The road much travelled .....

(Reposted)

I've just been reading this post by GB. And recalling some things from approximately 30 years ago. Was going to comment there, but it actually bloomed into a post in the mind.  And I realized that when she spoke about her childhood/babyhood, she was talking about the time when my kids were very small. 

This was when my son was about 15-16 months old.  We had our old faithful Fiat, with proper 1 piece seats in the front and back, that lent themselves to optimum use of space. Bucket seats were not in fashion.  This facility was mostly abused by assorted people piling in, sitting on laps, squeezed into corners and so on. Seat belts and stuff had not appeared on the scene as yet.  Airconditioning was what industrialists, ministers and film stars had,  nothing could beat breezing along on the erstwhile highway with the windows down , messing up  your hair,  and  the smells changed from rural to posh as you forged south.

  And there was no concept of suddenly inflating airbags. When anyone mentioned airbags, I naturally thought of bags they provided in airplanes, in case you wanted to throw up;  though I have yet to see anyone in a plane, domestic or international, throwing up like that. Never mind.

My son loved to travel in the car, and since he was so little, naturally, he had to stand on the front seat to be able to see out of the windscreen.  His father was away on assignment, and consequent to me being the unavoidable driver of choice, I developed the habit of flinging out my left arm (we have right hand drive cars in India) in a Bharat Natyam style pose, whenever I braked, to stop my son from kind of toppling over in front of the seat, into the gap between the seat and glove compartment.  At all other times, my son stood on the seat, both hands resting on the sides, on top of the seat, leaning back, and generally observing the world as it drove, cycled, walked, and screeched all around him, sometimes dodging cows, which he thought was wildly entertaining..

We once had  to take some English friend of my husband into the city, as he had some work at a bank there as well as wished to shop for handicrafts and so on.  From where we stay, on a good day (for driving, that is) this is a one hour drive.  The friend, J, sat in the front, with me driving, and my son , in his usual position, but now with one hand on J's shoulder, and J sort of holding him,without making him feel so, and two local friends accompanied us.

  Once we passed the causeway at Mahim , the highway driving , relatively fast and smooth, was over, and it was city driving all the way. Never, at the best of times, a science, Mumbai driving, is actually an art. You kind of surge ahead, overtake folks, then some guy gets offended, and itches to overtake you. Some taxi drivers, take random turns from random lanes, and you need to anticipate them. All drivers are guilty until proven innocent.  Those cars with chauffeurs (with folks in the rear seat reading papers, and/or in chiffons), got extra  special  dirty looks.

Our friend J, grew noticeably quiet as he observed me overtaking, gesticulating and glaring at taxi drivers, overtaking buses (because I knew where they would stop for passengers), and honking (sometimes in anger, sometimes to tell someone their door was not properly closed).  The quick darting around in lanes at signals, to be the first to take off when the lights changed;  being helpful to folks who rolled down the glass to ask directions from another car on the road, and trying to avoid, pedestrians trying to cross the road on a priority basis;  I don't think J heard any of the running commentary he was getting regarding the various landmarks we were passing. Two friends, sitting in the back seat, thought this was all terribly normal and boring.   

Flora Fountain, in the heart of the downtown city was still a huge elliptic roundabout, in the centre of which was a great sculpture named as the Martyrs Memorial.  Just saying.

We were in the thick on things, with taxis, double decker lumbering buses, vans and stuff, all impatiently trying to forge ahead around the circle, so they they could get on with life, when something in front of us, suddenly stopped. I braked hard. My son, fell on J's lap, knocking his specs out, which promptly fell out of the open window on to the oncoming traffic. Before anyone could react, a revving doubledecker bus, came charging up, and drove over it.

That wasn't all.  Traffic was a bit slow in the next lane after that impatient bus, and one of our friends from the back seat, quickly darted out, dashed to pick up the specs, and dashed back inside. This whole thing, that happened in a split second, was watched admiringly and avidly by various folks in buses that were stationary, and folks in other cars.

I expected the glasses to be  crushed to smithereens. They were not. The bus tyres had not made contact with the glasses. The lenses showed a crack somewhere. You could still wear them in a useful manner,  if you didn't mind looking through cracks.

J was still stunned. The whole thing was like a slapstick movie. The son simply thought it was one of those days, and struggled to stand up again, so he could see what all the fuss was about.

"Do you have a written copy of the prescription ?" I asked J.

" I do. In my wallet. But I also have a spare set of glasses in the suitcase back at the house. "  J, still shaken up.  

There is a famous optician right there in the circle at Flora Fountain. We parked. J got out of the car, in the manner of a seafarer trying to find his land legs. The son clambered out with him, as I got off from the other side. Our friends too joined us. J came around the car, stood in front of me, and shook my hand, for a decently prolonged time.  (I've seen our PM and that of Pakistan do that for the benefit of the press, each one trying to extract his hand but not willing to be the first.)

J's gesture was more heartfelt and real. He was congratulating me for driving through all this and still appearing in one piece.  We went over to the optician, who as a special request, agreed to do his lenses by the evening, so we could pick them up on the way home.

The trip home was rather uneventful, to say the least. Those were not days of traffic jams, where you could not manoeuvre the vehicle anyway, and unlike today four lanes were still four lanes, and didn't miraculously become seven.

We drove back , the son still in his usual pose, held on to by J.  The son had become fond of J,   and some time just before we reached home, kind of leaned across him and fell asleep in his lap.

Everyone was tired, with the days excitement and the traipsing around for the shopping. Just for variety, we took a longish diversion and drove J by the Juhu beach area, to show him a different Mumbai.

He saw, he enjoyed,  and we all had some great chats; but with the window on his side firmly up.  

Today, children have car seats, cars have AC, seat belts are mandatory, most cars have bucket seats, that discourage the sort of piling on into the car that we did in our younger days, and people sit sedately behind closed windows. I hear , in the US, the kids in car seats sit facing backwards.  

The cars now have hazard lights (which , for some reason, people put on while going through tunnels).

I was just thinking, that if J had his way, he would have asked me to put the hazard lights on all the time while driving in Mumbai ..... 

P. S. Just to preempt mean commenters who might be itching to comment about lady drivers, I have been driving for the last 42 years, in places as diverse as Pune, Mumbai, Los Angeles, Wisconsin, SFO, and no cop has had any reason to seriously tangle   with me. So.

This entry is a part of the contest at BlogAdda.com in association with imlee.com

The R1 Mumbai Grand Prix...(edited to add dog)

The papers are full of the Buddh F1 circuit in Gurgaon (Delhi region) , where all those single seater, low-slung, excessively powerful, gas guzzling fancy F1 cars are expected to make a massive noise and drive (people and ) themselves round various dangerous bends,  while tons of folks with nothing else to do , crowd the stands and scream away , all the while knowing that nobody can hear them anyway.

The name is a bit intriguing, as if someone had to deal with Mayawati while deciding the name. I mean it might have been , either the statues or the name of her choice, or even both. Maybe the statues come later. The only F1 circuit in the world with statues, clutching handbags, with fancy champion car racers buzzing around in full racing  regalia  at their feet.

The company who owns the thing says "the name is derived from the word Buddha, and represents peace and calm.The Buddh International circuit logo consists of a ‘B’ which also resembles a heart".  A fine example of bad naming choices , bad sporting choices (peace and calm ?), and even erroneous anatomy .  If I were a heart, I would be mortified.  

