People

Tea !

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Indian tea. Chai. Available at every street corner. Well before the sun shows up. To long after he has disappeared into the Arabian sea !

It doesn’t take much to get this going. Tea powder. Loads of milk. Plenty of sugar. Traces of ginger. And voila, theres this ‘chai’ ! And as the sugar coat courses the alimentary canal, a strange energy pervades. Usually. Placebo or otherwise. That is fact.

Many have romantically described the humble tea as some kind of a ‘least common denominator’.

For everybody has tea. From the stock broker who makes a million as he twiddles his thumb and the slum dweller who makes an inconsequential sum amount after heaving his whole body and lifting inconsequential construction equipment.

Everybody has tea. From the office goer to the street side hawker. The college professor to the cop. Thugs to theologists. The player to the proctor.

The tag of ‘least common denominator’ seems to fit in perfectly.

Of course, the tea is served in the glass tumbler ! So much part of our tea drinking routine. So much so that the flavour of the tea also seems to come from the glasses that hold the tea.

Washed many times over in a day. Refilled as many times. Perhaps more ! The tea glasses are an integral part of ‘chai’ ! Adding their own twang to the tea.

But imagine. Imagine you worked in an office some distance away. Or at some obscene height in a construction site with no lifts ! Ordering tea in a glass is impractical.

Worse ( & more probable) if the vendor knows your overdue amount on the credit card and is doubtful of the return of the tea glasses…


Tea comes in a polythene bag, with plastic cups. Home delivery !

The same tea. With Tea powder. Loads of milk. Traces of ginger. Sugar coated. But in a plastic frame ! It may not have the glassy feel. Its still tea. Offered with happiness.

The next time your taste buds take to the sugar and milk like a first time MP making his first swindled million, take a moment to savour it more !

Popularity and preference sure point to tea power. Tea brings alive any discussion. On any topic. Business and recession. Life and culture. Body and fitness. Anything and anything at all.

Like the other day. An insipid discussion was in progress. About the important part plastic has begun playing in our lives. Insipid. Until the time the tea arrived. Brought from the local corner tea store.

In some time, we sipped tea. Out of a plastic cup. Poured out of a polythene bag ! You bet, there was a different ring to the discussion.


The group ranted and raved about plastic.

My mind was elsewhere though. The flavour of human ingenuity underscored the flavour the tea! Or plastic for that matter.

Oodles of doodles

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The speaker moves his arms. Wavy gestures and air filled lungs pump enough volume to reach the far corners of the room. Examples are cited. The future is invoked. Questions are posed. Frameworks are discussed.

There is a training program that’s on.

The participants are all there. Physically at least. Their bodies too large to disappear into thin air. They are all there. Their thoughts are a different realm though. Nobody can say for sure where thoughts are. Like a cyclone that’s much hyped but didn’t turn up.

Their hands are at work though. Heads almost hemmed to their notepads. Perhaps serving as the biggest of ‘motivators’ to the trainers and lecturers ! Construed as note taking, and such other activity of importance that adds to the self importance of the speaker.

In practice, doodles emerge.



Of cows. Huts. Planes. Ships. Faces. And the like. The cows could look like sheep whose harmone therapy went awry. And hut designs that could make a Pygmy cry. And that could be particularly ironic if the program was on something like ‘Getting it Right the first time” or something to that effect !

Perhaps not as ironic as having arrows and spears doodled all over, in a workshop while the junta is talking ‘Partnership’ !


At other times there are lines & shadings. Precise shading of intersections and empty spaces. Preciseness to the nano millimeter. That hitherto seemed capabilities that rested with American missiles that were launched from ships, traversing two seas and many mountain ranges to hit the hidden commode of secret toilets of Osama Bin Laden and gang.

Such impeccable designs. Sketched with such intensity and effort.

Have you wondered why ? Something seems to be at work here. A natural by product of sitting in a lecture or a training program.

Perhaps its about camouflage. Of pretense. Pretending to be attending, but actually away !

But why would students & participants take all the effort to draw such impeccable cows ( with hormonal treatment going awry ) and arrows & straight lines that could be used to teach geometry to infants.

