Face Values

Some folks go through life wrapped up into themselves.

And some folks go around as if life is a buffet to be enjoyed, rich with assorted folks crossing your paths with a variety of faces,  hiding behind them a variety of stories and stuff.

It might be an interesting game to have people guess from your writeup, which place you are writing about...

A self absorbed, half dormant look, occasionally shifting as the backpack shifts, a demeanour of someone averse to baths, ironed clothes, and chappals in proper pairs,  a random smile/laugh as he adjusts a wire stuck in his ear, and mutters about submissions.

A square middle-aged countenance, a safari suited look of importance, traversing through impatient crowds , to unlock places of study. A heavy lidded look exuding power of controlling entry, face-up walking through the entrance, the Pied Piper where rats are replaced by students.  A nod, a smile, and suddenly a straightened respectful look, as someone else with power and confidence personified walks in, nodding to all.

A few ladies in similar colored Navratri coded silks, confident in their own, but an imperceptible sideways glance at some new jewellery sported by one of their group; an occasional deep breath , wishing away the tiredness of an early rising, to cook festival stuff for the family dabbas. A clear disapproving look at the last minute girl rushing into the lift,  with narrow jeans and a tee.

A bored face on a tired body on a stool inside the lift;  he has had it with the pervading festival scents and perfumes and the camphored silks. He stares at the closed steel doors, with a disgusted sideways glance at a lady occupying place for two. The exodus on the upper floor, and he smiles at the despatch person, who starts on his paper rounds , office to office. The lift is not for going down. But he smiles with a look that says "Gravity, go to hell!" and they both continue down, stopping only for a chaiwalla lugging 25 paper cups and a teapot.

A sudden straightening of folks,  crisp in uniforms, a self twirling moustache helplessly doing its thing, and folks with a powerful proud demeanour follow a smiling person , as he walks in from the porch. Salutes, nods, and they turn back, pumped up for what they might do best; wave and whistle at badly parked cars, note down licence numbers of vehicles,  and  stand guard outside the local Kendriya Vidyalaya as 15 big buses, assorted cars, and an exodus of  school kids create a daily chaos amidst 70 Rs/kilo onions being unloaded outside a vegetable vendor's shop.

Some, with a fresh look, much aided by a fresh change of clothes, running shoes, rackets, and "we don't want to be late" expression of urgency, fast walking towards the grounds. An expression of  clear disregard on their faces, of various folks  disapprovingly noticing their attire,  a sudden grin and rushing to hi-five  someone, a speeding up in apprehension as they note the time.   In direct contrast, to the foot scraping , wet hair, laugh-filled,  fun walk  back, in anticipation of what might be a decent meal at their mess, as they dodge senior citizens on their sedate walks at dusk, on the now well populated road.

A few pint sized folks, in raptures over the loss of training wheels on bicycles, blissfully rattling down the sidewalks at speed, with various parents running behind. A few tired pint sizes, with plastered hair, and tired hungry looks, and dripping plastic bags, straining up the slope on their way back from the swimming pool, fibbing to each other about how they would bunk the next day, suddenly making way for what looks like a uncle teacher type, out on his daily run, who thinks they need to walk in single file and not block the road.

An occasional rickshawalla, with a beatific look on his face,  stunned by the greenery, the limited willful traffic  , the very Film City type ambiance due to the lake  and gardens,  as he stops by  at a no-parking roadside, one foot outside on the road, crushing something in his palm, before popping it into his mouth. Shaken back to reality by an empty rickshaw going the opposite way, he gives no one-in-particular, a "ah, life is like that" look, reverses minutes before a Maruti Gypsy with security rolls up, and accelerates away to the gate.         
 
And then there is a puffed up little school girl, cycling home with single minded pedalling, her face impatient with the interference of so many four wheelers freewheeling across the roads; polite waves to aunties, grins at classmates , hair falling across and sticking to her sweaty forehead; the thrill at having topped the class is difficult to hide, and it shows in her eyes, as she holds out a hand to indicate a turn, wobbles a bit due to her heavy schoolbag, dodges a random dog, and is now on her last leg, her face simply waiting to burst with her news.

A few folks in no-nonsense looks and nine yard sarees, plastic bags in hand, steps accelerating towards their destination,  their face a mask that hides a home trauma that consists of a drunk husband, a jobless son, and  sick ma-in-law; they sometimes cannot read or write, but always make it on the dot at the given time in a given house for housework.  Always acknowledging similar colleagues with a smile,  waving to kids leaving for school,  from places where they work with the kids' mothers; you sometimes see anger and grief blacken the faces as they talk to friends, pouring out their woes in troubles  in building compounds, and then the mask is back. 

Of course, there are those with determined strides, conference bags on shoulders, name badges around their necks, shoes nicely polished , apprehension present but trying to hide it on their faces; it is their first day here,  they quietly observe the more loquacious amongst them, and make their way to the conference venue.

Then there are those supremely confident folks, who are seen sometimes walking at a leisurely pace, nodding to themselves, fingers curved on an imaginary blackboard,  perhaps sometime humming a classical song, looking at the watch, and suddenly speeding up, nodding at young folks en route, shaking their heads at a situation that implies more construction means more progress.  They sometimes go by on two wheelers and four wheelers, nostalgical about times when you could park closer to your work   place. An imperceptible straightening as they enter the hallowed precincts, and its time to get chalk dust on your trousers by then.

And finally, there are some, who actually do not understand what the fuss is all about.  This is their land, since time immemorial, their ancestors roamed here, and they see looks of incredulity on the faces of supposedly smart folks, with 2 legs, a swollen head, messed up digestions and less than half their energy. They wander around with inscrutable expressions, ideal for kings and rulers, they give dangerous looks to two wheelers daring to change gears in their vicinity, and almost do a lumbering  catwalk through the long corridor that is a landmark of the area, shooing off dogs trying to latch on. They relax on the mowed lawns chewing the cud,  ruminating on the sudden high density of two legged folks that  they see around them.

Over the years, they have noticed one huge difference.

Earlier, people walked with groups, and friends. Today, they have wires in their years, they talk to themselves, and   some even have their elbows permanently bent as they hold on to their ears with some contraption.