The television channels keep hyping inaugural events where guys , who should be actually wearing mechanic overalls and lying beneath cars, walk the fashion ramp, helmets in hand (like captains of industry carrying briefcases) , accompanied by two dimensional models  wearing something akin  to shorts and saree blouses , holding aloft a flag with the name of the driver.  All this while folks sit around sipping outrageously priced drinks at tables, and applaud, in even fancier clothes. And I hear, that another apparition called the Gaga lady is coming to dance/sing/ or both to celebrate .

That driving cars mindlessly round and round an obstacle course, occasionally careening into others, and suddenly changing lanes to block someone coming in from behind, occasionally colliding in a ball of fire and metal,  can be classified as a sport is totally incomprehensible to my  middle class mind.

I can see why someone who excels at producing liquor, running airlines, having so called world class ostentatious parties, and creating Kingfisher Calendars of the ogling type, and is even an MP, would be a patron of such capital-intensive activity.  The Indian Olympic Association, which still cannot organize pre Olympic training camps with decent infrastructure for slogging athletes,  has meetings with Bernie Ecclestone, who for some reason thinks India needs F1 Grand Prix. They sign agreements, acquire land from farmers in the Indo Gangetic fertile plains, for the F1 Circuit, and construct the set up.  Just like that. No farmers' agitation, no Rahul Gandhi visits, no pointing fingers and saying F1  is being supported by communal forces , and so on ?

I have a dumb question.

I mean the government increases the price of gas , five times in one year, citing International oil prices.  The airline owned by the aforementioned high profile partying industrial baron, is refused fuelling at New Delhi , because they have unpaid balances running into millions and flights are cancelled.

How is it a profitable activity, and just who makes a profit in this entire exercise in F1 racing, other than , say, the 5 star hotels, and TV channels (from their sponsors)?  Isn't gas for these so called racing cars paid for by someone ?  What are the car companies trying to prove to the ordinary man on the street (whose dream to buy a car now goes further and further away ) ?  Are the so called 10,000 ordinary non-specialized infrastructure jobs that F1 us  supposed create enough of an incentive ?

With powerful invisible backers , land is acquired , just like that,  for F1, while just outside our gate , the entire major Mumbai  east-west arterial road has a permanent bottleneck because the government is unable to re-situate a Hanuman temple, partially for religious, and mostly for vote-bank reasons.  The road authority and the railways  keep disagreeing about a rail overbridge, which should have been built years ago, but now functions to create extreme traffic jams, trying to compress 6 lanes into 1. Every single day.

I wish the liquor baron would donate  some money and expertise to our Mumbai roads. And repairs. We can even name the road after someone he admires. Or him.  I wish another industry biggie, worlds 4th richest, etc,  who recently built a 27 floor building for his family of 5,  (and still hasnt moved in, leaving it empty),  would use his clout and available state of the art expertise  in creating towns, to help construct some much needed bridges across the eastern Bay , and yes , we would be delighted to name it after his ancestor, to whom this city  gifted so much success .

It's all very easy for fancy folks with European names, to sink deeper into their racing contraptions and do numerous noisy rounds on super smooth roads with super accurate banking on the various turns.

  I'd love it if Michael Shumacher came to Mumbai and drove.  Say, from the airport to his great friend - Sachin Tendulkar's house in Bandra(West). I'd love to see him handle the potholes, the invisible speed breakers uniquely augmented by the locals, and occasional wandering set of cows.  Though the entire idea of Schumacher looking up from his contraption into the heavy lidded eyes of a cow chewing the cud nonchalantly  is quite enchanting....

Yes, and the rickshaws.  With drivers who think of turning left from the rightmost lane, or vice versa. Who think nothing of sidling up to another rickshaw driving on the road, and kind of talking with the driver, simply because you know the guy from your native village, and to hell with all the folks honking behind. Which actually begs a question . Do these F1 contraptions have horns ? Or do they have sirens ?  And would anyone actually hear anything ?

I hear the F1 types once considered Mumbai . Till 2004.  Maybe the F1 people have abandoned Mumbai for a reason.  And it isn't the political parties, or traffic woes, or permanently happening metro construction.

You see, we have our own R1 Grand Prix.   The Rickshaw Grand Prix, conducted at the Hiranandani Hakone Go Kart track, in Northeast Mumbai.  They don't have stands, and people simply stand around and clap and shout and encourage the drivers, racing around on 3 wheels. They probably get cash prizes,  which they use to get some serious long standing repairs done, later.   They sport no logos, as such, but enjoy wearing certain Tees to celebrate the specific occasion. You probably wont see too many girls in the race-watchers audience, overly or skimpily dressed, and showing attitude.  And the post-race parties are all about going home to some congested area, being patted on the back by neighbor folks, and treating your friends to a great home cooked meal, prepared  with great enthusiasm by the rest of the family.....

You see , most rickshaw drivers do not own their vehicles, they drive it for an owner who partakes a certain minimum amount from their  daily income. They pay the owner. Unlike F1, where the car companies probably pay the "drivers" to race around in their contraptions, on specially made roads, and even party later for publicity.... 

Whether you like it nor not, TV news is going to be full of F1 stuff, whether anyone understands it or not.  I'm sure, some stray dog or cow will certainly find its way at some point on to the Buddh track. (If it hasn't already).

(Edited to add :  The dog prediction came true . See  this  news report in the Economic times. Stay tuned for the cow :-)........)

I'd love to see some Vettel, Massa or Schumacher dodge that in style. And I don't mean , "bang into that", while looking up through an half open eyelid , covered by a helmet, in the inner recesses of an fancy F1 contraption.

In the meanwhile, have a look at the R1 Grand Prix below :
   

Irene and I

I am sitting here , dry at home, at the desktop, the curtain billowing into my face, and sky is getting more and more ominous. This weekend in Mumbai, has been of nonstop lashings of rain, combined with winds.

Naturally, despite low pressures and depressions or whatever, that build over the Arabian Sea, there was no agency telling us to expect this onslaught over the weekend, and still continuing. Without fail, every time, someone appears in the papers, after the stuff has begun, to say how this is due to some low pressure bands, or winds or whatever. Which doesnt help anyone planning to travel and so on. I know at least one family which was travelling to Goa this weekend, and must be in the thick of this right now.

And those of us in Mumbai, simply continue to go to work, get totally wet standing at bus-stops trying to ensure the umbrellas do not suddenly turn turtle. Some cars, with fellows sitting inside agonizing about the stock market in the newspaper, careen by, splashing the potholed water on school uniforms, sarees, and wash-and-wear trousers.

And you stand in a bus, and don't say a word, as your neighbor transfers his umbrella to the other hand, thereby dripping water on you; he needs to access his wallet in his pocket, buy a ticket, and it will be his turn next to enjoy a dripping umbrella , when you buy yours.

Our trains continue to trundle , overloaded with those that make Mumbai what it is , till it looks like a river flows ahead in its path. Then they stop. Between stations. Ever resourceful, the folks inside jump out, helping women out of their compartment, and start trudging along the tracks, umbrellas open, hands chained to the next person, so as to not be surprised by sudden gaps in the ground beneath the swirling waters on the rails..

