People

Wings

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From afar we see many couples taking a boat ride in the middle of the Kodai lake. And it seems so romantic. So to speak. We follow the crowd. And engage a boat too. For half an hour. A ‘pedal boat’ from TTDC (Tamil Nadu Tourism Development Corporation). And we set off.

As we reach close to the middle of the lake, we realise that all the pedaling is energy draining. And that it isnt quite the ‘romantic experience’ that it seemed from the banks. We huff and puff. And pedal. To get to somewhere quiet. In the lake that is.

We are quick to realise that

a. Pedaling this contraption is not a walk in the woods.
b. ‘Quiet’ spaces are non existent in the lake. (Not that we have any dramatic things ‘to do’ in mind..Just saying. )

And whenever a boat passes by, we see similar drained out faces. And they peer into our boat. And we peer into theirs. Drawing energy from the fact that folks in the other boat are ‘suffering’ as well.

To keep the mind occupied, we strike conversation. Between us. For starters, we wonder why in Gods name, does this boat have to be in the ‘shape of a swan’ ! And that too in pink.

And look around to find ones in deep green, bright orange. et al. Yellow swans with blue beaks. Blue swans with black beaks.

And i quietly slip a prayer of thanks.

One such boat comes close. Another couple. The man is sweating. Huffing. Puffing. All at the same time.‘Tommy’ his shirt says. The lady is no different. She is on the ‘huff-puff ‘ mode too. Her T-shirt says ‘GAS’ or ‘GAP’. ( i am not sure )

They look at us. We look at them’. And the woman says, ‘look their boat has broken wings’. And i look around. To find that there are ‘wings’ to all boats. Wings of a swan. Ofcourse. Plastic. Coloured. Attachments with ‘artistic’ value.


And also find that in our boat, one wing is absent. Puffing and huffing, i wonder, how i missed seeing that we were one wing less. And seem to think that there is a distinct glee in the other couple now.

There we are. In the middle of the lake. The lovely weather above. Pedals beneath. Momentarily thinking of the wing that isnt there. On a boat that doesnt need it. The other couple pass us. They smile. And they keep staring at where the wing should have been.

And it seems to give them some topic for conversation. And some energy too. For their winged boat gathers new found speed. At least, i think so.

‘We are one wing less. We arent getting anywhere’ i say. And we stop.

We have a good laugh. We stop pedaling. We give our thigh muscles some rest. And soak in the lake and the weather. Boats with and without wings pass by. And we seem to think they are all giving us a ‘what a pity’ look.

While we just sit there with giggle and glee !

We decide to look for them. That couple. Who somehow lead us to a good time. We want to thank them.

I cant find them. They must have flown. They had wings, you see.

The Morning Meeting

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Adjacent to where we live here in Mumbai, theres this new apartment complex that’s on its way up. And there is so much life to watch in a construction activity. ( just try watching one)

Different characters adorn the landscape. There are the engineering types. With helmets et al, who stand in a corner and bark. There are the supervisory types who speak both to the workmen and the engineers.

There are the workmen themselves and their wives. Carrying the load up those floors or heaving cement or doing whatever they are paid to do. And activity sees the towers climb up. All the time.

But, there is one group activity that takes place in the morning. And that is the ‘morning meeting’. (I see from the balcony far away from them, and i cant hear a thing of what they say. But looking through the camera’s lens i make my own dialogue. To their gestures and moves).

They sit, usually, in a single file. On those iron rods. And they always seem to be an engaged lot. Often there are the supervisors who seem to be doing all the talking. As the rest of them sip their tea. Or whatever.

Occasionally there are others who point to the building that’s coming up and say something. And then, you can see the supervisors talk for half an hour.

Around them bricks, steel, cement and such else.

Very often, I read my newspapers. with one eye on them and their meetings. Often times, their meetings are far more interesting than the news. For news doesn’t get beyond Swine Flu or dacoity or rape or recession. Or of Buchanan writing a book and every quaint dust particle in the neighbourhood fluttering a protest.

And so, i watch these meetings. One day a neighbour peeps out of his balcony. And sees me seeing them. He smiles at me. ‘Meetings eh !‘

I nod. And smile.

And then looks into his watch and says, ‘in half an hour, i will be at office. And there will be a meeting there and action replay. And i will be part of the drama’

I want to add..’Perhaps new Scene. Old plot. Same drama ! But he is in a hurry. He is gone. And i tell myself, poor man, he has to play his part. Soon.

And then i hear the missus shout, ‘aren’t you getting late for work‘ . And i look into my watch. And hurry for breakfast.

She spots the hurry. With hands on hips, she asks, ‘so you have a meeting today’. I think of the supervisors below. And let go of a sheepish smile.

Old plot, you see !