Yes, another difference too.

These days, they also sense something dangerous , particularly on hot days at nights.  Their faces show fear.   A fear of the striped, roaring , black and gold fast one, that encroaches from the jungles surrounding the adjoining lake, and looks for prey.

Theirs is just to carry on with life, with a brave face. 

But sometimes, just sometimes,  they wonder, why no one has projects to "save"  them , and there is so much fuss about the gold and black fast one.....

And they realize, that one must simply learn to  face it all..... 

Review : Arjuna, Saga of a Pandava Warrior Prince by Anuja Chandramouli

This book was sent to me by Leadstart Publishing. Published in 2013 by  Platinum Press, an imprint of Leadstart Publishing, this book of 363 pages, is dedicated to the most admired warrior from the Mahabharata Epic, the Pandava Warrior Prince , Arjun. 

At the outset, one has to greatly admire the stupendous research done by the author,  Anuja Chandramouli, to ferret out a plethora of details and gems of information , hitherto unknown, to someone like me, who grew up listening to grandmother's stories from the epics, almost 50 years ago, almost on a nightly post dinner basis.

The books has a massive four page long cast of characters , which have been defined under various categories, right at the start of the book. A select glossary of Sanskrit terms/words is made available at the end of the book for clarity. 

The story starts with the ancestors of the Pandavas, the genetic inter-connections between the various key ancestors. The author has delved fairly deep into family trees, to clarify details, which again, get terribly mind boggling, as polygamy, various immaculate conceptions via various Gods,  abandonments and adoptions,  children born out of flames in yagnyas, et al  are present in glorious detail.

The author has painted the various key personalities expertly.  Each of the Pandavas, the Kaurava top folks, the advising elders who were supposed to guide , Lord Krishna,  the majestic Draupadi , the unfortunate Karna are painstakingly  colored and described in detailed shades.

Unlike many books based on epics and scriptures, which generate some kind of disbelief and awe,  there is a sense of human ease about this style of writing.  Many human qualities are seen in folks. The younger Pandavas are never permanently tongue tied vis-a-vis Yudhishtira, and there are times when Bheem, Nakul and Sahadev even crack jokes along with Arjun quietly in front of him.   While the story in the first 60% of the book is really about Arjun, the banishing of the Pandavas away in the jungles for 12-13 years,  even Arjun going on a side trip to heaven and impressing Gods there, and returning with weapon goodies, the story appears to slowly narrow to  the story of Karna , the most unfortunate personality in the Mahabharata.  There is heavy detailing of the various battle plans, Chakravyuhas,  the various special weapons (with exception points)  , Gods appearing every now and then , sometimes to grant a wish, sometimes to applaud something with a shower of flowers.

This book could have become tedious due to the detail.  Fortunately, beyond the first half, the amount of sudden new characters with weird powers reduce, and the story is more about right, wrong, greed, power, good, evil, revenge, being faithful to the ruler or to your conscience, and being smart .

To someone, who has never heard the stories earlier , it would be completely shocking to see folks casting spells, and giving "Shaaps " simply because they didn't like something or someone disturbed them.  It would have been unnerving to have Indra and the Sun frequently make trips to earth to interfere in the proceedings, just like that, and Pandavas  traveling around the country, meeting kings, taking a fancy to some beautiful princess and marrying them appears to be a usual thing, possibly a tradition in those days, but clearly something that complicated life. 

But it is also a story of the super brave Abhimanyu, the raring to go Ghatotkach who even in death , fell on the opposing army and killed folks by crushing them. It is a story of strong women , who stood by other strong women right till the end, and indulgent women, who spoilt their royal kids, when a strict rebuke would have helped. It is a story about how war misguides a populace,  once the majority refuses to see reason. It is a story of queens with some very human attributes, and lack of guts in facing things, like in the case of Kunti,  who gives birth and abandons the child in a basket in the river; then years later, lands up at that son's place to identify herself, and ask for special consideration as a mother whose 2 sons are fighting each other to kill.   


But one cannot help feel, that Arjuna was able to be what he was, very clearly because of Lord Krishna.   While none of the Pandavas were good at what would be called today as "having talks" with the enemy/opposition,  Lord Krishna, was at pains to discuss things with folks like Karna , when the war was about to reach its fiercest point , and whats more, Karna was able to stand his own ground, on reasons , that one would even give today. Anticipating events, and primarily using his charioteer position smartly, the Lord performed at crucial moments  to save Arjuna during the war. I mean, it helps to have someone with "inside information" on your side, not to mention brilliant navigation abilities.    

This is a story we see around us even today. Good rulers, bad rulers. Nonethical practices being justified as correct by unscrupulous higher ups. Righteous folks at the top, who cannot take a systems view, but cause havoc because of their adamant stands.  People who believe, brawn is better than brain.   One time respected elders who slowly fade out of the scene, to be abused behind their backs.  Assorted princes lording it over others by virtue of genetics.  Gutless courtiers.  Backstabbing.  Abuse of women and killing of children.  Strangely, no one talks about daughters in the Mahabharata  (much is mentioned about Pandavas' sons ), and today too, daughters are , by and large, ignored.

The question is, is there a Lord Krishna visible anywhere,  and if he does appear, will we have the sense to listen ? 

This book kind of grows on you as you go deep into it. Read it. 

The Perils of Mental Obesity

There is our environment. There is  information . And then there is us, with our brains, trying to interpret and make sense of it all.

Back in 1844, prior to the US Presidential elections, the Democrats picked a Senator Wright as their Vice Presidential nominee, and used the telegraph to inform and ask his consent. He instantly declined. (Today, they hide behind the stage, and emerge smiling to accept the nomination).  No one believed then in instant telegraphic communication, and the Democrats sent an entire committee down by train to confirm the Senator's response, which was exactly the same as before.  Naturally, and impressed with this instant  response, medical and scientific people then started wondering about whether this telegraph model might be applied to how our nerves function.

Folks like Helmholtz did very basic experiments to ascertain the speed of our thoughts; that is, something happening and a human being responding by sensing it. And found that responses happened in like a quarter of a second. Other folks got different results. Till better diagnostic technology arrived and it turned out that our nerves operate at many different speeds. It is about the complexity of wiring all the different parts of our bodies together. 