Mumbai's buses, those hardy bulwarks , sneeze their exhaust, and chug around, chock a block with passengers, giving a new meaning to the word "space"; there is always room for a few more... Once in a while, it all becomes too much while traversing a misjudged pothole , and the bus stops, at an angle, unable to continue. Traffic swirls around it, passengers rush to other buses, stand out in the rain, and life continues.

Papers are now full of how "repaired and filled potholes", are once again remaining true to their original name; how pedestrians walkways are flooded, how we must be careful of flooded areas, because of the city's trash floating in it, and like every year, hospitals give statistics on the latest likely epidemics, based on the patients they are seeing.

And then I read all about "Irene", the hurricane calamity befalling the eastern seaboard of the US. Days before it is supposed to appear, it is all over the papers and on TV, the citizenry residing in the likely towns in its path, rushes out to hoard water, provisions, batteries, groceries, and whatever else. Television weather folks continuously track the advent of Irene, every twist, turn, and deviation in the path; not to mention sudden losses of strength. Timelines, indicate when to expect Irene where, as if she is Barack Obama on an official trip.

People are ordered to evacuate, kept away from beaches, signs on highways and freeways in Irene's path, flash messages about the approaching hurricane, urging folks to reach somewhere safe.

I just heard about New York's Grand Central Station being emptied, as trains are cancelled and stopped. Flights are cancelled .

And there are minute to minute updates , the most amazing one I read , that says, Irene is supposed to arrive someplace in 20 minutes. I mean, for someone who is actually subject to what is called Indian Stretchable Time (instead of the official Indian Standard Time), scheduling Irene right down to the minute is a bit too much. Such a prediction here in Mumbai would be impossible and infeasible. The most they would have said here , is that the landfall would happen tomorrow. And even then nobody would have believed them .


I can actually picture some mother in Queens, Long Island, rushing home from somewhere with her kids, turning into her garage with the click of the wireless garage door opener, clicking it shut, and then hearing the whoosh and bang of the rain outside, as Irene arrives, on schedule.

There are folks on Facebook giving brief entries about the Irene happenings in their areas.

In amazing Mumbai style, there is a picture of water cascading down the steps leading down to some New York area subway station. Then there are photos of people in boats on what were formerly roads in New York. There has been a huge amount of hype about the coming of Hurricane Irene, and everyone is mobilized, with offices shut, schools closed, semester openings postponed, people getting updates on Twitter, and President Obama sitting in at the Hurricane Headquarters . ( I actually saw a photo on the Net, and even wondered how he would get back to the White House, in case the hurricane struck while he was there. But I guess he follows and believes the weather folks there; I guess , he will reach back before Irene reaches the capital).

Someone in the weather bureau announces, that Irene is now being downgraded to a tropical storm , because it is, presumably behaving less angry.

I am just amazed Irene listens and behaves exactly as they are saying.

I don't know why they name hurricanes as they do in the US. First Katrina. Now Irene.

If this was India, I guess Kareena would be jealous.

If they do name storms and stuff in India, only the weather folks here know about it. I don't think they get time to prepare a name. Its like a baby arriving way before it is scheduled. Or maybe they prepare a name and it's a false alarm.

But if they did, it would possibly named after a politician. Seemingly powerful, with a one track ambition of running roughshod over everything, to advance in its own path; misleading folks; causing a lot of damage to everyday ordinary folks, who actually voted for him.


Somewhere, Irene has finished her walk on the eastern carpet.

We carry on. Depressions, storms, cyclones, hurricanes and what have you. Nothing stops us.

And so , this morning, on a Sunday, a young girl, cycling in the rain and howling wind, to teach swimming to kids at dawn, at a neighboring facility, returns home, drenched in pouring rain, dripping , and doesn't think it's anything special.


She changes into dry clothes, zooms in on a hot breakfast, clutches her comfortably hot coffee cup, and says, "You know that blogger friend of yours who runs marathons ? I saw him running in the rain this morning as I was cycling by......."

( I am sure my blogger friend doesn't think he is doing anything special too.)


As Irene takes a deep breath and quietens down, somewhere else, nothing has changed.

The world goes on.

Ups and Downs in Mumbai

I've been trying to think of how to solve the pothole problem on Mumbai roads. It is also eminently clear that the Mumbai I am referring to is predominantly the northwestern, northeastern, northern and a bit of the Central suburbs.

South Mumbai, like the favoured queen , in the old one-king-multi-queen-one favorite queen-all-others-demoted stories of my childhood, gets its cosmetic and civil engineering come-uppance at the slightest perturbation noticed by the powers that be. The favoured Queen, even has a necklace named after her, Marine Drive, and a slight crack on its face, has the authorities rushing with corrective action and funds.

I lived in those parts till the mid seventies. And I never ever felt like commenting on the roads. Shifting to the northern suburbs, and later commuting to the city for work for a few years, is something my lumbar vertebrae cannot forget. Growing construction, new roads, the same old rain, but an additional new feature, the potholes. Watch !



As reported by Clara Lewis/TNN, the Municipal Corporation has budgeted more than Rs 3,600 crore on improving roads in the last decade. But Mumbai’s road surface still peels off every monsoon. So where does all the money go?

Certainly, to contractors who are responsible for upkeep of roads. Contractors, of course, spend some of the money on mending roads but often do it so creatively, that they need to be called back again after a few months. But contractors do not get to pocket all the money they save; a part of this money has to be funnelled to a section of politicians and officials who decide municipal contracts. The budget is approved by the standing committee, which often makes changes in the way money will be spent. “Contractors often tell standing committee members where the money should be deployed and last-minute changes are done according to their wishes,’’ a standing committee member said.

I have now come to the conclusion that no amount of fancy concrete mixtures, imported road machines, and municipal whistle blowers can solve this problem.

One needs to look for a out-of-the-err....-pothole solution .


My moment-of-revelation happened, in the early part of this century, when the President of India was to preside over the convocation(commencement) ceremony at the Institute on whose campus I reside. By tradition this is always in August, in the midst of rains, which have been around from June. Those days, I had occasion to travel daily to the western suburbs and return in the evenings by bus, and between the pouring rain above, the leaking waterdrops in the bus, and deep extensive potholes on the road, the only thing that kept us from getting hurt as the bus tilted in a pothole, was the human shock absorbers packed cheek by jowl in the bus.

Two days before the great event, there was massive police and municipal presence on the roads, there was the terrible stench of tar and bitumen, as road rollers, and road workers with shovels hindered the bus speed even more. The potholes were being filled on a war footing. The President of a country cannot be subject to potholes , bumps, and dips, and so the road condition was made as smooth and exemplary.

2-3 rainy days after the event, returning home one evening, I banged my head on the bus ceiling (I was standing in the aisle) as the bus went through a newly created pothole, which had probably forgotten all about the President, now that the repair staff and police had vamoosed.


And so now I have a solution.


Shift the residences of ministers to the suburbs. Currently, they stay in sprawling mansions in South Mumbai, with gardens trailing into the sea. Bang in the middle of a Northern suburb we have a huge green area (Aarey Milk Colony) , where the Government dairy is, and the government has seen it fit to rent/lease out areas of this to film studios. The massive acreage is hugely wooded, and has excellent infrastructure of motorable roads inside, where buses also ply. The government could construct sylvan villas for its ministers here, using ecofriendly materials. Those wanting to maintain cows and buffaloes of their own , would be encouraged, and there would be no risk of a fodder scam à la Bihar state, because there would be so much fodder naturally around.