There must be some research done on this.

Perhaps its all about the mind. Perhaps it helps shade a few shapes. And shape a few shades. Or maybe its to sharpen whats faded. Or fade whats sharpened. Contrasts. Colours. And the like. .

Which perhaps is what one can get out of a training ! Whatsay ?

Doodles seem to be here to stay !


Reservation

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How many times has it happened with you that you get to what seems to be a ‘vacant’ seat, only to sight a handkerchief, or an old newspaper, or a book or some object of similar value there. Standing in for the ‘owner’ !

In some time the ‘owner’ shows up, indicating that he had ‘reserved’ the seat. And lays claim to the seat with such ferocity that would put the Chinese’s claim of Arunachal, to pathetic shame !

I guess this is a uniquely Indian moment. I guess. I am not sure. Please correct me if i am wrong here. My guess is given shape by the fact that we have a chronicled mythological precedent. Of Lord Ram’s footwear standing in for the gent when he went into the jungle! So.

So, in a busy movie hall (or wherever else, esp if there are no allotted seat numbers) you can stroll around, ogle about, wander with a pop corn or a cone of ice cream. All this while the old dirty handkerchief stands in for you !!

In smaller cities and towns, this scene is so often repeated in inter city buses. Where the clamour to get a seat is only matched by the ability to reach a handkerchief, newspaper, belt, tiffin box to ‘reserve’ a seat !

If a ‘representative object’ (dirty handkerchief, shredded newspaper or whatever) of the dude in yellow trousers got to the seat before you, well, the seat belonged to the dude in yellow trousers ! So we have seen. And heard.

It was ‘refreshingly different’ to see this gent, and his mode of reservation. Aboard the river cruise on Goa’s Mandovi river.




He clearly had outgrown the handkerchief and belongings of low value. For friends of his, for whom he ‘reserved’ seats, he gave it his one whole leg and one whole hand !

And warded off every body else who came close to the seat with a dismissive disdain that perhaps would befit a Taliban war lord looking at his goats, whom he was going to have for dinner !

This is a new standard that must quickly be made known to the rest of the country. We need more people like this gent.

Wont you be happy with friends like these ? Especially considering that they would give an arm and a leg. Just to get you seated.



Whose name is it anyway ?

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Sporting a tattoo that an actor wears. Or growing a goatee like a cricketer. And setting hair like a footballer. They are all easy to do.

Of course, its going to be difficult to sculpt a body like Silvester Stallone or John Abraham. Not forgetting ‘size invisible’ ( or was it ‘Zero’ ?) like those thin lasses. Those are tough asks.

Easiest done is to imitate a ‘star’s outfit. Still easier is to wear a t-shirt bearing the man’s name ! Walk into a store and pick up a T-shirt which says a famous mans name !

Its kind of ironic though. Pay YOUR money, which the credit card company will send to YOUR address in YOUR name. To wear ANOTHER man’s name. On YOU ?!? How interesting !

Of course, this is so common ! The eye brows wont arch one bit if a man with ‘Ronaldo’ written on his T-Shirt is spotted hitching a ride on the streets of Daman.



Or for that matter, if ‘Torres’ is spotted at the Madurai railway station !



The stars themselves, are known to wear those low caps and big sun glasses to hide their identity in public. Perhaps trying hard to melt into the crowd. Becoming more common than common.

And the common man, wears the celebrity name on his sleeve. Actually on his back ! Mankind indeed finds numerous ways to stay busy. But such are the ways of the world.

The eye brows only half arch. That too, in irony. Looking at this ‘Ronaldo’ netting the small fish on a Goan shore !


While the stores rake in the big money, counterfeits rule the pavements. Hollering hawkers, are known to sell such counterfeits to highest bidders.

Just the shirts. With the names, of course ! The stars dont come as part of these deals.

For they have been auctioned long before. To clubs, who were highest bidders too. But that’s a different story. Of a different auction !


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Distance in space !

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Moving about is an inherent need of most human beings. Lets keep the rest of the folks out. For the present. And lets just consider the folks that indeed desire mobility. Now, who doesn’t want mobility.