And unlike the telegraph, which might transmit the vilest of abuse with the same speed as the most adulatory message,  scientists discovered that our nerve cells also do a bit of learning if they are bombarded by repeated visuals, and actually reduce perception time. Despite the fact that messages must reach the concerned part of the brain, which must respond, before we see a result .  So along with smart nerve cells, it is also about wide roads through which impulse info  may travel.

In 1854,   William Thomson showed that the wider a telegraph wire, the faster its signal and the farther the signal could travel.

That also applies  to human nerves. The fattest nerve paths in the brain, are 200 times thicker than the thinnest ones.  And given the quarter of a million miles of nerve wiring in our brains, such a widening of paths, might lead , according to a Princeton Neuroscientist, Sam Wang,  to a head so big, you wouldnt fit it in a doorway, and it would consume a huge amount of energy.

So why do I go on about human information pathways ?

It has occurred to me that over the last half of the 20th century and well into this one (defining the period of my existence) , there has been a order of magnitude change ,  in the amount of extraneous information that we receive for processing, and the rate at which it has changed over the years. Our entire physical wellbeing must be related to having an optimum designed system to handle that.

Long time ago, our sources of information were books, radio, meeting people, cinema, performing arts , music , cultural events. There was time to observe , learn, and act.

End of last century, was  like an avalanche or flood of information systems, whether they came through the Net, the phones, the numerous TV channels or the proliferating tabloid newspapers  with hardly any self censoring.  This coincided with huge migrations into cities, unorganized  lifestyles, and dwindling resources. Clearly, our brains and nerve pathways have tried to evolve in all this onslaught.

And so it is reasonable to assume that we are now a people, who are bombarded with information , good and bad,  and each one's ability, to sift through this, learn and process it,  decides how we respond. 

Those who perceive this info as a massive onslaught, will virtually try and force it all in, trying to, as if,  widen the neuronal pathways, in a brain with limited space and a different style of instrinsic information management.

Those whose brains have done the learning over a large period of time, have had time to sift, accept and discard learnings.

But for those who have faced a flood and tried to assimilate it all in a hurry, following the rule of use it or lose it,  the effort would possibly result in an " atrophy of thought "  causing  what , one might possibly call,  Mental Obesity.  An uncontrolled stuffing  of information  in an area meant for less, resluting in overflows, tearing and item destruction.  A virtual  massive widening of wire paths in the brain leading to impaired information processing.

 Just like a glutton stuffing himself year after year, till the heart, the lungs, the liver, the stomach the intestines and pancreas  insist on early retirement in the face of the avalanche of food intake.

Is this what is happening today  amidst folks who exhibit impaired thinking processes and  knee jerk reactions instead of thoughts, and take lives of others ?  Don't like someone's response, throw acid on her face ;  if someone belongs to the wrong gender,  abuse , and even kill;  something not agreeable,  choose extremes  like suicide;  attracted by something, acquire it by hook or by crook, and to hell with everyone and everything else;  get insulted by someone honking from behind, get out of the car and shoot ......   Why do we hear so frequently about women throwing themselves from multistoreyed buildings, sometimes along with children ; what extreme thinking makes them act so ?

There is a school of thought that says all this was happening before. And that we are hearing these things today because of television and real time reporting.

To some extent, yes.  We are not a nation of Saints.  There will always be imbalances, causing crimes in society.   What has changed is the timing.  Something that is disturbing the processing of thought,  caused by the information tornado happening in a brain, not used to handling it all.  It has caused a blurring of the borders between good and evil, with loss of all clarity of thought.

Can we evolve to handle all this avalanche of information ?  I don't know.  The brain prides itself on its property of neural plasticity; the ability of each of our senses to try and fill in for the other, to some extent, when required in dire circumstances, achieving this by self-training the nerve cells and pathways.

But what can one expect when the pathways are strewn with potholes of misdirected information arriving in uncontrolled torrents ? 

Review of "Never Mind Yaar" by K. Mathur

I received this book for review under the Blogadda Bookreviews program. Published by Southpac Publishers, Wellington, New Zealand, in 2012,  by K Mathur, the Mumbai born author, who lives there.

A  fairly quick read of 220 pages , this edition of the book, omits a section of Indian/Mumbai  phrases (with meanings),  which would ordinarily enlighten the foreign reader.

The story revolves around  college life in Mumbai, and the experiences of 3 girls, Shalini, Binaifer, and Louella who have just joined college. The three belong to very different backgrounds. Bianifer is a Parsi who lives in Grant Road, a southern suburb of Mumbai. Louella, a Christian , whose parents moved to Mumbai from Goa lives in Bandra , a very popular western suburb. Shalini, belongs to a typical class of folks, who are oblivious of public transport, and move around in chauffeured splendor.  It is also the story of their very idealistic classmate called Bhagu, who is attracted equally, by Shalini, and public service.  Dotted across the narrative are typical vignettes of college life in India; hanging out at the Canteen, debating clubs, old respected profs, and so on.

The narrative flows beautifully , describing the friendship of the 3 girls, with some special sections outlining the history of Parsis and Christians  and their arrival in Mumbai . Shalini belongs to a very well off, rich family from Rajasthan , where the matriarch grandma still rules by remote control, while the parents are professionals trained and working in Mumbai .  How Bhagu and Shalini get involved, their individual ambitions and interests causing  occasional separations, and their individual ways of handling these. How Shalini must straddle the two different worlds  at home and at college, and Bhagu's trial by fire as he takes on the Canteen mafia in the initial stages.  A story about families that have several servants and retainers, and how, sometimes,  they take security for granted, when it isn't.

 But as someone , who went to college in Mumbai, and whose children also did the same, I had some queries.  Binaifer Desai is supposed to live in a 2 bedroom "cottage" in Grant Road.  Perhaps this is just literary licence, since one doesn't see those in Grant Road.  It isn't clear where the college is situated, but talk of isolated lanes behind the college (in the evenings at 7 ) etc tend to point to something similar to St Xaviers.  With such a detailed profiling of the girls,  it puzzles me as to why Bhagu manages to traipse through the narrative without a last name.

