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Breaking News.

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A dramatic event occurred in Santa Cruz, Mumbai today.  
This is an exclusive coverage on 

LMNOP Digital HIgh Speed blah blah TV 365 X 365 !

( For most accurate experiencing of this, please read with dramatisation, ‘correct’ pronounciation and gestures bordering on hysteria. OK ? Or just flick that TV remote on and settle for a news channel )

At around 1.00 PM, when the temperature was reported to be hovering around 40 degree, sirens pierced the afternoon air. Heads turned. People stopped doing whatever they were doing. The others peeped through the windows. Those that had a window for the door and the sky for the roof, squinted to see what the fuss was about. 


A fire engine appeared.  True to form, stopped some distance away. There has been intense debate about ‘fire in the belly’ for politicians.  And perhaps some one called for a fire tender !


And then, in some time our crew found a crow whose wing had gotten entangled to string,  struggling to free itself. This perhaps was a string that was used to fly a kite some time back. For all its flaps, the bird  got further entangled. 

The firemen demurred. And got to work.  A crowd gathered. Everybody looked up into the sky. And some genuinely surprised that all this ado is about a crow.  Others very happy that someone took the step of calling the firemen at the plight of the crow. 

An old lady who lived in the house next door steps out spoke to us. ( Camera Pans ) 

‘Oh, I thought, someone in our building committed suicide’.  She continued, ‘last week, a tree fell in my backyard. I called the firemen. Nobody turned up. Now they have come for the crow’ ! She said. 

And then, looked into the sky at the crow and its struggle to break free, and said, ‘poor thing’ while walking away.  

There are three hundred and twenty two people  in the crowd. And suddenly, a parcel of crows arrived on the scene. All crowing madly.  

Its the peak afternoon heat. And it was getting to everybody. The firemen. The onlookers. The neighbours. And the crow that was hanging in the balance. 

To cut a long story short, the crow was rescued. And the firemen walked away with the crow ! And someone in the crowd shouted, ‘go send it to Maneka Gandhi‘. Someone else said, ‘this is what the firemen are trained to do. Catch crows’.  

In the meanwhile the parcel of crows that were there, have flown in the direction of the first minister that they can sight for a ‘fly-in crowing dharna’. Unconfirmed sources also state that they are reported to be on the look out for slippers. The public are requested to watch out for them. 

The crows were unavailable for comment. We will be staying on course to update you on the latest on this epic crow saga. 

If you liked this story send an SMS to 39492384234 typing ‘YES’. If otherwise type ‘NO’. In anycase, 77.8 % have already voted that they liked this story. This is exclusive breaking news that you are First seeing here. Stay tuned to get updated.

Such news of national existential importance can be tracked on our website as well. 24 hours a day 365 days a year. We will be the first to deliver… ! 

This story will continue to be breaking news until the next crow gets entangled, the cow drinks Coke, the giraffe trips over an electric pole, the local politician speaks his natural game or if nothing else materialises, perhaps until some wisecrack stays off rice. 
 

Pedal Strength – Part 1

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Atlas. Hercules.

The first one walked around with heaven on his back. And the other destroyed dangerous monsters. Both popular for strength and valour.

Greek mythology is as far away from me, as far as nation development in a politician’s agenda. Ok. Perhaps not that far. I know who Atlas and Hercules are.

But hey this post is not about politics. Or mythology. But of bicycles ! If you are from India, chances that you are aware of Atlas and Hercules as bicycle brands are far higher than knowing them as mythological strong men.

The Atlases and Hercules es doing the rounds on Indian roads are a sight to see. Mythological strong men would arch their eyebrows in respect ! For the Atlases & Hercules of today carry everything from Crackers to Pappad to Milk to anything that you name.

In the slightest of possible spaces they make their way, in the busiest of roads. These are not fancy cycles used by people with ‘environmental friendship’ as a credo. ‘Saying save the world’ that with a fancy helmet and a T-Shirt to that effect.


No. This is part of everyday mainstream living ! That these wheels will have to be pedalled so that the wicker at home is lit. That a kid goes to school. That there is roti to eat. (Ok. Rice too).

To see an Atlas or a Hercules pass by with all their load is often a salute to ingenuity. To innovation. To the spirit of labour. And of course, to the reality balancing a life on two wheels.

Atlas may or may not have shrugged. But he sure does balance life on a pedal ! God knows for how long !


Getting Real @ Kala Ghoda !