Even the Gods do. The modern day self proclaimed Gods have streams of Roll Royces and BMWs perched in their courtyard, that would perhaps use the GDP of Norway on fuel ! Perhaps all of Scandinavia.

And still be left with some surplus change to pick up the islands in the pacific ! But that’s a different story.

Where were we…yes. The Gods. Moving on to the ‘Common Man’, the common man’s urge and need to travel is often times expressed in the most uncommon of ways. This blog has had several posts in the past. Often, showing how informatively local trains and buses have been used.

The urge to travel is universal ! Modern day man has it woven into daily life ! Mankind has been known to use anything that moves. For travel. From donkeys to Camels. And now, we are even talking bacteria led biological http://premier-pharmacy.com/product-category/gastrointestinal/ warfare !! Phew !

The point is if it moves, it will be used. Presence of a specifically designed seat / place for travel is rather immaterial ! Here is evidence.



That perhaps leaves us with the smaller families. Four member. Three member. Five member.

Well mention of a five member family is not something that will cause a flutter in your eye. But say, all of the five members travel on two wheels at the same time. On a busy highway. Without helmets. Without understanding of road rules. And without a lot else too.



And also. Not as a part of a circus trick. Or a politician’s austerity drive. Or a photo op. Or an advertisement promoting shock absorbers, engine power, fuel efficiency. etc etc. And the like.

The question of how much space is there between two wheels of a bike is yet to be answered.

Indian roads keep presenting a picture of space that can take as many people as required. A space that houses a seat that has no end.

A space which screams ‘no distance is too far’ !

Restrictions

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Paying Guest. In my humble opinion, that’s an oxymoron. For guests don’t pay. Are not expected to. Never. At least that’s my belief. And generally spoken word too.

What gets passed off as ‘PG’ accommodation these days can be best called a hostel in most cases. Perhaps ‘Paying Guest’ perhaps gives a ring of graduation to the professional world. Hostels are for college goers. (I havent seen any PG accommodation here in Mumbai so i have no idea of it here)

And perhaps also delivers another punch. With ‘Payment’ inherent in ‘Paying guest’ what it also perhaps signifies, is a degree of ‘self respect’ to the individual in question. That the stay is paid for !

Whatever be the logical reasoning around this, ‘Paying Guest’ continues to be an oxymoron, to me that is !

The world however moves on. Irrespective of what i think of as an oxymoron or otherwise. And PGs are advertised. Or… are they. Sample this.


These advertisements make the brain cells work. Wondering what is being communicated.

The ad on top. It talks about ‘Males in Powai’. As though the males in Powai are a special species, looking for such accommodation. Perhaps Powai breeds such males. hmm. But look at what follows.

No Brokerage.
No Deposit
No Restrictions

So, for for males in Powai, i guess these are the three principal woes. Brokerage. Deposits. And restrictions.

Move on to the ad below.

Which introduces us to a new form of human life called ‘Rentals’. What else would ‘ Boys & Girls & Rentals’ mean ?

Hmm…they could some thing else as well, but hey, i am not going there at all.

But here again : ‘No Brokerage No Deposit. No Restriction’. The brokerage and the deposit i can understand. But this ‘No Restriction’ business i find difficult. What kind of restrictions will boys and girls ( & rentals of course) usually suffer from, that would make them seek out such accommodation ?

Males in Powai, Boys, girls, rentals will be paying up. And staying as guests. With no deposits. And restrictions. Hmm.

I wonder why my mind is working this way. This post was supposed to be about the ‘Paying Guest’ being an oxymoron.

But you know, I am consciously practicing letting my thoughts flow on this blog. Without restrictions. Maybe thats why.

‘No restrictions’ for males in powai seems to be in. ahem.

Missed calls and milk !

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a temple with a telecom tower as its backdrop
and a statue with the legendary conch at the front end. Kodai
There was a far away time when conches were blown to announce battle. Of course, pigeons flew with messages. The temple bell rang to announce day, and night.

Those were different times though. It must have been wonderful, to live in those times. In the midst of simple joys and comforts of nature.