Rain Day Lessons

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And so its been pouring its heart out. There are puddles on the road, wherever puddles are possible. And wherever not possible, puddles are created. For the road stands ‘washed away’ in bits and pieces.

The rain batters your windshield and your car’s wipers are working overtime. As you constantly hear your tyre finding a fresh pothole. You realise, that its been a wet night.

And then, out of nowhere, you see a thin slender post standing. In the middle of the road. You take this road daily. And you know this post is new. And as you near it, you realise that its a prop. A prop of a old rags and clothes, on an iron rod. Stuck into the road.


Jutting out of the road, almost like a natural formation. Something like a erupting jet stream from a broken underground pipe. ( ‘natural’ for a city dweller ) !!

For a brief moment you wonder who must have put this up. And why should they have done it. The rain continues to fall.

The car behind honks.

You move on. And in some distance a group of men, standing by the side of the road gesticulate. The rains pour on them as well. You realise that there is quite some water on the road. Not only that, there is a steady current, in the water that’s running under your wheels. Although, this is still the same road.

You realise that the men by the side of the road are attempting to guide you. They stand there. Showing you exactly where the potholes are. And you navigate. Looking at where they are pointing their hands. And in a few quick minutes you cross the stretch.

The rain continues to beat your windshield. With the same force with which it beats their back. You watch them through the rivulets of water that are sputtering off your side mirror.

The men have moved on to guide the car behind. Far beyond, the slender post with rags, is still standing.

And you wonder, how often you gladly suffer, so that someone else has it slightly easier. You hear the rain drops fall on the roof. Silence envelopes your mind.

And your soul as well.

Pleasing the rain God !

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The rains have played hide and seek. Especially with the Met Department. Turning up when the Met writes off. And pouring through the roof, when there is ‘No Chance’ of rain ! That apart, the municipal corporation has effected a 30 % water cut which has had 100 % of the media make 150 % more noise !


Suddenly, the prospect of the next summer going without water in the tap, is very real. And as suddenly as that, there are newspaper clippings, figuring on the apartment’s notice board. Asking all to ‘spend water wisely’ !

And of course, there are these small notices which have periodically appeared just outside the apartment lift. Like this one. “As per BMC Notice, there will be short supply of water. Please co-operate’ !


You cant miss such notices. And if you are in a naughty mood, ‘please co-operate’ can conjure up many interesting things for your mind.

But quite often, there is conversation about this ‘notice’ in the lift. All the way up. A conversation that dies off, only when people reach their respective floors.

Ranging from the most common ‘This is ridiculous’ to other strands of ‘What do they expect us to do. Dig wells here? or “why don’t they just drill ten more wells here, we will all pay types”. ( All in accents of a distinctly foreign land which i spell as ‘HBO’).

Contempt for mother Earth & mankind and/or wearing stupidity as a valour medal get my gut. They look at me and other ‘dimwits who preach conservation‘ with a certain unconcealed disdain which is fully reciprocated.

Many times i wonder if the rain Gods are playing hide & seek just to have some fun at the expense of such folks. That’s my grand premise.

Anyways, here i am. In the lift. And there is a family : husband, wife. two kids. And they converse. Between them, of course. I know this gent. On previous occasions, we have had, lets put it this way, ‘differences of opinion’ on water conservation.

And so, the man goes on. ‘These admin fellows, they are not going to get any result with such generic messages like ‘please co-operate’. They must mention, exactly what we should do to conserve water. With a double emphasis on EXACTLY.

‘Yes. Yes’. I go in my mind. Looking into the corners of the lift. They have to tell you EXACTLY how many litres of water you need to wash your teeth, clean your face. And of course, they have to tell you to close the tap tight. To wash cars lesser …just to think of water.To educate your children…… THEY have to tell you all of that !

And just as i was thinking that, the kid says, ‘big deal dadda. Don’t take bath. Apply the extra perfume. Which you anyways do every weekend’. With a similar double emphasis on ‘EVERY’

My eyes try to look into the man’s eyes. He looks at me. For a brief while. He then looks away to search for mysterious cobwebs in a super clean lift. Theres a deafening silence.

I don’t know about the rain God. But i am having a ball. But you know what, since then, we have been having rains. Serious rains.

Drives – 1

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Its evening. And on the banks of the lake, in Kodai, i spot this memorial structure. In the name of Sir Vere Henry Levince Baronet.

‘ I haven’t heard of that name before’. I think. And so, whats written at the base of the memorial perks my eyes. And i peer through the evening dusk. And read. ( and reproduce from the photograph with minor punctuation changes)

“In memory of Sir Vere Henry Levince Baronet of Knockdrin Castle, Westeath, Ireland and formerly of the Madras Civil Service, born 26th Nov 1819, died at Madras 22nd March 1885

After a long service in the districts of Tinnevely and Madura where he won the sincere respect and affection of the people, he settled in 1867 at Kodaikanal and lived at Panmbar house until within a few weeks of his death.