There has been a precedent for such uneconomical shifting. The British functioned from Shimla in the North in the summer, to keep away from the Delhi summer heat, and the Viceroy even had a separate summer lodge built there. The Maharashtra state legislature, shifts lock,stock,barrel, and secrets, to Nagpur (in Central India) in the winter, to conduct the winter session away from Mumbai, though I think this is done to improve the quality of Nagpur roads on a yearly basis.

So shifting ministers to the Aarey Colony sylvan surroundings ( gurgling brooks, salubrious breezes, wildlife, with an occasional leopard thrown in for ministerial excitement) should not be difficult. Plenty of parking spaces, and the massive security traffic will ensure that roads will be as smooth as actor Hema Malini's cheeks as she dances in the rain in a Hindi movie. The highways leading from South Mumbai, to the northern suburbs will be attended to an a war footing, police presence will be noticeable.

Very recently the wife of Maharashtra's chief minister, drove to a northern suburb of Malad to inaugurate a exhibition, and spoke out against the road and the traffic as she suffered through the ups and downs. Think of what will happen if a whole bunch of ministers wives, travelling to South Mumbai for social events , get cheesed off and speak out against roads and traffic.


In the meanwhile, the Mumbai papers are full of citizens like a rickshawalla whose vehicle got stuck in a pothole, and he got injured when the steering handle hit him in the abdomen; he now carries construction rubble in his ricksha, and instantly fills a pothole when he sees it, before crossing it.

A friend of mine , who decided to work (to enhance her technical knowledge) outside campus for a few years on lien from her job (where she walked to work in 10 minutes), developed scoliosis, from excessive abuse of her vertebral column in bus travel over large time periods. I don't even want to imagine what patients in ambulances, and pregnant women have to suffer, as they oscillate through the potholes.



In the meanwhile, South Mumbai, which is currently accustomed to getting the best of everything , before everyone else (remember the story of the multi-wife king, and the favourite queen), might at some point , feel the pinch , and possibly yearn for potholes.


As a special for them only, we offer these pothole stickers. A decent pasting of these across prominent roads in South Mumbai, and the hi-fi folks there can get a taste of how the common suburbanite travels, with all the anxiety, but none of the bumps and bangs.

Is someone (ouch) ,(bump), (aiyyo, my back!) listening ?

Maximum City, Minimum Value

It's happened again.

And nothing has changed.

Politicians queueing up to fly to Mumbai and visit hospitals , for votes and photo-opportunities.

The usual speculations about who did it. By now , even the man in the street can tell who the announced suspects could be. But instead of doing quiet investigations, keeping things close and away from the newsfolks, unneccesary announcements about who did it, every few hours. A free update for the perpetrators on how far they need to escape.

The visit of the Chief Minister of the state to hospitals, followed by a midnight visit from the nation's Home Minister. Accompanied by a posse of police who actually should be somewhere else, augmenting the law and order and investigations in the monsoon city. Both making announcements over television, that could have been actually made by a specified spokesman. MP's from Mumbai giving sanctimonious advice from Delhi over TV. Opposition leaders arriving the next day to show their faces.

Once again, the ordinary man on the street, assorted truckdrivers and car owners, the cab drivers (who planned to strike at midnight (then cancelled that), but ferried the injured to hospitals free of charge), even folks who only owned their two legs (and not much else) and Mumbai citizenry with outstandingly large hearts did their stuff despite those who purport to be in power.

The announcements about which investigative types are flying in from where.

The hopelessly understaffed Mumbai police started their investigations way before the so called national Investigative Agency and National Security Guards platoons got on to planes to be flown from new Delhi and Hyderabad.

So many years on, so many blasts, so many terror strikes, deaths, lifetime life changing injuries, , and the powers that be still do not understand that investigation teams need to be posted in places like Mumbai, not flown in 3 hours later in the throes of a heavy monsoon rain that washes away proofs of the heinous deeds.

There is a sense of deja vu....

I wrote a post when the 2006 train blasts happened.

Amazingly, it looks like every single thing written there looks like it was written for yesterday .

Like I said, Nothing has changed. Except our perception of a PM now hemmed in by politics......

I reproduce that post below. (Published by Indian Express , July 19, 2006, in printline/ed. page)

Resilience in the time of Rudeness

Words have specific meanings. Words like Spirit. Resilience. Coming from the mouths of those whose entire career is based on buying and selling of human votes and emotions, they almost sound like abuse.

For years together, its been a pattern. Grandiose plans are made to safeguard people. Committees with names and unpronounceable acronyms are established. The head of the committee, his prestige doesn't depend on what good work he does, but whether he has a car with a flashing light and a siren, and a police constable hanging on for dear life to the car. Meetings are held. No one talks of any expenditures less than several hundred crores. Lips are licked in anticipation of being designated a supplier of stuff to the office. Networks buzz overtime . Maharashtra asks. The centre reduces, or sometimes, even refuses.

We have heard for years that the police force needs to be augmented . They don't have money for it. Statues in the sea are more important. Statues in parks are even more important. They feel no shame withdrawing police from after-hours duty in the ladies compartment of trains, and putting them on security detail at railway stations, post the blast. Why the security detail could not be drawn from all those politicians who are granted X,Y and Z+ security (for their families as well), is not clear. What is clear is that families of these folks need complicated security, so they can drive and spend relaxing time at the various posh coffee shops and restaurants and malls around town.

Why should a train carrying working women, returning home after a crushing day at the office, not looking forward to a two hour crowded commute, cutting vegetables in the train to save time, be given protection from predating males , who have traumatised and maimed so many women in an about to be empty compartment, in the recent past? These guardians of our law and order , prefer to morally police us. Energy is expended in banning bar dancers, slapping court cases on your political rivals, and basically forgetting the people who put you there in the first place.

The recent blasts in Mumbai, proved all over again, that we don't really need a government in Maharashtra. When the crunch comes, the people of mumbai are absolutely capable of taking care of themselves, and whats more , others. Within an hour of the blast, the various injured were well on their way to hospitals , if not actually already admitted. The "aam janata" came out on to the highways and arterial roads to stop vehicles, and request them to take passengers in their cars, those folks that were stuck miles away from their houses due to the blasts. Entire building societies chipped in with blankets , food stuff and transport; the slum dwellers who may not know if they will have a house next week, ran out with bedsheets for transporting patients, and climbed into the train to extricate the casualties, using whatever little they had at hand. College students returning home, found out that they could help the police control the traffic and keep things a bit more organised.

And people who I cant classify (and wont classify) under any category but saviours, even stood out in the rain handing water bottles, tea, hot snacks , food packets and even simple accommodation , to those people returning home from work, standing for miles together , crushed in a bus, because their train was blown up, and others were stopped; and those unknown folks who stayed on at hospitals , contacting relatives, comforting the hurt till some family member turned up.

They did this in the recent floods, and now the blasts. And they will do it again, because its ingrained. (Readers Digest , please note: one cannot learn this, like eg, saying thank you, wishing others, holding open doors . Some of the folks we are talking about , don't even have a door, forget holding it open. Some get all embarrassed if you say thank you to them, and almost feel insulted. And i cant think of a more useless thing to do than say "Nice day, isn't it?", while hanging on to 5 square inches of an open door in a moving train, trying to avoid torrential rain, or a burning summer day. )

That is what one calls the spirit. Resilience is the ability to keep on showing this spirit, blast after blast, flood after flood, carnage after carnage, one inefficient shameless government after another.