Well, the conches, don’t exist anymore. At least not as a communication tool. And definitely not to announce battle ! Pop corn fed pigeons don’t carry messages. And living life by the bell happens largely in prisons !

But think of the modern day mobile phone. Isn’t that a conch of some kind ? That which announces love, battle, news, net..what not ! A little stretched perhaps. But somewhere there !

There was a time, not very long ago, that a call on the mobile phone, used to cost Rs. 16/- a minute. These days, you can get by for months at that cost. Especially if you know of the “Great Indian Missed Call trick” !

The other day, the missus’s mobile rang. One ring, two rings. And stopped. The missus looked at who is calling, and didn’t pick up the call. But went about attending various chores.

Looking particularly puzzled, (which is a slightly different from the ‘perpetually puzzled’ look that the missus thinks is part of me), some sniffing around was done.

Only to find out, that two rings, at 9.00 AM, from the maid who comes to clean, translates to : “I would be late for work today”.

Not a rupee spent. Message conveyed. To simplistic minds like mine, this sounds like the Chinese Army exchanging war messages !

And when friends tell me ‘Give me a missed call. we’d come down to get you’, the mind leaps in amusement. For, my elementary mind works this way : “a call can be made. To miss it or not, is the receiver to decide. How can a missed call be given?”

But with a ‘missed call’ pact like that, what they mean is ‘when you call, i will be missing it…but i’ll get the message that you are here’ !

Zero cost ! Not that they are in abject penury. Or doing this blaming the economy. This has how it has been when Lehman brothers and the others were still standing.

So,if you are in India, and are wondering why call rates are going south, you know why. Don’t you! There sure must be many reasons. But, my elementary mind thinks only of the great Indian missed call trick!

With the vegetable vendor to the CEO carrying phone, of course, we have one of the cheapest call rates in the world. Take a look.

A glass of tea is Rs. 5
A glass of milk is Rs. 10/-
A glass of badam milk is Rs.15/-

But down there…intercity dialing. All India..is 1 Rupee !

Here is a Choice. Between a glass of milk and ten minutes of talk on the phone ! My elementary mind stays with the mobile phone.

For with calls, you can miss them, and still convey the point. There is no point with spilt milk. Not even crying. Hmm.

I rest my case.

Gas !

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This tricycle has a load of gas. But it doesn’t run on gas though. Its pedalled by a young chap. About whom this post is about.

On another note…

The world runs on gas. Well, i can at least speak for many a corporate work life. Without much substance, but much gas. But then that’s a different story.

The Ambani brothers are at war. Bringing their corporate empires and the government into the ambit. Gas, they say, is the reason.

China and Australia are sparring. Ostensibly over gas.

India, Pakistan and Iran have a tryst with a pipeline. And they say, its about gas.

Russia’s shutting of gas supplies, had Europe shivering. That was about gas too.

Now, now, all that would make it appear that it is gas that’s driving us and our lives around. And now, about the protagonist of this post…

One afternoon, over a post lunch walk, i strike a conversation with this simple young chap. who distributes gas cylinders.

A truth emerges. When he shrugs his shoulders, and says in a matter of fact manner. In the middle of conversation. About work time and kilometers covered ever day, pedaling this gas.

“I try and stop around 6.00 PM. I study part-time and i have a college to go to. Its difficult at times, especially when there are exams, but…” his voice trails off.

And after a 10 second silence, which seems like forever, erupts a sigh and an emphatic ‘…its got to be done’.

And almost as an instant rejoinder to himself says, “How long can life be about gas?’

I smile at his question cum statement. ‘How long can life be about gas ?!’

In a second, a million images go past my mind. I think of the people of India. Pakistan. China. Australia. Iran. Europe. Russia. Alaska. And the rest of the world. And the Ambani brothers too.

And stare into this determined young man with well built calf muscles and sweat, with a ton of gas in front of him.

I smile a weak smile. Shake my head and say,

‘Not for a long time. Not for a long time at all’

Morning Meeting

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The Morning meeting is a standard feature at the construction site next door. You understand that there isnt much difference.

Half the team is there. The rest is up there. Somewhere.

If you work in a corporate or at a construction site !