The reference to a new popular peoples' party which Bhagu  joins does bring to mind actual political happenings in 2012 in India.  So does the reference to the Mumbai bomb blasts and the riots and these are expertly woven into the narrative.

What I find missing is a sense of Maharashtrian ethos, which is so much a part of Mumbai. So many Marathi speaking kids attend colleges in Mumbai, including the very hi-fi ones. So many college canteens have traditional local food which is greatly patronized by the students. There is an entire life that happens in suburban trains and public transport, where students  mix seamlessly and make friends .   If the idea was to give an impression of college life in Mumbai, there is something clearly missing. 

Although, this is a work of fiction,  the author does provide a background of various communities and their history in Mumbai. It would have been useful, if there was reference to Mumbai's problem of massive immigration from internal regions, seeking of jobs, the inability to handle a differently standardized life, the demonic living conditions, the helplessness , the formation of slums and gundas, and the conditions that make an erstwhile chauffeur suddenly give in to his baser instincts when it all becomes too much to mentally handle.

An expertly woven story, well written,  but sometimes, it is not the Mumbai I know.  

Having said that,  it is a story you enjoy, particularly the ending. Which one shall not reveal.

A  3.5/5 ....

This review is a part of the biggest Book Review Program for Indian Bloggers. Participate now to get free books!

Mars Chalo !

Somewhere in August, one read about 8000 Indians registering to go to Mars in 2023. Then on September 10, India became the second ranking country, in the list of top ten, with 12,000 extra folks signing up.

And while it boggles the mind as to why this sudden urge to flee the motherland, the nation tends to celebrate the fact  that with a total signup of 20,000 , we beat   China (13,176), Brazil (10,289), Britain (8,497), Canada (8,241), Russia (8,197), Mexico (7,464), Philippines (4,365) and Spain (3,722) while getting there.

Turns out, that  by 2015, they will select six to ten teams of four people each, for a seven year intensive training, before becoming the first folks to step on to Mars, in 2023.

Word is out, that a  committee appointed by the Indian powers that be , will sift through the Indian applicants , and shortlist folks for the final selection by the Mars One organization that is planning the whole thing.

Reliable sources indicate an internal tussle happening  in the capital, between various entities, to place their people on the selection committee. Three retired supreme court judges, the leaders of the two main parties in Parliament, Chairman, minorities commission, Chairperson, National Commission for Women,  Minister for Coal and Mining, Minister for Telecommunications (7G), Minister for Science, Technology and IT,  Minister for Sports,  have been appointed.

It is learnt that the BCCI is pushing for its own representative there , (in place of Minister of Sports) , since it has plans for the Inter Galactic (IG) Cricket League, to be played on Olympus Mons on Mars.  (80 kilometres across  , with a 3 kilometre drop at the periphery.  Being dropped from the team may take on a new meaning on Mars.) The BCCI , characteristically, is calling it the Indira Gandhi (IG) Cricket League, which makes it an entirely new ballgame on a significantly fixed pitch.

Water has been discovered under the Martian soil, being 5 % by weight at the Martian Equator and 60% by weight at the Arctic poles. It seems iron oxide and silicon oxide are also plentiful in Martian soil, pointing to a future where glass may be manufactured on Mars, and agriculture may be possible. Our unimpeachable sources indicate that there are several dummy candidates put up by leading mining companies, to get licences to mine on mars. Monsanto, which was hitherto lying low after the hue and cry on BT Brinjals and cotton, has again renewed its presence where it counts, realizing that once water is available on Mars, they need to be there to harvest BT crops.

The Martian atmosphere has absolutely no or very little ozone, since it is suspected to have disappeared into space,  making it very difficult for those with an obsession for fair skin  to win vis-a-vis the dangerous UV rays. We can now confirm that certain companies  have renewed their efforts to make an SPF 200 cream, to be used by ladies who have been given a Fair Chance on Mars. Whether they turn out to be Lovely and Beautiful remains to be seen. Fashion designers have withdrawn in a huff after finding out that a great weather day at the Martian equator was like a cold day in Norway, and their complicated outfits with high cuts, deep cuts  and displays of skin would not find any models .

Since there will be special vehicles to be used on Mars, the Municipal Corporation of Greater Mumbai (MCGM)  has unilaterally decided NOT to repair its numerous potholes, and has offered the roads as practice areas to the Mars One Company selected candidates when they start training. The ruling party leader in the MCGM, was reported to have said it was better to aim for Mars than Shanghai, since we have so many similarities, like bad atmosphere, potholed surfaces, and a water distribution problem.   

Our sources have discovered a list of folks whose applications were rejected .

Guys wearing tiger tees , and brandishing flags, who wanted to install statues on Mars.

Folks who insist of creating concrete elephants all over the place and call them parks.


Various folks who started marketing special "Mangal Dabbas" suitable for lugging Fafdas, Theplas , Sev etc on the long trip to Mars. (Buy two dabbas, chutney  dabba and 100 gms chhundo free)

Then there were folks who had expertise in changing zoning rules and wanted to create a special VIP housing enclave on the Olympus Mons. They also had great expertise in creating hill stations by taking over land belonging to others, and planned to create one on the Olympus Mons.

A special delegation of film stars, that wanted a Film City on Mars, to save the expense of stunts, by using one of Mars's moons, where whacking a person could despatch him to the next planet.

A bunch or party faithfuls, who wanted to name the landing pad at Mars, after various Gandhis, but were told that they, the party faithfuls needed some other skill before they could even apply.

Meanwhile,  some TV folks interviewed the common man on the road, to ask who he thought should go to  or be sent to Mars.

By popular demand, it turned out to be our MP's. As the neighborhood household bai said to the bhajiwalla, "if all you have to do to earn a pension after 5 years, is shout, run to the middle of the room, defy the teacher, and then walk out if you don't like it, it is time someone else gets a chance, and these guys need to be sent away to Mars."

Ministers came a close second. It was felt that their obsession with red beacons and throwing weight around, was more suited to the Red planet, where they would also be able to do away with their Z-plus security.