To him are due nearly all the improvements which this settlement possesses

A true friend to the poor, no one however humble appealed to him in vain, while his upright character, his love of justice and his kindly heart endeared him to all classes of the community European and native. And thus he bore without abuse, the grand old name of Gentleman.”

I shake my head in disbelief and think that he must have been some man. I wonder, how it must have been in the early part of the 18th century. To travel all the way from Ireland. Set up base here. Work in Madurai and Tirunelveli. And the, trek all the way up into the Kodai hills and live there for many years

( It took us all of metalled roads, a Japanese engine, Italian tyres and Indian ingenuity and two hours to reach this place. I shudder to think of the 1845 effort !!)

The disbelief stays. What must have driven the likes of Sir Vere Henry Levince Baronet ? I don’t know.

His memorial inscriptions are carved in stone. And don’t bother answering that question.


The Red Sumo philosophy !

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The morning rush hour has slices of life to offer. Many times i wonder, why all this has to happen in the morning. To me ( only ). On a week day.


This red Tata Sumo was ahead of me today. Holding up all traffic with its confounding slow pace and a strangely meandering wobble. I thought this car had a flat tyre.

But the chap behind me neither saw the wobble or my thinking. He was seething. And i could realise that he seethed through his horn. Blaring.

The whimper of the pace of the Sumo and the madness of the honking behind, had me in a state of a juxtaposed animation. Not suspended. But juxtaposed. I swore at Murphy. And wondered if he had made unannounced plans for cohabiting with me.

Thankfully, in some time, with some dexterity (that can give me the right to claim that i too drove in Mumbai), i pulled away.

But, i was not quite prepared for this.


Later in the day, i showed these pictures around. To colleagues and any other that might care. And asked them to come up with ‘what it means’ to them.

And of course, i got well thought through answers.Ranging from ‘holistic perspective’, ‘economic spectrum’, ‘human conditions’ to ‘life cycle’.

Wonder what your mind comes up with when looking at these pictures.

Frankly. I think. People are just getting ready for the Mumbai monsoon !

Whatsay ?

Such are not made often.

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Through the meandering journey of life, there are are many that we meet. Some are acquaintances. Others pass by. Yet others pass through. And you realise how true this quote about life being a stage and the many actors who jump in and out is..

And of course, some stay. And out of the some that stay, a few touch you. A few others make you laugh. A few others make you think. And of those that make you think, there’s this handful that make you stretch and discover your horizons.

Well, this post is about one such man who did a bit of everything.

Who just stood tall by being himself. Who towered by discovering and getting people grow taller. Who continued standing for whats right, and instilling a sense of right and wrong in the people around him.

A man whose passion for industrial relations knew no bounds. A man for whom development of people was an inherent program which treated this English word spelt ‘b-o-u-n-d-a-r-y’ as unrecognisable code.

A man, who never lost the child in him. A man who has kept at lifelong learning. A man who took to blogging and tweeting rather late in life. But has gone the mile in these journeys.

A man who has touched many lives. Across many strata of society. In his own quiet way.

A man who is busy reinventing himself as i write this. Plotting a new career. And pushing his own limits ‘to pursue things that he always wanted to’

Just as he retires, today, from the organisation that he served for 33 odd years. A man who celebrates his birthday today.

And as he moves into the sunrise of a new life, he carries with him the good wishes & sincere thank yous, of the many that walked the journey along with him.

And of course, carries with him, his own way of doing things !

And as one part of his moves on, the other remains. In the people that he walked with. Who he changed. Forever.

Here’s wishing him a great birthday and a fabulous fulfilling time ahead.


His blog is here…

Clean Sweep

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Once upon a time, there lived a man. Who was very successful in navigation and commerce. But was deceitful and killed travelers and guests. And such else.

The great Gods in punishment made him roll a boulder up a hill. But the boulder would always roll down before he could reach the top of the hill. And he had to start all over again.

This chap called Sisyphus and Sisyphean tasks need no introduction. We live our work lives don’t we ? Sisyphean…is this work of sweeping our streets. Here are pictures clicked at very different places.


The lady was in Mahabaleshwar. There she was. Poignant. Persistent. And attentive. To the last speck of garbage on road. She collected all of it and kept it in a small basket. And walked away. Ofcourse, she didnt bother about the dog that cames along and sniffed the basket. And whatever it did from there on.


Cut to scene 2:


Mumbai. Closer home.

The man sweeps mud and dust off the road. There is a whole lot which flies off and settles on other side of the road. And perhaps when he sweeps from that side, will fly and settle on this side. He gathers whatever he gathers and tosses it into a big container in the tractor behind him. A whole lot of dust drifts aimlessly. Settling wherever it can.