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I am at the Kala Ghoda festival. The sun is just setting. A whole lot of ‘post its’ and small chits on a make shift wall stand out. From a distance, my wandering eyes rest on them for a minute. A few feet shuffles later, i mingle into a a crowd swarm just outside this stall. ‘Letters to Pakistan’.

Messages intended for Pakistan. For who in Pakistan, is not known. But headed in that geographic direction. Hand written scrawls to meticulously crafted chits, they are all there. They catch the breeze and flutter. The chits seem to battle for freedom. The glue continues to beat the breeze by holding on to the chits.



In this melee, messages catch the eye.

‘We will kill you’
‘When i become President of India, the first task in my mind i will distroy Pakistan’
‘A failed state like Pakistan is a state of loosers. India rocks’.

And so on. A sigh escapes my lips. So much hate. In young and old alike. My fresh eyes & tired soul search for messages of peace. Outnumbered, they sure are. But present.

‘War doesn’t determine what is right. It only determines what is left’ says one
‘War is expensive. Peace is priceless’.
‘Lets fight terrorism together’.

And so on. I read on. Searching. Browsing. Smiling. Hoping. Wondering.

Two young girls are reading with interest too. Animated chatter pervades. Between them. They read. Comment. Giggle. Make strange expressions that seem to be extensions of shrugs and something else.


They look up. Read. “Arms are for hugging. Make love. Not War’. They read that aloud. Again. In unison. Roll their eyes. One tells another, ‘get real guys’. The other giggles.

‘Get Real ?’ I wonder. I feel like a dust ridden statue in a museum attic. Especially so trying to map out youngster speak. ‘Get Real!’ That was some expression.

In sometime they are gone. Their conversations peppered with ‘Get Real’ many more times!

‘Would you want to write sir !?’ I hear another young girl ask me. Giving me a pen and a small chit of paper. She mans this stall.

‘Sure’. I say.

Steadying my hand is an effort, as the words flow into paper. I write : “We were separated at birth. Must we stay that way?”. I want to write more. Thinking of Hindi films where reunions of lost brothers happens in village festivals.

An echo from a recent memory rides high in my ear. ‘Get Real’ And that girly giggle. I stop. I contemplate. Should i hand over what i wrote ? I wonder how many more would laugh at what i have written.

Contemplation reigns.

Our history lessons are distorted. The media accentuates problems. Less said of politicians on both sides the better. Our armies bristle with aggression. War suddenly seems to be a video game and terrorists are characters that run on code. Toy guns or otherwise, children grow up with hate. And of course, poverty continues to soar and scores die and suffer.

I hear people dismissing what i wrote. But suddenly it doesn’t matter. I tell myself, ‘get real’. And hand the paper over to this girl who mans the stall. She promises to stick it somewhere.

I walk away. ‘Get Real’ stays in my mind.

Earlier posts on Kala Ghoda Festival are here. Here. Here.

Break Down Tale !

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So when your car has a break down, it gets towed. And that’s not the only time it gets towed. It also happens when you park in the wrong place. Or when a inventive car thief spots your fancy car. Or when you run out of fuel. And such else.
But that’s besides the point. For whatever reason it has to be towed, towing brings to my mind, a large truck or such other vehicle which pulls. That’s my understanding of towing !



But, what you find below, is another form of towing. A very Indian innovation. For Indian readers, this is a no brainer that is seen every day ! The vehicle that’s ahead is the one with a break down !


The ‘technology’ is pretty simple. The power from the autorickshaw in the rear, gets transferred to the one at front. Through that outstretched leg and the Mumbai air. And of course, using that big toe. ( I am told by knowledgeable sources that it requires some skill).

So, maybe this is ‘toeing’ ?!? Of course, This indeed is ‘Toeing’ !

So, the next time, somebody is going to ask me to toe his or her line, i wonder if its that big muscular hulk pulling from the front, or is it that toe that’s working on my behind !!

Huh ! So much for a break down !

On The Tree : Of Pesty Definitions !

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Pests ! They are everywhere. Aren’t they ? All the time ! It was many years back that i read the Pied Piper of Hamlin. I was young boy given to grandiose dreams and grander imagination. In my mind rodents that would infest houses to the point of destruction, had a multi dimensional image & excitement.

‘Those sick, rotten creatures’ (said with all discomforting movements to the face that my English teacher could conjure ) that would wreck destruction on any and everything that would come their way in that town of Hamlin that jumped out of the English course book !