There was also a suggestion to include those who pretended to play God ( eg "as a Ram")  while simultaneously greatly sinning in secret.

Kusumtai, plagued  with astrological problems regarding her daughter of marriageable age, and her Manglik horoscope,  suggested that those making a stink about her daughter's horoscope, should be at the front of the line , amidst those going to Mars.

But the final word comes from one of our leaders who gave grass-routes a new meaning, so to speak.  Interviewed by BNN-ICN, as he sat barechested, sunning  himself in the front lawns of his Lutyen's bungalow in Delhi;  he chewed with great relish, spat into an area to his left, and said, "I am waiting for the time when they will allow cows and fodder on Mars; till then, I am doing fine with secular Alu samosas..."
 ...
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Breaking News :  

As per latest reports, Bulgarian  hackers have been reported to have hacked the entire list of Indian and Chinese folks in the Mars One list, and Parliament is in an uproar.  

Expectedly, an adjournment is imminent ....

They say, that Mars is now retrograde .  And Venus is having the last laugh....       



  

Micturition, Sports and Society

Long long time ago, a little boy in kindergaarten, was chosen to act in a complicated play. There were many practice sessions, the teacher was greatly loved by her little students, and they hung on to her every instruction.

The D-day dawned, and the huge hall that held thousands , was actually full, with entire families turning up with relatives and so on. The amazing play got underway, with  all the kids in their very realistic costumes,  occasionally glancing into the wings, where their proud teacher stood .  The little boy was the lead player, the excitement was too much, and he suddenly realized  he needed to visit the loo, and actually could not. What happened next was an accident of nature so to speak, where, he looked up at the teacher for permission, expressed himself succintly about wanting to pee,   couldnt control himself, and quietly wet himself.

Undeterred, encouraged by his teacher, and unfazed by the hooting audience that must have consisted of folks who might have been straightaway born as as adults with attached loos,  he continued his role, and finished the play.

Some praised his dedication, brushed away the event as a small kid's response to all the excitement and his innate honesty, and patted his back.

Some came to his mother, doing ooh and aah, with looks of embarassment on their faces, asking if the kids were not encouraged to go to the loo earlier. His amazing teacher acted as if nothing had happened, and the evening went off without any problem.   (If you ignored the adults who had a problem, with a 3.5 year old kid performing in front of a huge audience , and inadvertantly giving in to the demands of his body).

Cut to yesterday, when England won the Ashes against Australia at the Oval in England.  The leading worthies of the English team urinated on the cricket pitch to celebrate. 

I don't see a big brouhaha about this.  Those that criticised the kid, probably think this is all fine, because it has happened in England,  The dictats of a developed society. 

Times have changed.

  Today, you do not urinate because your bladder is full. You urinate to express an opinion, to celebrate a victory, to demean a loser.    If you are an ex bowler of the English team, you are also allowed to urinate on people who have troubled you at nightclubs in their effort to enforce rules,  and you attribute it to life stresses  One county fires you and another county hires you, urination and all, and life goes on.

I dont see too many comments on this event here. Yes, British and Australian papers go to town on it,  some manager/president type says this is unacceptable, and some cricket types even make jokes about England getting the pitch ready for the Indians who will visit in the summer.

One now waits to see  how the latest craze takes root in India.

Up to now, folks urinated in public because they had no domestic facilities , or they were travelling by road, and in the middle of nowhere, or couldn't wait due to some medical condition, or old age.

I hope things do not come to such a pass, that captains and umpires coming out to inspect pitches, now come wearing masks and gloves.  I can see BCCI and the ICC at loggerheads on the issue of pitch-urinating. There will be accusations of pitch fixing and pitch throwing.  Committees will be appointed.  Chairmen will walk around with stiff upper lips, relaxing them just enough to say "The law will take its course".  Lalit Modi will tweet saying that's why the cheerleaders in T20 always faced the audience.  

Commentators will spend "filler" minutes on television talking about how things were back in their time.

Someone at Stanford or Cambridge will research and present a paper on the "Correlation between positive emotions and voluntary emission of waste products  from a sportsman's body"  or, "Analysis of pitch soil to ascertain intake of banned substances by cricketers" .

Sociologists will do studies on influx of foreign celebratory traditions on the Indian milieu, and trace it back to medeival times or something. 

But we must be grateful for small mercies.  It is just cricketers .

Turns out that a male  elephant,  excretes 13 gallons of urine in a day.  Horses, slightly more tolerable at 4.5 gallons. 

One day,  I will think back to one of our late eminent prime ministers, who practiced, (along with 5 million folks in Germany and 3 million in China) with total unconcern of what people thought, what is called Shivambu Kalpa in Ayurveda.

Treating the pitch of his body, as it were.

He would have simply shaken his head in despair at these sportsmen, , and muttered, "What a waste, what a waste .....!"

So when the last time you helped change a life ?

He was always greatly interested in finding out how he could help folks. Free , on retirement, of the pressures of a daily job, he would enjoy many field trips to places , where there were issues of forestation, water, health etc, and thanks to his lifelong practice of active yoga,  he would confound people by travelling in crowded trains and trekking around , even as he approached his middle eighties.

His wife had passed away earlier, he was getting hard of hearing, and a lot of time was spent in meeting folks who called and came to him for advice on ayurveda, education, and meditation, all his favourite topics. He wrote extensively, and published 3 books. Never one to involve himself in too many material household things( even when his wife was alive) ,  he started giving away stuff from the house with a vengeance.  Some unscrupolous types took advantage of this , and would write fake letters to him asking for help, and he would meet them, sympathize,  and they would return home with some help in cash and kind. 

What this actually masked, is the various issues he helped address on his travels, and visits to places  where some kind of socially relevant work projects were being done. He had a constant exchange of letters happening with many organizations, whom he donated to. Sometimes it was for books and furniture for the village library at his native place in the Kokan, to allow students to come and study there.  Sometimes it was for someone who wanted to get saplings to green a greatly eroded land. Many times, it was for orgnizations that worked in the field of women's upliftment, devdasis,   and maternal and child health, in the internal areas of the country.