Our so called elected representatives don't need to waste their time passing resolutions in the legislature, when they should actually be amidst the people who elected them , trying to make their lives a bit more tolerable. Announcing Rs 50,000 dole to those injured, and Rs 1 Lakh to those dead , is not the end of the responsibility. The government should ensure that money needed for special medicines for the blast patients is directly paid to the municipal and state hospitals. Relatives of patients shouldn't have to trudge in and out of hospital buying medicines written up by doctors. The Railways, also announce a monetary compensation. I can just see a bunch of unscrupulous ears perking up and hands being rubbed in glee by people who see a great source of income , on the side in all this, ensuring that papers move.

And there needs to be a rule that only the Prime Minister and /or Home minister can come and visit the scene of the catastrophe. Seeing a politician holding your hand, and mouthing inane nothings, has nothing to do in improving your vital signs like heart beat, blood pressure, etc. For them its a photo opportunity. A Khota opportunity , if you really want to know. And all those cars that swish into the hospital porch , supposedly as security detail for the politicians, simply end up splashing monsoon dirt on those waiting outside, not knowing if someone is dead or alive, and what direction their life will take from now on.

So those in power need to stop commenting on Mumbais spirit and resilience. It sounds like a convenient thing in the mouths of the parasitic, moneyvorous people in power. It almost sounds like abuse , from the mouths of those that know not what it really means.

Learn something from the one man, who despite being elected , has never been a politician , and despite being elected by a party, has never really belonged to it.

Dr Manmohan Singh, the PM. Three days after the blast, he and his wife paid a visit to the hospitals . One patient, with one leg and one arm fractured , sat up to salute him. Those with visceral burn injuries tried to give a hint of a smile , so pleased they were to see him. Patients couldn't stop talking about the empathy that radiated from the man and his good wife as they made their rounds, quietly reassuring people, strong and firm. Then he got on television and sent a no nonsense message across the border, with no sparing of words.

Governing in Maharashtra is all about squabbling and power, and talking rot. And , of course , making money . These guys don't deserve an electorate like the people of Mumbai.

Mumbai has the SPIRIT and RESILIENCE despite them.

It will continue to have it, irrespective of blasts, floods, carnages, and moneyvorous politicians.

And never mind those guys who declared us the rudest people on earth.

(Maybe they simply looked at our politicians. Eat you words, Readers digest. ).

Saga of the Wrong Turn !

And hereby hangs a tale of my tangles with the bureaucracy, popularly known as Babudom.

(The photo in the diagram shows the movement on the bridge OVER the LBS Marg )

West



East.

I frequently travel the Eastern Express Highway , and take a left turn to go home over the LBS Marg, an old arterial road over which the new fly-over goes. I have often noticed a signage (as you approach the flyover) there that instructs you to turn right for a place called Mulund. (An inconspicious much smaller blue board, away to one side (right) , asks you to kind of veer leftward for LBS Marg; no mention of where you can go from there )

A normal, non genius, non telepathic human would keep to the right. And be disgusted to find out that there was no right turn on the flyover, and once you crossed over the LBS Marg , Mulund was a gone case.

It occurred to me that someone should indicate that it was necessary to keep left, exit the flyover on to LBS Marg below, and then take a right turn , to go to Mulund (which was how all normal stupid humans went to Mulund in the pre-flyover technologically backward days.).

Without this , a newcomer to this area, would brave the unruly traffic to keep right, and look for a right turn to Mulund that would never come.

And so I took a picture (shown above) and emailed it to the Joint Commissioner of Police(traffic). I reproduce the communications below:

----------------------------------------------me to jcptraffic------

from xxx@gmail.com to jcptraffic@trafficpolicemumbai.org date Mon, Feb 28, 2011 at 4:49 PM subject erroneous directions on important road mailed-by gmail.com

Dear Shri Vivek Phansalkar Sir,

I have lived in this Powai area for the last 33 years, and have occasion to travel home often from the Eastern express Highway turnoff for Kanjurnarg.

While travelling towards Powai, and just before the bridge over LBS Marg at Gandhi Nagar, they have put up very prominent sign saying " Mulund " along with a right arrow.

This is actually a wrong sign and has caused many problems.

This is a misleading sign, that would make motorists think that there is a turning up ahead on the right, and that they should keep right.

In reality, they need to keep in the left most lane and exit left below and before the bridge on LBS Marg , from where they need to take a right turn.

The sign should actually say , "Mulund : keep left, and exit"

I am enclosing a picture of the mislleading sign taken while travelling from the Eastern Express Highway to Powai.

I would be grateful if you could actually travel and see this for yourself, and arrange to rectify the matter at an early date.

Thank you.

---------------------------------------reply from jcptraffic to me----

from Vivek Phansalkar, Joint Commissioner of Police, Traffic jcptraffic@trafficpolicemumbai.org to xxx@gmail.com date Sat, Mar 5, 2011 at 2:03 PM subject Reply to your mail dated 28th Feb, 2011

Dear Mrs.xxx

Thanks for your email.

I've taken note of it and directed my office to do the needful. It will be
communicated to MMRDA/MCGM (agency concerned) to effect necessary changes
in the signages.

regards

Vivek Phansalkar,
Joint Commissioner of Police,
Traffic, Mumbai



-----------------------------------------------ghatkopar police to me --------------------

from pi.traffic.ghatkopar@trafficpolicemumbai.org to xxx cc jcptraffic@trafficpolicemumbai.org date Tue, Jun 14, 2011 at 6:45 PM subject Prominent sign saying “Mulund” along with a right arrow at JVLR Bridge.

Respected Madam,
Kindly refer to your email Dtd. 28/02/2011 with regard to very
prominent sign saying “Mulund” along with a right arrow at
JVLR Bridge.
In this connection it is informed that we persued the matter
to M.S.R.D.C. When Executive Engineer Shri.Pampanvar visited
the site and inspected the Board and cleared that the said
sign is right, because it is presumed that there is “No Right
Turn” after flyover at anywhere.So motorist should keep this
in mind while passing through and also he further cleared that
they clearly mentioned “Use Flyover”below the name
“Jogeshwari”.
So in case of any doubt or complaint you are requested to
contact M.S.R.D.C.
Thanks for your kind co-operation.

Sd/-
P.I.,
Ghatkopar Traffic Chowky,
Mumbai.

--------------------------------------------------my reply-----

This is not acceptable to me. As a taxpayer , I insist on proper signs.

If I am travelling from eastern express Highway to Powai for the first time , how can I presume whether there is a right turn or no ? If I do not know where Mulund is, being a first time driver there, should not there be a guiding sign ? The sign should clearly show a left exit to LBS Marg followed by a right turn towards Mulund. Please let me know how I can contact the concerned person at MSRDC.


If all signs are based on what motorists "presume", why are we not allowed to park anywhere we "presume" across Mumbai ?

Kindly advise.

mrs xxx

-----------------------------------------------------end of head banging frustrated emails---

Questions :

1. What happens if it is a first time visitor to Mumbai, who wants to go to an unknown destination Mulund ?

2. Who presumes ? The MSRDC expert, the police, the MMRDA or the first time visitor who gets an sudden epiphany about Mumbai roads ?

