AI 183

Are you okay travelling in Air India? It was a tough question to answer especially when one has to spend 15 and a half hours in an Air India flight. But then I had never experienced 15.5 hours of travelling in Air India and had only heard of other's narrations about the experience. So, I said okay. I was in Bangalore and had to fly to Delhi to board this long-haul flight. From there the fifteen and a half hour flight was supposed to take off three hours later. A day prior to the travel data, I got an email from Air India informing me that the flight from Delhi was delayed by three hours. This meant that I reached my final destination at 10 pm instead of 6:40 pm. That did not sound good. I would have preferred to reach in the evening rather than the night, but the choice was made and die has rolled. 

The six hours at the Delhi airport was spent in having lunch, coffee, visiting restrooms, editing the book and watching K drama. It went away like a breeze. At the security check, the security personnel asked the old woman standing beside me to open her bag for checking. Many food items including two bags of bitter gourd emerged from the bag. The man said, "I am looking for chillis". The woman said "There are no chillis. I have some paratha and pickles. Do you want some son?" He responded "No aunty, I brought lunch from home. Where are you going?" She responded, "To Oman, to meet my son".  

Later, I walked towards a lounge. I showed the set of cards I had and asked, "Will any of this allow me entrance into this lounge?" She looked at each and commented "This can only be used in airports outside India. This one will require you to pay 3700 rupees for two hours. This one requires 3000 for two hours."  I sighed in disappointment and said "Okay, I will pay 3000 rupees." She said, "Do you want to check the lounge because we don't refund once you pay for it?" I felt insulted but realized that it is better to be insulted than pay 3000 rupees for two hours. I said it is ok and walked off. I realized that even if I make a lot of money someday, I will never be rich. I said to myself in my head "You will never drive a BMW man." A passerby looked at me quizzically. I realized that I has used my voice and not my mind voice.

At 5 pm I walked into the cordoned area around the gate for boarding the flight and sat in a chair close to the gate. Within 5 minutes we were asked to leave the cordoned area because we can only enter that area after we went through a security check. Flights to US demanded multiple levels of security checking. So, everyone walked towards the entrance of the cordoned area. It was more like an amble than a walk. Most of the passengers on the flight were elderly who carried many pieces of luggage with them. So, it took them some time to get out of the cordoned are. Actually, they did not get out of the area at all. The line started outside but soon took a U turn and came right back into the cordoned area. The entrance of the area being narrow, everyone just stood there. Soon the security personnel came and shoed everyone outside. 

The queue outside was not formed like a straight line either. It was rectangular in shape with the beginning and end of the queue barely differentiable. Right outside the entrance was a drinking water fountain that was controlled by IR light. As the people, in the queue stood close to the IR sensor, water started pouring out of the tap sporadically. A person standing ahead of me felt bothered by this and tried his best to stop the water flow by touching the various parts of the water fountain. But nothing worked. So, he gave up and looked sadly at the water flowing out. I had my headphones on and so was in no position to inform him the reason for the apparent malfunction. 

Right in front of me was a young mother with her five year old son, who was handcuffed to her. By handcuff I don't mean the one used by the cops. There were two soft pads that were tied around the mother's and son's wrists. The two pads were attached to each other using a thick wire that was wound in loops. The boy only had the liberty to be in a radius of one and a half metres from the mother when he stretched the loops. But that was not enough for the boy he pulled the wire to free himself off it or drag his mother with him. But he was too small and could not achieve either.  Finally, he screamed and shouted in frustration. After some time, his mother gave up and took off the handcuffs. As a result, he found himself free within the rectangular queue. But he was not satisfied by that for he wanted to break out of the rectangle. But a few people who had noticed the happenings did not let him out of the rectangle. Finally, when he managed to break out of it, one person ran behind him, caught him and brought him back to the mother who promptly handcuffed him again. 

By this time, the queue started moving. The old people who occupied the queue had no idea what was to be done and there were too few security personnel to manage the confusion. People did not keep their mobiles inside the bags for scanning and so were sent back by the security person checking the people with a metal detector. Some kept the bag in the Xray machine but did not wait for body scanning. Some walked through the metal detector too early. Some came out of the area after security check to go to the restroom and tried going back without checking. The security personnel became frustrated and complained "What do I do? The people don't listen to anyone ".  

Many minutes later I sat down in my seat. For the first time in many years, my age was lower than average age of the people who were around me. The person sitting behind me had a loud voice and was causing a lot of confusion. One of the members in his party was assigned the seat 49E but he wanted 51E. So, he walked up and down the aisle uttering 49E and some other words in Hindi loudly. Finally, when an old lady came to occupy 51E, he asked her to sit in 49E. The lady did not seem to understand what was happening but occupied the seat 49E anyway.

The flight was filled with parents of various ages visiting their children abroad. One couple proudly announced to another "Our son is in Berklee university. We are going for her graduation."  Most of them were not clear about the requirements of flying and tended to walk around even when the seat belt sign was on. The flight attendants did their best to remind them to not walk around but at some point they gave up in frustration. I also got the feeling that the captains tended to forget to switch off the seat belt signs. They probably thought anyway no one would follow the sign, so might as well leave it on. 