Somewhere as he approached 90, strangley for a person who wrote so much by hand, he became so anti-paper, that he went through paper cutting stage,  where he just trashed all kinds of paper to pieces, destroying important documents in the process.  His body called it a day, the mind did not, he became bedridden, and yet continued his various communications. His daughter, who was his caregiver, would now often deal with folks with different persuasions. Some who thought they could still tell fake stories and get help, and some, who were genuinely concerned for him and kept in touch . By and by , she learnt to separate the wheat from the chaff, as he slowly retired into his own wilful world, and often forgot family folks, and spoke of imaginary events.  

Many months later, he passed away on a winter night which had unseasonal showers. His daughter was by his bedside. 

She spent a few days in the empty house , now almost devoid of any kind of paper , with the exception of old books, which he left untouched. Even the family photo albums didnt escape his wrath. The entire thing, to her, was a learning experience , in how a mind and body copes with old age, in the modern age.  It was like he had shredded all the memories, and closed the door with a bang, before he left.

Many months later , she was sorting out the papers, and letters that came pouring in .   Letters received from various folks after they heard about his demise, and she was trying to respond to them.

One such was from an organization that worked with the upliftment of he Devadasis, by helping educate their daughters ,and weaning them away from a certain absorbtion into their maternal profession.  The doctor who ran the organization and helped, wrote back, how the folks were saddened to hear the news, and how they remembered his visits, and his talks , and how he took so much genuine interest.

And how one of the daughters of a Devadasi who he helped educate and empower, now functioned as a tehsildar.        

And it occurred to his daughter, that we make such a fuss and noise over educating our offspring, the choice of professions, the institutes, and yet, we are still in our own safety cocoons, with such comfortable boundary conditions, that we are unable to appreciate what a life changing thing it must have been for the mother of the lady, who slogged with whatever help she got, inspired a daughter to study, and manage a respectful life. 

There are no prizes and awards for either the person who made this possible, or the person who benefitted.

Life goes on.

But how many of us can honestly say today, that we changed a life ?

Revenge of the Termitoidae....

White ants , (known in posh circles as Termitoidae )  and I go back about 25 years.

I mean, really, I had never experienced the havoc caused by white ants  earlier than that.

 In my childhood, there was no pest control happening and/or advertising itself, or chaps coming in masks and pumps with evil smelling liquids.

Possibly, once in a decade or so, someone would shake their had helplessly over some old fabric showing weakness because of some stuff, but by and large, cupboards and trunks often smelt of camphor, neem leaves, and sometimes, even, dried tobacco leaves, in a virulently anti-smoking household.  Certain small creatures were often seen in the house, darting on walls, feasting on insects that came in the rain, and we were too busy with our lives to stand, shiver  and do a fashionable "Ewwww" every now and then.

25 years ago, we shifted to a house on a lake front. No , we didn't come up in the world by leaps and bounds, but the employer allocated this house to us. The untended jungle around us, the sparse traffic, and  other favourable conditions, occasionally enabled house visits by small snakes, rats , mongooses, squirrels, red , white, and large ants, and yes, the surreptitious white ants. I first noticed them as black lines, that grew longer and ominous, and climbed walls, and corners of wood cupboards.

We shifted two decades ago to a multi storied complex, thinking we had seen the last of them.  For a while I believed that.

Then 4 years ago, when they painted all the apartments in the building, we noticed that while the larger creatures had gone on to greener pastures, the white ants had found us again. This time due to monsoon leakage in walls, and the ensuing dampness.  Various books from our old collection now assumed a lace like appearance, several clothes got destroyed, but the worst was when the ants managed to eat up plastic covers, and eat off 80% of some bank receipts. The ensuing saga of taking the disintegrating papers to the bank, folks there rushing to see it all, and the process of getting duplicated issued resulted in a post here.

We asked for, then,  and got the white ants treatment done .

Last month, I noticed the creatures had returned, and were brazening it out fearlessly on various walls and corners , particularly where there was leakage. Some had managed to invade inside metal cupboards, and in an  attitude of persistence that could teach our municipal authorities a thing or two about how to keep  filling the potholes non stop, also managed to reach inside plastic bags.

Maybe the white ants were evolving. Maybe their DNA was getting methylated resulting in white ant offspring with better capabilities.  I would notice an entire stick like protrusion of white ants, sticking out above a door, into the air, like a jetté of a ballet dancer, in a cantilever manner. When I removed it, it would return with renewed anger a few centimetres away.   

And so , this time, they organized a building wide anti white ants and pest control campaign.  We spent days and hours clearing out stuff so the treatment could reach into every nook and white ant infested corner.

(Kind of reminded me of anti corruption crusades. The measures announced to wipe out the corrupt types. New rules made for folks to turn themselves in.  For a while you think it works, And then you are back to where you started. )

The only difference was , this time, I too had evolved. My tailbone vertebrae  which occasionally bothered me with pain earlier were , like the white ants, back in full pain, and I wore a back belt in my upright moments, to fool the vertebrae into thinking I was giving them rest. (I almost wrote "black belt" here. So much for misplaced confidence  :-)    )

The pest control/white ants fellows arrived in fancy orange uniforms and masks. The  chaps helped me move some heavy cupboards and stuff away from walls, where they would drill holes every one foot along all walls, and then inject medicine into these holes. They would also spray stuff copiously where required, and in places where drilling  holes was not possible.

I sat reading the paper in the living room amidst the drilling and pervading smells, attending to someone who came from the Establishment Health office to check.  Then I heard someone call out to me asking me about something in one of the inside rooms.

As is my wont, I rushed  to see what they needed.

And slipped hard in a pool of water that had developed along the corridor wall.  I am a veteran of falls , so to say, but this was different. I never ever vocally express my anguish during a fall. But this time was different. Maybe it was the belted back vertebrae, and the kept-in-check ligaments and tendons. And the entire uniformed lot rushed in response to an anguished shout, as they saw me collapse into what can be only described as a voluminous person performing a split;  the sort they do with so much ease , without making a noise , on all these dance reality shows.

No. This was not a case of anyone being careless. Turns out that  somewhere along the corridor, pumping of the meds into the drilled hole, got and entire colony of ants inside the wall into a dither, and they poured out of the hole  along with the pumped in liquid . 