3. "it is clearly mentioned "Use Flyover" for Jogeshwari ".....

Are Mumbai roadsigns only for people who have been around Mumbai before ? Do we have no thought for troubles faced by a person coming into Mumbai for the first time ?

If I am visiting Mumbai for the first time, and dont know where Jogeshwari is with respect to where I need to go, eg Mulund, does it help to suddenly confuse me with other names ? Does this tell me anything about other points west where the flyover may take me , like Andheri, Marol, SEEPZ, Vile Parle etc etc ?

4. Who decides Mumbai signages ? Is there any testing done with signages ? And is the testing necessarily done by someone who is not involved in the signage placement ?

Years ago when I was in IT, it was impressed on us that software testing was done by people other than the people who wrote the software .

This is true regardless of whether you are doing IT, civil construction, or judging a bharatnatyam dance show.

How many more years of communications must I dedicate myself to before someone corrects this ? Given the abyssymal construction quality (recent potholes on highly touted Lalbaug flyover a day after CM inaugurated it; enquiry ordered) of Mumbai roads, can I hope to have this problem rectified in my lifetime ? Unless of course they disable the flyover itself for the usual repairs ?


I am now Googling MSRDC to find out who I must contact there. Any tips welcome.

Stay tuned for the further exciting chapters in the Saga of Wrong Turn !

P. S. Someone mentioned the use of RTI (Right to Information Act) to find out if the folks who designed signage in Mumbai were given any training . If so, where, at what cost, and who were selected for it . If not, why not ?

Why do I want to know ?

I pay Municipal tax, enhanced gas prices 5 times a year (eg this year), consume unjustified extra gas because of traffic hold ups due to unclear signage, not to mention massive wear and tear on the vehicle due to the totally unsatisfactory performance of road repairs department.

Need I say more . I must know where the tax rupees are going.

Those who agree are requested to email the authorities.

My Biometric Life

It is one of the ironies of life, that when I was younger, and much more amenable to standing in queues,, and darting alertly between differently moving queues, I didn't really have to queue up for anything as such.

We will leave out school assemblies and buses, and train ticket counters. And movie ticket queues. Because we were never really allowed to be avid movie goers , as such , in our student years.

The business of queues started worrying me when I had to stand in vague undefined queues for things like ration cards, passports, visas, children's college admissions (typically for the last 3, in pouring torrential rains) where the line of folks often went around entire office blocks.

Maybe its a Mumbai thing. When you are born here, the queuing gene automatically kind of pushes itself into your DNA strands. OK, maybe it waits in line, but at the end of the day, it manages to get in.

So when I heard about this new concept of the UID (Unique Identification ) card that the government planned for the citizenry, I was alarmed. We've been cowering under a plethora of id's like PAN cards, Ration cards, Election cards, Drivers Licence Cards, various Bank cards, various ID cards from employers, Retiree cards, and even Senior Citizen cards.

I had visions of having to line up at dawn in queues for this card, with thermoses of tea, folding chairs et al, while some folks hired proxy folks to stand all night in line, and occupy a space, which they then "took over", after a good night's sleep and heavy breakfast .

But the way it is unfolding is uncanny. They have a website and they have occasional articles in the newspapers, but no one is saying where you can apply for such a card. The website lists centres in Mumbai. Nothing else. No dates, cut off dates, timings, nothing.

I heard about it first, from my household help S, who came to work late one morning, cursing some folks who picked fights in the queue. Someone came in their locality announcing about these cards. This was then embellished and subject to all kinds of rumours. People spoke about a waiting time of 4 hours in the queues.

Turns out that there was one queue to collect pre numbered forms. You filled that up, and reappeared with supporting documents, and stood in another line, for the actual UID processing.

Her son, who accompanied her for the forms, tried to broker the peace between two arguing gents in the queue, when things threatened to get out of hand, only to have a policeman amble over, and request him to accompany him. S, ended up leaving the queue to brief the policeman about what was really happening and that her son was actually trying to maintain peace. When a hardworking angry Indian lady does such a thing, the policeman obviously listens, because they let her son go, after S had kind of given the policeman a small piece of her mind, in a succinct ringing voice.

A local municipal school has been commandeered by the government, for the project. This is the vacation period in Mumbai, and the first time I sort of ambled over from the market, with the beans and tomatoes, to check out the place and its queues and environs , there was a huge wedding going on. The caterers were performing in one shamiana outside, there were all kinds of delicious smells emanating, and the entrance was decorated with flowers and stuff. A big banner, smack in the middle of government banners about the UID card proclaimed in a huge font size, about who was marrying who. When I sort of ambled over , ignoring a small queue, some one thought I was attending the wedding, and smilingly welcomed me. I apologized and was quickly directed to some UID official, who was also in his best clothes and smiling !

I effortlessly put on my best " ordinary old lady confused about automatic things " look, and the fellow gave me his expert opinion on when to come, that there were senior citizen facilities (read separate queue), what documentary proofs I needed etc etc.

The form is actually extremely simple. My family (2 senior citizens, one young adult) landed up this morning, to see long queues outside a glass door, and some guys watching from inside with a sense of superiority. I went in search of the person I had met earlier, after asking my folks to occupy places in the general queue, just in case, his memory failed him or something.

This time , the problem was, that the senior citizens could go in, but not the daughter. I tried to explain to the guy, the benefits of processing an entire family together, and emphasized the fact that 66% of the family was senior citizens. The home addresses, and certain other common data would repeat in the data entry, and my understanding of software told me that certain settings would help data entry here to be more efficient. Over a full day, if they did families together, they would certainly save time for everyone.


Typically, no one pays attention to what I am saying, but it occurs to them that the simplest way to get rid of me is to let me go through. So they waved us all in, and we were the first folks to be profiled biometrically for that day.

A biggish room, with four stations set up, each with scanners, printers, cameras, data entry laptops , verification laptops, and 4 young men and women handling them. There were places for us to sit and wait till our number was called. Our form data was entered, our faces were photographed as we stared into something like a web cam. We were then asked to place four fingers of each hand on some scanner and these appeared on screen. This was followed by the thumbs.

In each case , we could see our biometric details on a laptop in front of us, while the young lady controlled stuff from her own networked laptop. The system would actually analyse the images, possibly for the required level of clarity, and declare them Pass or Fail. Intriguingly, I "failed" in the thumbs. I repeated the stuff, and after what appeared to be a lot of thinking, the system declared me "Passed".

I am still trying to figure out the significance of this. Never mind.

But all was not done. I was now asked to open my eyes wide, ("like you are very angry with some one " the young lady advised), and look into a contraption that looked like binoculars. The lady removed these after a while, and a set of huge , heavily detailed, hazel eyes, stared back at me from the screen. For the first time I was frightened by my own eyes on screen .


I was asked to check out the correctness of my entered data on screen, alongside all these biometric things, and my information was now complete. I signed a form with the captured details, and a copy was signed by the supervisor of the room, and given to me. I would get the card, by post after a couple of months. Until then the receipt would suffice.

We left. But not before we congratulated them for an excellently organized system. All young folks, so many of them women, handling the machines , and communications with the people with great attention and expertise. The supervisor was a young woman, constantly moving around the stations, and checking on things. There was another assistant fellow, who troubleshooted any loose cables, printer cartridges and stuff. All very confident, capable, and cheerfully handling folks with a variety of ages, languages and
social backgrounds.