And of course, i was totally in awe of the Pied Piper !! And if you think i had grand dreams of leading reams of rats into the river, well….

Many years later, i was at a Naval camp aboard a warship. Reprimands were a way of life. And for a rather innocuous mistake ( no, i am not in a tell-all mood) , as a prompt and a simple reprimand got a, ‘Now, don’t be *#@#*@# pest’ from an officer, who shouted as though the sun rising the next morning depended on his clarion call abuse !

At that very moment, an image of a creature on many legs, tails, whiskers and all, scurrying around, with my face morphed there made its way to my mind. One of life’s vivaciously poignant moments ! I have moved on from that moment and that warship.

On another note, every time i have bought pesticide, there has been obvious thoughts of different kinds of pesticides that would be required to tackle the much versatile pests of today. That leads me to another existential question.

How do you define a pest !?!

Offhand, i think of these characteristics. A pest has got to be small. Pesky. Usually, pests causing pain / frustration / loss. They are generally difficult to eliminate, because of extended http://premier-pharmacy.com/product-category/adhd/ mobility, law of large numbers, small sizes, problems in identification / singling out / differentiation and of course, an intense immune syst em that develops capabilities against every pesticide that comes out of an inventive mind. And let me not talk of procreating capabilities !

Now, that’s too generic a definition. That’s applicable to rodents and mosquitoes for sure. Of course. But lets put this definition to test over others.

Say a talib terrorist. Small. Pesky. Mobile. Large numbers in numerous caves. Attack in small numbers. Would be difficult to tell one from another, with the beard, turban and AK 47. Has fought the combined armies of the world very well. And their number seems to be growing.

Voila !

OK. Now another test. Does a chairman of a company who embezzles his own company fit here. Lets expand this. Do CEOs and other white collar criminals fit this definition of Pest ?

They are small in the mind. But they are numerous and spread across organisations. Operating from cubicles and cabins. And quite obviously, one doesn’t get to see too many of them at one go. And of course, with the Armani pin stripe and lacquered floor its going to be difficult to identify one. And as we are seeing here, they almost, always get away ! Voila. It seems to work here as well..

That definition would fit to vast majorities of politicians, sportsmen, salesmen, recruiters, drivers …whoo boy. And i think it fits people like me as well, if you ask certain people whose names i withhold for security reasons.

It really depends on who you ask. Heck. I think what the world needs SOME pesticide! Day and Night !! And perhaps a new definition as well !

This post is the 2nd in the three part ‘On the Tree’ series of posts. Posts that draw inspiration from human work on a simple tree !

Notes to Myself !

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Some things send me in a tizzy. Pompous talk, for one wins hands down. The other, is to see some ‘works of art’ ! Like the ones that i see in Ten rupee currency notes. Today i got four notes. And i plan to take them out of circulation.

And i wonder why people would scrawl !?!

Sampled here are four notes. And here is whats written on them. Not including the ‘i promise to pay the bearer..’

a. Pictorial Representation of ‘I love Mumtaz’
b. ‘I love Poondi’ stuck off and replaced with ‘I love Saleem’
c. A star and some other indecipherable script. I can read ‘Arsht Arsi’
d. ‘We are like this only’

a. For the love of the original Mumtaz, the Emperor Shah Jehan built the Taj Mahal ! So, if you cant afford it, must you leave a scrawl ?! To all the aspiring Shah Jehans of the world, if you have to showcase the love of Mumtaz, for heavens sake, go rent a flat, build a hut. Whatever. But spare the 10 rupee note ! Please !

b. And if you have doubts about who you really love and how to keep track as you move from Poondi to Saleem, may i suggest, you use a tissue paper. The currency note is for circulation, you see. On second thoughts, i wouldn’t give you that idea. I am recalling that statement. Now, jsut go buy tissue paper.

c. Ok. So you have this incorrigible urge to write. And practice your writing on currency notes only. Ok, so your father was the oil sheik, who has four wells somewhere in the gulf. Ok. Ok. But, at least, at the very least, write some stuff that we can read and understand.

d. And the last one. The next time, i catch you writing something like this, i am calling the cops. The mint. The RBI, anybody. Somebody. Ok. I promise to create so much noise, that , at least the next time, they would print a helpline for such traumatised people like me, to call and complain. Right there on the 10 rupee note !

Gandhi’s smile, was not always of approval.

Now, stop that scrawl.

