewhere and suddenly thrust on to the stage to mingle with the leaders ?

You don't?

Well, I do. And it takes some time getting used to.

Well, this blog is up for voting in the Best Humanities blog category, of the Indibloggies 2008.

The Jury has carefully selected and lined up the deserving contenders for the final rally...

You will be shown a page with the various blog names. You choose the one(s) you wish to vote for, and the site asks you for a valid email address. You will get an email at that address, where you need to click on a link to have your vote registered as valid. Simple.


Please go here to vote. Voting starts Nov 25, and ends December 10. (India time)

Incidentally the blogging child is nominated in the Sports Category for his serious cricket blog. A Cricketing View. A click there to vote (on the same voting page) would gladden the heart...

I hope you guys vote for me and mine.

That's what Obama said. I hope you do too.

Thank you.