We were out in 30 minutes. The crowd has swelled. My friend was distributing blank forms, another one was directing people inside to the biometric room. Of course, there were restless types in the queue. Some patiently standing. And there was an elderly couple being shown in.

Something just occurred to me as we stepped out in the muggy sun of Mumbai, and made our way through the market amidst whiffs of mangoes on sale, and fresh green veggies being put out for sale, and water being sprinkled on a hot dusty road.

This week has been notable for the fact that two alumni of the place where I live, have been in the National news.

One of them, grew up on the campus, and graduated from there , where his father taught for many many years, in the late seventies and early eighties, He is a central minister now, and he recently roundly rubbished the quality of the teachers/faculty, of some of the country's most excellent, and acclaimed institutes (his almamater was one). It is significant to note that he does not hold the education or science-technology portfolio at the centre.

The other, is an alumni, who graduated from here, then went on to be a founder of one of India's most acclaimed and successful IT companies. He then donated back to his almamater large sums from his own holdings, for Instituting Academic Chairs, and funding of student hostels, a place where he must have spent many interesting and unforgettable years in his student days on this residential campus. The government requested his expertise in heading the very important Unique Identification Project for the citizens of the country, and he left the cushy environs of a corporate czarship, to do that. The entire UID card system was being implemented across the country under his stewardship, and a whole lot of young people were being trained in new skills and employed because of the project.

It makes you wonder what you think education really is.

The entire experience today at the UID centre was an amazing eye opener .

Just one question. If you are of an age where cataracts are enthused about appearing, and a possible metabolic situation predisposes you , maybe, for glaucoma, what happens to the wonderful eye scan that then becomes invalid ?

I continue to wonder, wide-eyed.

Must I do this all over again ?

In praise of Mumbai's finest, again .....

Edited to add : (featured on Blogbharti, Nov 2, 2009)

She is a doctor and was enjoying the last few days of her leave. She decided to do some errands in Thane ( a city on the outskirts of Mumbai, almost like a suburb), that she had been putting off for sometime. Shops and offices would be nicely operational by 11 am, after the festival vacations, and she put off her departure from home, by 15 minutes, thinking she could catch a later suburban train to Thane. Thane was a big terminus, and there was a choice of trains from there to other terminii, in the city, where she wished to go , once her work was done.

That was probably the best decision she could have taken.

It was about 4 stations away to Thane , from the suburban station closest to her. The morning rush hour was kind of settling down, and she didn't really worry , as the train came to a stop, in between stations. Just a station away from Thane. Trains routinely do this waiting for the track to clear, so no one was worried. And they waited for the typical jerk that signaled a slow start again.

But it never came. Instead, there was a sudden power outage. The fans whirring in the compartment, (the only solace on a hot October sunny morning, devoid of running-train-breezes that are typical of our open door trains), also rattled to a stop.

Ten minutes later , there was still no change. She was travelling in the ladies' compartment , and a few ladies started peering out of the door to find out what the problem was. She too, moved around and tried to check out what was happening.

What they saw , were lines and lines of stalled suburban and mainline trains. A sea of people, all walking down between tracks, and some on the tracks, all trying to make it to their destination on foot. Some had exams, some would lose a days wage if they reached late, some were desperate to reach home after a night shift, and some were even carrying tiffins, for supplying lunch somewhere. There were families with children, folks out to attend a marriage, all dressed up, kids returning from sports practice with cricket kits , and several hawkers who are a permanent fixture on these trains.

It turned out , that the train previous to hers, had just been in a horrendous accident. Just before Thane, there was a bridge being reinforced, and a huge slab of it just collapsed, on a water pipe below, which also crashed and collapsed. On the front few compartments of the train.

Electric cables above were yanked out and exposed suddenly and the water gushing out from the pipes with the live cables made it a nightmare. The guard traveling in the rear of the train, rushed out to see the reason for the sudden jerk and deafening noise, realised the danger of electrocution, and immediately ran out along the opposite track , his red flag altering the approaching other trains, and relayed the message of cutting of power to the closest station.

That was the moment the power went off in her train, and it probably saved thousands of lives in the train that faced the crash.

The water from the pipes, found a preferred path on the lower levels of the track area, and there was a growing river of water developing amidst the railway tracks. The people walking along the tracks, kept shouting out and telling snippets of stuff. Her train was on a banking, the compartment was at a slightly more elevated level compared to the ground, and there was an uneven incline , when they looked down. Several ladies started talking about getting off and walking, and some of the younger teenager types jumped out.

Suddenly a few people appeared at their compartment door below. They were people from their own train, and had noticed their plight. Ladies in a panic started crowding the door. She was pushed to one side, as she looked down at a seven-to-eight feet drop on a pebbled stony incline. Old ladies, middle aged matrons, ladies with small babies, pregnant ladies, every category was represented.

"Ma'am, the train isn't going to start soon. There is a huge problem ahead and lots of debris. Its better if you get off and try and reach home in daylight. " . That was an office-going type, who probably saw his wife and mother somewhere in his mind.

An elderly Gujarati lady in a white saree, shook her head.

"Son, its been ages since I did such big jumps. I'll probably break my knee. I'll wait. " And she kind of looked him, resigned to her fate.

Another lady, with a small child, passed the baby down to one of the men, who handed it to another, to hold. Then she poised herself at the crowded door. A bunch of fellows grouped together, to buffer her jump, and held out hands.

"Ma'am, jump. You wont fall. We're here. We'll catch you. Just let yourself go. Sit and slide off..." Some more fellows had landed up. One of them climbed on another to guide the ladies at the side of the door, through the drop, so to speak.

The lady with the child made the jump. She had to. Her child was crying for her , and the stranger holding it didn't have a clue.

The jump would never be classed a winner, say, as a graceful-jump-in-a-saree-holding-bags-and-a-purse went. But it would win a gold medal for guts. Soon the other ladies felt encouraged. Some more young fellows from other compartments of the train joined in to help.

The elderly Gujarati lady decided to take the risk. It must be God's wish that she reach her destination safely and in daylight. The fellows sounded helpful, many ladies had jumped, and were urging her to come down.

She stood at the door, then slid down to sit, hands clutching the central rod very tight. She looked up, took a deep breath, muttered something (God's name, 100%), and looked down at the fellows .

"Aji(=grandma) , just let go of your hands. We'll catch you. Not to worry. Jai Bajrang Bali !"

And hearing that invocation to God, Aji jumped. Straight into network of helpful hands. She took a while to get her bearings. Sat on to one side on the banking. Took off her glasses. Wiped her sweaty face with the edge of her saree pallu, covered her head with it, looked up at the Almighty, and took several deep breaths with eyes closed. Thanks over, she slowly got up, to come by, pat some of the fellows on their backs, and stood there encouraging assorted people to jump down.

The doctor did. Just before the pregnant lady . She got up as soon as they helped her, and stood by to give courage to the pregnant lady, advising her how to safely manoeuvre the jump. Word had gone around that she was a doc, and the lady presumably felt a bit safer about having her supervise the jump. But she needn't have worried.