I unknowingly stepped into the ensuing pool and performed this amazing split.

Like I said, the white ants have evolved. They are also greatly united .

Maybe they have now developed an improved tiny cerebral cortex, and can  now think.

In a united manner against an old adversary. Me.

Clearly, this has been their great revenge. 

But , one always learns something from one's misfortunes.

 And I actually, amazingly, (with apologies to the downstairs neighbors for sudden thumps on their ceiling), learned to do the split !

 




  

Review of "Land of the Seven Rivers" by Sanjeev Sanyal.

I received a copy of " Land of the Seven Rivers "   Penguin India (12 November 2012) by Sanjeev Sanyal  for  review, from Team ThinkWhyNot.  

When I went to school in the late 50's and sixties, History and Geography, bundled as "Social Studies"   was never my favourite subject. One was all about  dates, wars, dealing with duplicate names, and by-hearting what they did when they were not fighting;  the other was all about  latitudes, longitudes, climates, mountains, origins of rivers, and oceans , without specifying continuities and human linkages. 

But the complete title of this book , ie "Land of the Seven Rivers: A Brief History of India's Geography" intrigued me.  

And it turns out , that this is really a  History/Geography of India , as if the people mattered.....

The Sapta-Sindhu region, communities that sprung up around the course of the Saraswati river; slow tectonic changes that nudged the country we know as India, to its current position, thanks to a drifting of continents, and slowly blocked paths of rivers like Saraswati, that essentially faded away underground.  Migrations of people affected by this. Archaeological findings  of the Harappan ages, that tell us  of communities  that had a fairly ordered supervised existence.   The author  suggests that what we call the Vedic times, when the Vedas were being documented, are not just speculative stories, and there is enough to suggest that it might have something to do with the Harappans.  

The epics  like Ramayana and the Mahabharata appear to be linked to the subsequent development of the fertile Indo-gangetic area, and the  movement of the populace across it, thanks to centres of learning happening in Takshila and Nalanda at the two ends and the eventual appearance of the west-east Uttara  Path and north-south Dakshina Path, along which the Mahabharata and Ramayana stories proceeded.  Attackers, conquerors, of various dynasties, with various proclivities, some who destroyed and some who built, and even some who renounced; some with a sense of history, and some with an exaggerated sense of self.  The monuments that appeared across the geography to immortalize the history.  Motifs, symbols, and inscriptions, that carry themselves across ages.  The appearance of religion and those who promoted and or followed it.

The book ranges across  thousands of years, from the Vedic Ages to the present, tracing  community life, commerce,  interactions with foreign visitors,  power centres, even speculating on the symbolic and actual significance of animals like cows, horses, elephants, tigers, lions and so on, through the ages. 

Yes , it follows through with the arrival of various foreign folks who sailed the seas and ended up settling down in our country.  First to trade, and slowly to rule.   The author has a special interest in studying how our cities developed, and their individual ethos as a result of their history. 

The latter part of the book describes the post 1857  era, when everything took on political power hungry overtones.  How certain developmental activities done by the British, like railways, were actually  a result of  Northern states of the US blockading the southern states of the US , blocking raw cotton for British mills,  the British looking upon India as an alternate source  , and in anticipation, setting up, with the highest priority,  infrastructure like railways and docks . 

 The author also chronicles, changes in mindsets of the populace, results of education (Bombay, Calcutta and Madras Universities set up more than 100 years ago),  and how trains besides lugging export items to docks, also allowed  folks with excellent communication and scholarly  abilities to travel and impart learning and ideas across the country.  Some having to do with the Freedom Struggle.


 What makes this book enjoyable, is the several random nuggets that appear and are answered in a delightful manner .  How did the country acquire the name Bharat ?  Are there similarities in Sanskrit and Persian ?  Does replacing 's' with an  'h' or vice versa,  in the Zoroastrian scriptures  make them more understandable to those knowledgeable in Sanskrit ?  (aside :  Ever wondered why the "namah" of namaskar and namaz, both meaning obeisance sound similar? It is Old Persian-Sanskrit connection).

 Did Robert Clive  really do a thanksgiving Pooja at the Kali Mata temple in Kolkata ( as opposed to a church)  after he won the Battle of Plassey ? How maps and mapping techniques  evolved over time,  and the very scientific but painstaking technique devised by William Lambton  using stars and trigonometry to map distances and directions.  And how he got the assignment thanks to a chap called Arthur Wellesley (who later became the Duke of Wellington and defeated Napolean), who used Lambton's expertise in defining positions to avert a disaster in a war with Tipu Sultan .         

So many maps we see today , originated because this man Lambton lugged a half ton imported theodolite across the country, forests, mountains and beaches  and measured angles and calculated. It even crashed to smithereens once, and was repaired . The project, supposed to be done in 5 years, actually went on for 6 decades. Lambton was succeeded by an equally dedicated Everest, who headed the Trigonometrical Survey of India, and after whom the highest peak of the Himalayas was named by his assistant.      

 This book  is a chronicle of how  we have developed as a people and a country. Given the amazing, dynamically  changing physical, social, and political boundary conditions, where we seek solutions .  It is a chronicle of how earth movements, water bodies,  mountain barriers, extensive green covers,  and human ambitions  and endeavours,  have played a great part in making us what we are today.

Which is really what history and geography is all about.

This is not  a book that fits into an academically defined straitjacket, that has fixed definitions for History and  Geography .    It is not a book that makes you avidly flick pages surreptitiously to learn the ending . It is a book, you enjoy over several days, thinking about what you just read,  sometimes wondering, smiling in delight, sometimes telling someone about it, sometimes frowning, and sometimes telling yourself, "ah ! I didn't know that !"......     

One marvels at the stupendous research  conducted by the author.  The wide spectrum across which the book ranges boggles the mind. Contrary to what some might think,  one enjoys the personal interjections of the author, giving his impressions from various visits to places.  There is a sense of openness and urgency to imparting information throughout the book.  You sense the movement of time.    

 So much more can be written about this book. But that will be another book :-)

 And so  it may simply be advisable to read Sanyal's book.   