Cut.



Scene 3:

Madurai.

A man with a fluorescent jacket is at work. With a shoe on leg. Collecting a heap of mud to to create another heap. In some time, an ants version of Mt. Everest forms ! He moves on.

A bus passes by. The gust from the passing bus, reduces Mt.Everest to a hillock. He doesn’t care. He is creating another Mt.Everest. Many more. Everyday.


Scene 4:

As i am typing this, there is a set of people on TV. Debating election results. And what it means for the country. Loud men & women they are. With some numbers and fancy graphs in the background. They make intelligent sounding points. They definitely seem to have sound.

I hear them talking of ‘Clean sweep in Bihar’ ‘Clean sweep in ….’ ! Occassionally, they are mumbling something about some ‘fundamental change’ that needs to be ushered in. That makes me wonder if they are replaying the last election’s analysis.

But with that ‘fundamental change’ point : I am all excited. We need to bring in fundamental change.

Ofcourse, I am talking of sweeping here!

The Iron in town !!

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Of the many businesses that you see on wheels, here is one that i don’t get to see that very often in Mumbai ! Wearing pressed clothes is indeed a pressing requirement ! And how about a ‘presser’ on wheels !


In the southern districts we have this push cart iron. The chap who ‘irons’ , ushers his cart around and presses your clothes for a fee ! A common sight in Madurai ! Its not common in the big cities where electricity rules and ‘powered’ irons press !

So, theres this chap who comes home pushing his cart around. He carries with him a simple soul. And will charge your a rupee to press shirt. Perhaps two. And he has a cart which consists of a ‘bed’, a solid stone slab for keeping this solid brass iron and a slot for storing his coal !

And Yes. He uses coal !



Now that’s some heavy duty metal ! It indeed is heavy ! The chamber that houses burning embers of coal sometimes look downright scary. With a feisty burning crimson ! And when he presses your shirt, with the might of this muscle, the crimson coal and the hardened metal, you can almost hear your shirt squirm !

Call me old fashioned. Call me backward. But, there is a certain charm in this cart. And in the iron. The iron that houses the crimson coal that can kill either with the heat or with the weight ! And of course, the lazy elegance of his pressing of clothes. A ‘lazy nonchalant elegance’ that would get David Gower some company.


It may be a common sight down there! And it indeed is something to experience. To just stand there and see your shirt pressed with a rather different energy !

A charm that resembles a old world locomotive that is gushing into a station ! Perhaps its to do with the coal. Perhaps its got to do with the heat. Perhaps it is do with the steady solid style.

Or just perhaps, its the nostalgia of the old times. Or of another place.

Where ‘pressing’ gets a languid tone.

Bloggers Meet !

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He has sat with this post on draft mode for two days now. Caught between travel and work, he just cant seem to get words into his keyboard. So he writes. He rewrites. Shakes his head in disgust. He shuts the computer down in a huff. And then walks away.

Comes back. And repeats this process many times.

His word tap sputters and coughs. Much like the municipal taps that supply drinking water in a suburban town. Much noise. Much hiss. Occasional drip. But no steady flow of water. He wonders why words have deserted him these days. Perhaps it is to do with the joy of meeting them.

With little patience left, bearing a tired body and weary eyes, he decides to be authentic. And presents his sputter – sputter – cough right there. Much like municipal tap in peak summer !

They met. Those bloggers. Once again. The first time around, was when they put the face to the home page. This time around, they put a soul to the face ! Comprehensive description has been blogged here. And here. And here.

Exchanged in good earnest were the following. Chatter. Banter. Some gossip. Opinions. Thoughts. Advice. Wishes. Leg pulling. And some sizzle.

On a Saturday afternoon, they began where they had left off. Like old school friends. And left off again, easily, when they had to move. Sure they would meet again !

They went dutch. Like last time. Pooled in money. Counted notes like high school kids who had just bunked class and went to a fancy restaurant with pocket money saved for months !

Total clean fun. Simply sizzled !

He thanked the stars and the Gods above. For a group of friends like this. They not only read his blog, but leave comments as well.

And then, they come together and spend time like old friends. People who share a similar journey on the blog world.

One who pushed his trip back home, so that he could be here. Another who was making an important investment decision. People who he had met in person only three months back…

And as if that was not enough, ofcourse the gifts flew in as well. One of them brought a neat writing pad for everybody.

And another had made a mango dish, packed it in a bowl and presented it in a handmade bag.

And ofcourse, he better thank his stars. For the friends. For the internet. For their reading. For their leaving a comment. For their taking time off to get together.

And when he reaches home, his missus, tastes the mango dish and says, ‘finally. Finally. Finally, your blog feeds me’ !

Phew. Now thats the closest he has ever gotten to official recognition for his blog. And so he believes God is in his heaven, and all is right with the world !!