More fellows were joining in. Some were guiding the ladies out of the compartment. Some were instructing them on the track to follow on foot to the nearest exit on to the city road outside. There was a biggish gap at one place , with a fast flowing stream way below. The fellows could leap across. The women and elderly could not do so easily, and without fear. Some young fellows soon acquired a iron/concrete broken slab from somewhere,and placed it across the gap. Two guys stood on either side, hands outstretched and helped the ladies across.

It was a long walk home. The demand and supply for three wheelers had gotten skewed. Vehicles were running full. Buses were overflowing. The train accident had blocked one of the major routes on the suburban rail network. The minute word got around, commuters from several stations poured out on to the road and crowded the buses and 3 wheelers.

She spied a milk booth nearby, and wondering how long the walking would be, decided to have a cooling spiced milk drink before continuing. The Gujarati grandma agreed. Various folks from their compartment were slowly dispersing in various directions. She walked for half an hour before a three wheeler agreed to take her home in a round about route.

Why am I posting this ?

Because it was Mumbai's finest at work. I am tempted to use the word "spirit", but ever since politicians used it to justify their own non performance, it raises hackles.

Because at the end of the day, no one who went through all this even knew the names of who helped them. People simply volunteered on their own, and arrived, uncalled. Performed to their best, and then dissolved away amidst the stranded trains and tracks.

I think Mumbai has a fine tradition of helping. It's ordinary citizens, shine through trying episodes. Help pours forth from everyone. There is a sense of trust that pervades at such times. You don't know anyone, but you are all in it together.

All the unknown people who stood at the ladies compartment exit, helping the women and saving them from a rough hurtful jump, were aware that they were helping a human being in need and it was incidental that they were ladies. There was nor a single complaint from anyone about someone taking advantage of the occasion to make inappropriate contact. When they found that a lady was ok and could manage on her own , they immediately got busy helping someone else, urging them to jump, be careful walking the tracks, and cross makeshift bridging planks and so on.

There cannot be a finer example, of how folks of Mumbai, put their hand up and get counted in the most trying circumstances, and then disappear to get back to their difficult jobs, where they probably lose a days wage because they came late.

A friend recently posted about the apathy of society, and the concept of bystanders. The sociological observations , and so on. Some of the episodes he describes are shocking.

Notwithstanding the conclusions of sociological experts, this is the second time one has seen the "Mumbai's finest" in in action.

Earlier, my personal experience about Mumbai's finest, was posted here.......

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Flu questions

One's entry back in the homeland is greeted with a line of doctors with masks seated behind the immigration desks. You are directed to go up and present a form you filled up in the plane, about the countries you visited and whether you have certain symptoms.

Its a 5 second meeting, and you go off to collect your baggage, in a chaotic area populated by some in masks, many without, a maze of carts and bags, and a few helpful staff , asking if you wanted help, with swinging your bags of the circulating belt and loading the cart, all , for a price.

With the amount of news trickling in about the closure of markets, schools, colleges , here and there, and rumors about masks disappearing from shops (to enhance illegal profit), thanks to a government making them available only on prescription, I expected some kind of heat sensing probes that someone would track the passengers with, as they came in. I half expected stuff to beep and maybe weed out the "hotter" ones for further investigations.

None observed.

Amidst the massive lethargic flow of traffic , stranded next to a rush hour bus for several minutes, one wonders at the level of protection available to a few masked types, all standees in the bus aisle, about 50 people crushed in an area meant for 22. Like a jigsaw puzzle where the pieces have curves, and they fit in tight against each other. Most without masks. Just worried about their own square foot of floor and the possibility of reaching the exit door in time. The kind of crowd that would have made even the H1N1 virus stare.

Come the monsoon, every year, folks in Mumbai go through a viral scare. Chest experts give interviews and advice in newspapers, statistics are flashed around, water contamination is highlighted, students miss more school than usual. There is talk of water borne diseases and mosquito diseases. Typhoid cholera, leptospirosis, malaria, faliciparum malaria, and various gastroenteric upsets do the rounds. Incidences of these recede with the monsoon, the city cools a bit , and the world carries on.

Just a few questions.

Given our population, our crowds, our levels of city sanitation thanks to homelessness of the worst type, and the little pleasures afforded by vices like tobacco, Tuberculosis (TB) in India currently kills 2 people every 3 minutes. It is spread through the air by a person suffering from TB. A single patient can infect 10 or more people in a year. Every year, 1.8 million persons develop the disease, of which about 800,000 are infectious; and, until recently, 370,000 died of it annually —1,000 every day.

Given that this disease, to mention just one, is so rampant, one never hears of a similar hype regarding it. The The Revised National Tuberculosis Control Programme (RNTCP) based on WHO recommendations, continues to administer, treat, followup and research all aspects of the disease.

No one, including foreign visitors to the worst slum areas in Mumbai wears masks and stuff on an ongoing basis. Our trains carrying several times the number of people they are supposed to, are used everyday by thousands of people of all ages, during epidemics, monsoons, and other crowded occasions. You can actually get lost in a major vegetable market near railway stations at rush hour.

Why is no fuss made about this ? Why are Swine flu fear scenarios being enacted by keeping schools, colleges, and markets closed , in a city like Pune ? Does it behove the Health minister to micromanage and advise schools to stop their morning assemblies and sports (but keep the school classes going), and forget that the same students will sit together in classrooms, which are not exactly sterile ? While we hear of path labs being overburdened by the onslaught of cases that land up more because of fear than actual symptoms, is any thought being given to more staff being sanctioned for the already overburdened government path labs who are testing patients for the disease ?

While Tamiflu has now attained star status, thanks to unscrupulous types hiking the unofficial price consequent to demand outstripping supply, is a strict vigil being maintained on the quality assurance aspect of the medicine , which often appears in rural markets in its counterfeit avatar , to the detriment of a patient?

There is talk of a Swine Flu vaccine . There is also a recent report from Britain about the likelihood of of people using this vaccine developing the Guillaine Barre Syndrome , a paralysing disease . We read about the National Institute of Virology getting this vaccine ready by October 2009 etc . Has the Guillaine Barre aspect of it been verified ?

How come, in a so called pandemic of major proportions, we hear a Health Minister making populist general statements, but there is no authoritative scholarly medical official statement made, by those who are experts, at, say, the All India Institute of Medical Sciences, (hitherto known for disagreements between its erstwhile Head and the former Health Minister) ?

Rumors abound about certain worldly powerful folks on the Boards of pharmaceuticals making a killing in this pandemic ; like they did during the Bird flu/Avian flu earlier . Are there any connections here?

What do we believe ? What do we discard ?

In the meanwhile, it seems that the most sensible thing to do is to avoid contact with a "T" area on the face (across the eyes, and down the nose), with anybody, and wash your hands and feet , thoroughly when you come in from outside.

Colder temperatures supposedly make these virii thrive. We are experiencing a hot non-existent monsoon this year , with drought conditions, with cities having to declare water cuts for the populations. Sanitary conditions in say Mumbai , remain unchanged. Contrast this with the drastic changes effected in Surat, Gujarat, after Plague was supposed to have made an appearance a few years ago. The entire face of Surat changed.

In the meanwhile, Mumbai's always-optimistic entrepreneurs continue to make profits in innovative ways.

A friend who travels daily to work, by suburban train to South Mumbai, mentioned seeing hawkers selling cloth masks in trains.

And you could even bargain .....