Riders of the lost ark !

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If you are struggling to figure out what in a safari’s name was that..well, i clicked that close to office. Not that i work in a zoo or anything like that. For some reason, there was this strange urge to clarify. Having done so, i move on.

In case you are still wondering where the hell the tiger is roaring from, well, that was the seat of a motorcycle. That idea beats the hell out of me. Would i ever want to paint a tiger’s gaping mouth on my seat and sit on it ?!? What would you call that behaviour ? Sadist ? Masochist ? What !!!

That too, on a bike ? On the seat ? Phew ! Pray tell me, why would this biker ever do that ? I want to see this chap.

But hold on, i can think of a few plausible reasons…. Perhaps its just that the biker doesnt want any other person sitting on the seat, while the bike is parked !

Or is it to scare away the odd crow. What the hell ! With one last lingering look at the tiger, i walk away.

Perhaps this was a devious biker. And, this was a plan to attribute to the tiger, the odd natural noise that could straddle the space between the riders rear and the seat…Suddenly the tiger seems to beseech me to save him !


And this was clicked at Mahabaleshwar. ‘Don’ it says. And something to the effect of ‘catching the Don is not difficult, it is impossible’ !

I want to see the dude who did this to his seat ! If you want to call yourself a ‘Don’, you would do it to that part of the bike that would be visible when you drove ? Right ?!?

Or is this another chap who wants to proclaim to himself that when he rides the bike, he sits atop a Don !

Well, well, well…people. I knew the world had strange tastes. And i wonder what choicest adjectives the riders of these bikes ( and people with similar tastes) will have for me, if at all they read this post.

In all sincerity, i remind myself that i must have a wider perspective. An inclusive mindset. And a temperment that seeks out and revels in diversity.

And then i think of the tiger and the Don. Call me what you will, an image of a roaring tiger (or a mafia dude) under my rear, (given the condition of our roads) is sure prone to get me uncomfortable !

Recession Romance !

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So there is a recession. Or atleast a recession in the coming. I wonder how lives will change. Especially so after reading this.

For those readers whose sentiments are down, and who wouldnt want to read that piece, here are a few thoughts & ideas that caught my attention !

a. Recession would perhaps mean more people cheating in exams !
b. It would bring about a reduction in birth rates and an increase in suicide rates
c. Women omen selected to be Playboy Playmates of the Year look more mature !
d. Hemlines go down..

Now, these made me look up. And think about what else would change? I wonder if a recession would lead us to the following…

a. would hair lines recede ( & if so, by how much ). And would anybody care ?

b. Would waist lines change ? If people stay indoors that much longer, well, i would imagine so !

c. Would that mean love marriages blossom? And how about the Gay types ! ( I read somewhere, ‘when you are Gay, your choice set, compared to a straight person, doubles’ )

d. Will prices of apartments, tomatoes, newspapers et al…come down ? Will it be like the old times ? Can we get petrol for Rs.7 / – a litre ?

e. Would TV programming change ? Would we have re-runs ?

f. With every body throwing money into a safety vault of sorts, will elections be fought on counterfeit money ?

g. Would people just relax a little bit, take time off, wash their own cars, drive ways, stay home and read those books that they bought long time back, in the hope of reading it someday ?

h. Would there be lesser cars on the road and lesser carbon di oxide in the air, and more space for pedestrians ! Will bicycles stage a stellar comeback ?!

i. Will we fish less, farm less, eat right and just stay still ? Will all the still people, be nice to one another !

j. Will boys give reusable plastic roses to prospective girl friends ?

k. Would MBA schools have ‘Monopoly’ as part of economics curriculum ? Perhaps ‘scrabble’ would become the best game! Would ‘bailout’ be a seven letter abuse ? Perhaps replace the four letter swear words of the current day world ?

l. Would people get tired of depressing news and tune out of news channels. No advertisements. Would that put news channels out of business ? Ditto with radio jockeys too. And those honourable men and women in Bigg Boss too.

Suddenly the recession doesn’t seem to be all that bad. And before the bad mood affects the sentiments of the visiting public to this blog, my romancing of the recession, goes no further !

A fleeting thought comes up…can i ‘recede’ to being a little boy clinging to his father, as he drove that Vijay scooter ?

Looking at and away !

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I sit there. In that red seat. Sweating. Huffing. Gasps of air escape my mouth. Steady streams of sweat appear from nowhere and fill all of my forehead, face, shirt and all else. I have just completed a 3 KM run. And in record time. ( And that means that a time has been recorded, nothing else).