And speaking of the just mentioned water bodies ....  aren't we as a country, really like an ancient sturdy tree,  with its roots deep into Sarswatical deep ground waters,  growing through the ages, branching out and flowering in the directions where light is forthcoming, sheltering  various populations, who hang on and survive a la Darwin ?   Some creatures like the birds, bees, and butterflies, enhance our living,  some  like the Simian ones, are a bit of a rough life, causing destruction at times,  some branches fall off, leaves wither, but there is new sap coming up and disseminating through the strong trunk, and there are newer branches, and newer leaves.  At all times, fruiting happens, life evolves, and there are seasons  of warm celebrations, torrential rains, biting fearful colds, somehow all leading to some sunny summers......     

     



 

 

Olfactory Me.

I was born with what folks then politely  described as a snub nose , and for the first few years of my life, my late paternal grandfather  gave me a Marathi nickname (नकटी ) that highlighted this feature.  Consequently , in an amazing display of nostrils-over-nature, I fine tuned my olfactory abilities and have been deeply smelling al manner of things things ever since;   like,  trouble, opportunity, wonderful aromas, fragrances, and even stuff you wouldn't wish on your worst enemy.

More than half a century of living has you wondering.

My earliest smells, have to do with hot copper boilers, coal,wood, steaming water, and  ambehaldi smells.  We had a traditional copper boiler which worked on coal, and there was this fragrance that was a compounding of fire, water, copper, hot shahabad stone and ambehaldi with milk. Sometimes compounded with shikekai scrubs.

Then there was the smell of tur dal which had just cooked to perfection.  and you impatiently inhaled the rich aroma as you waited for the rice, the ghee, and the squeeze of a lemon.

Jasmine, champa and mogra fragrances intermingling with mild agarbattis and lit lamps in the little puja corner of the  just mopped, slightly still wet  floor of  one of the inner rooms in the house .

Spicy bossy flavors that transcended floors and wafted down to the garden were those that prompted folks to ask if we were pounding garam masala in wilambit taal,  or grinding roasted horse gram (kuleeth, a Kokan food).  These were comfort smells  and still remain so.  Along with scintillating aromas of garlic , hing and methi participating in the most amazing tadkas of all time. And let's not forget the smells of butter being made into ghee wafting across the house.

I could go on and on .     

I did.    :-)

I went to the US to study after college.  And learned that houses did not smell of  biryanis and tadkas, but like a summery spring that happened in the midst of the harshest winter. When you went to some one's for dinner you couldn't guess the menu, thanks to "sprays".  To me, everything was like they showed in the movies, spic and span and smelling of roses.   And those visiting my shared apartment always rushed to look inside the pot to see what was smelling so good thanks  to my spray-disabled state..  

I do realize that all smells do not emanate from kitchens. There are unpleasant smells, and some simply need to be masked by something better. 

That is why hospitals smell different. To remove the smell of disease. 

Corporate offices smell different. Possibly to hide the smell of big money.  

There are Ambi Pur sprays and things available in various scents where you can pretend you are enjoying  New Zealand Springs, Pacific Air,  Vanilla Bouquets, or in a Lavender Spa  amidst Hawaiian flowers, or even pining for Thai Dragon Fruit and so on.  

The smartness is in knowing to know when you need to use these. 

I learned it by accident. 

Our new car, (bought after 38 years of an old faithful  going geriatric on us and relocating somewhere else for research),  one fine day simply didn't start, when I turned the ignition .  I had just bought vegetables the previous day .  Things were working fine then.  Investigations revealed that rats, who think our building garden is wonderful, actually thought the car was better. They squeezed in and feasted on some electric cables.  The mechanics, in the time trusted Juggad tradition,  did the connections again , and advised us to keep tobacco pouches all over the car, along the wiring , to keep the rats away.  While doing the work, the mechanics yanked the rear seat , and while putting it back , probably left a gap where the seat belts should have emerged but now actually didn't.  

A few days later, it became impossible to sit inside, not due to the  anticipated but strangely non existent hot tobacco smell,  but, thanks to some really bad rotting smell.  It turned out that a small cabbage had fallen out of the bag, earlier in the trunk, and simply gone bad in the heat and suffocation of the trunk. Thanks to the gap in the rear seat, we were the beneficiaries of the terrible smell.   

At this point it must be mentioned that the daughter is a standing example of animate objects that exude fragrances thanks to various cosmetic sprays, and every time she traverses your path you get a whiff of something. She is hugely interested in the various Ambi Pur fragrances available for non-personal spraying.  She was inordinately interested in the  piece that I received in the post,  and promptly installed it on the air vent in the dashboard of the car.  A few drives around the place with windows open, and the car became usable again, without having to hold your breath.    

So yes, life in the car is tolerable again.  But for the times that one is on two legs instead of four wheels,  in the innards of the house,  I would like to give suggestions to the Ambi Pur folks  regarding fragrances and aromas.  

The aroma of Ginger and lemon that might encourage the cilia in the nostrils to e-tickle your taste buds;  a whiff of roasted Ajwain  to settle your stomach;   a hint of  elaichi and nutmeg  for special days to honor the environment in which shrikhand is being greatly relished.  

I wonder if the aroma of new books can be bottled   Or how difficult it is to capture the aroma of  a baby being given a traditional Indian style bath , oils, medicinal seeds thrown on charcoal embers to create inhalable smoke. Or the fragrance of a lap of a mother, complete with palloos  hinting  about a just imbibed meal.    Or the combined smell of a baby, milk and talcum powder. 

I am sure the Ambi Pur folks are listening. 

In the meanwhile, if you think of a sprint race between the various aromas , say, lavender, jasmine, pacific air, New Zealand spring, Hawaiian flowers,  rose, sandalwood,  garden fresh , and say, that of fragrant Hyderabad biryani happening in some one's house,  all I can say , is , that , the last one will be the Usain Bolt of it all......   

Just saying....

P. S. If the Ambi Pur people ever come up with Tobacco aroma stuff you can leave  in the  car internals, do remember that you heard it here first.




Submitted as an entry to the Indiblogger  AmbiPur Smelly to Smiley Contest.