My tryst with the treadmill in the gym continues.

I look up. And look around. Thoughts race in my mind, as the lungs hoover-up all the oxygen, and the tired legs pine for rest, just like a hero in a bollywood song. All of strange wails and deep pain : exhibited through a sound and dance routine !!

In a distant corner there is a fit gent. With big bulging muscles and minimal clothes, lifting what seems to be half an universe. He goes, twelve, thirteen… I realise that there is one person who is gritting his teeth. And that is me.

Many hard short grunts later, he completes. And looks at his bulges in the mirror. A fulgent, intense stare. I suppose in satisfaction. I will never get there i tell myself. And I look away. The load that i attempt to lift, perhaps would require his index finger. Ok. It may require slightly more. But only slightly.

At that moment i wonder if at all there were some technique to convert all of this into some productive result. For instance, a body builder lifts weights and part of a building gets built. Through some conversion of energy technique ! How more far fetched can i get ?

My eyes search for some other human form.

There he sits in another corner. He sits listening to the gym’s trainer lecture him about the need to do more. Eyes drooping, sweat emerging from all conceivable pores, water bottle in hand he tells the trainer that he is going home for today. I look away. And as i look away, i notice his T-shirt and it is difficult to miss whats written there : impossible is nothing !

In another corner, a boy and girl engage in conversation. The sweat remains absent. The T-shirt carries the iron’s fold. But they are there too. Dabbling with some weight and lurk around the corner. Conversing and laughing. I look away. And as i do, i notice his T-shirt shouts, ‘Just Do It’ ! Well, was that explanation or seeking of right !?! Whichever way, it fitted the picture well. I look away.

Catching minutes from thin air, i seek for more ruses for rest as the hearts palpably beats less faster. I decide that to read some T-shirt messages say. And so here are a few :

a. If Attitude Were Money, I am worth a billion.
b. Would they ever invent muscle dentures ?
c. bUmP
d. Mexico ! ( I dont know what that meant )

And as i ponder about ‘why Mexico’ the gym instructor appears. With an arching eye brow and a sardonic grin he asks, ‘tired ?’ I shake my head, and look away.

And just as i do, i read whats on his T-shirt

‘Get On With It’ !

And so, life goes on.

Ordiarily Extra-Ordinary !

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When the yoke of the world seems to weigh on a slouched shoulder, messages come from strange places. Showing how at other times, similar yokes have not only been carried well, but used to break walls that seemed insurmountable just a few moments ago.

Picture from New York Times
News about Rosa Parks’ death took a long meandering road into history. But this was quite profound ! I cant fathom an ordinary lady taking on an establishment and its established set of rules at that time. Read the story here

Nor will i ever be able to understand what it takes to stand as one man, in front of a looming tank. Not one, but a series of them. To take on a notorious regime and its large army, for whom subjugation was as mainstream as growing paddy by the river side. I will never be able to completely understand what went on in the mind of that gent, as stood, eyeball staring into a tank’s barrel !

I would like to imagine that such acts of courage are common place. Although, lost in the melee for survival. Perhaps lost in the whorls of a media and society interested more in the rabid rants of demented minds that go by the common name of ‘politician’.

But it is these nameless faceless people amidst us, who keep the world spinning. Who give us hope. That we will ultimately survive. And keep our heads above water. And perhaps someday, wade out of the swamp we are in.

One ordinary man inspired a divided nation to take on an established empire. One ordinary woman inspired a community to rise up against the injustice meted out to them. One ordinary man brought up children who went on to impact society, despite having humble beginnings as a lowly worker ! One ordinary woman touched lepers when they were regarded as completely untouchable.

And somewhere in that ‘ordinary’ness was an extra-ordinary spirit. A spirit that did not accept status quo for what it was worth. A spirit that just took on. And took off. And a spirit which stayed simple and ordinary.

The next time you see an ordinary man, guiding traffic when the errant traffic cop is invisible, or when a ordinary woman stand up to a lewd gesturing boss or when a conscious citizen takes on a demented divisive politician, look no further. At that moment there is a tale in courage and hope unraveling.

It is these moments and such people, that provide renewal to life and living. A bright torch shines into in a looming blanket of darkness.

A feeling that all is not lost yet pervades. I would like to believe so. After all, we are all ordinary, in our own ways.