The lady sitting next to me was filled with curiosity. She and her husband tried charging their mobile phone but were unable to insert the adapter into the plug point. A few minutes later, I charged my phone using the USB point available for charging. She observed my actions keenly, then yanked the USB chord from the adapter that her husband held and went on to charge their phone in a similar manner. Later, when flight attendant came by pushing the drinks trolley, I saw a bottle of Teachers standing proudly at the front. It reminded me of my teaching days and so I got a quarter cup of it with 3 cubes of ice. The lady looked at me intently and asked, "What is it?" I felt stumped and did not know how to respond. I finally gave the worst possible response "Alcohol, Whiskey". She covered her nose with her blanket and looked away.

I usually love the entertainment system in these long flights and end up watching three or four movies during the fifteen and half hour flight. But the entertainment system in this flight was bad. The display was not great, and the user interface was not responsive at all. I had to click a button or swipe a few times before the interface reacted. I tended to apply to much force and was worried that the screen would break. Worse still was that they gave us a low quality ear plugs for audio rather than the over the ears headphones. The audio sounded terrible coming through it. Still, I decided to watch a movie; I can't remember which one now. As the title of the movie came up, the screen went blank. The flight had just started taxiing and system had rebooted. Soon, the phrases like "Starting system", "Starting Android", "Initialising application" appeared successively on the screen. Finally, the welcome screen appeared. Once again, I touched and swiped multiple times to restart the movie. But the screen went blank again. I gave up. I was reminded of a similar experience I had many years back. When the screen came back on, I decided to watch the flight path and details of the flight. Though there was an option to see this information, the application informed "Information not available". I switched the monitor off and took out my mobile. I started watching the two downloaded episodes of "Extraordinary Attorney Woo".

At some point during the flight I noticed the person sitting diagonally across the aisle, a fair old man, dressed in traditional north Indian attire. I noticed that he was looking through the movies available in the entertainment system. There was nothing odd with that except for the fact that all the information about the movies were written in Korean. I looked at him and wondered if he could be a Korean who had lived in India for many decades. It did not seem so. His attire and haircut were too desi for him to be anything but a desi. A little later I saw that an episode of the 'Big Bang Theory' was running on his screen but I was not sure if he was watching it or not. 

Three hours into the flight, the two episodes that I had downloaded had been watched and dinner was consumed. I had nothing to do other than sleeping and listening to music. I am not sure how much I slept but it was more than usual though the sleep itself was not comfortable. Nearly 16 hours later after the flight landed, the lady sitting beside me asked "You have water?" When I said yes, she stretched out her hand. For a moment I was tempted to say 'No, that water is mine" but then I remembered that I was old and had to be benevolent. Besides I had another half a bottle of water. So handed over the full bottle of water to her. She grabbed the bottle from my hand and without thanking me handed it to her husband. I was not too bothered by her lack of courtesy. They had boarded the flight from Delhi and nothing better could be expected from her.  I decided that I should avoid taking internation flights into and out of Delhi and started deboarding.

Put on your red shoes and dance the blues

Through my life I have remained cocooned from hardships. Even when I went through tough situations, I realised that ninety percent of the world lived through tougher situations, a lot tougher. Yet I did not feel guilty about this. I felt sad when I heard about the misfortune of the above mentioned ninety percent though. To ward off the sadness, I tried to stay away from any recounting of miserable events. But when one is surrounded by misery, the incidents find a way to reach you. This always brings into me the urge to help people in misery. But I do nothing. I am barely able to take care of my own life. So how can I take care of others? I console myself with the thought that I will help others when I can. At times, I try to make a difference by being liberal with money. But even in this case, I do not go out of the way to help others. I am not interested in being a hero or a martyr. So, I keep myself busy and avoid watching the news channels, which are, at most times, obsessed in screaming out details of miserable events.

During the pandemic driven lockdowns, the lives of the daily wage earners became tougher than usual. They were stuck in different cities where there was no work or money. They did not have a reason to live in the cities and wanted to go back their homes. But the Government had disallowed most vehicles to ply on the road. Only essential services and a few vehicles with passes were allowed to be on the road. So, in desperation, they used any form of transportation available to them and when nothing was available, they walked. For me listening to these incidents was painful. I was at the other end of the spectrum. I was already safe within my home. I had plenty of food available within the four walls that surrounded me. To make matters better, for the first time in many years, I did not have to step out of the house every day. I felt happy and I liked the lockdown.

That phase, like every other phase in life, ended in some months. Life got back to near normalcy in two years. Except for an occasional masked faces and a few gaps among the living, it seemed that the pandemic and the ensuing lockdown never happened. The first time we traveled to the north of the country, we took COVID tests and had our reports ready for whoever demanded to see it. But during the three weeklong trips, not even a temperature check was done. So, for our next trips we did not bother to go through COVID tests.

I walked through the Mumbai airport for nearly 30 minutes before I got to the baggage carousel. I waited for another 20 minutes before my suitcase appeared from the underground. I walked up to the Meru prepaid counter and asked for a taxi to Chembur. I spent the next few minutes listening to the cost of the ride and the complex mechanism of its payment. At the end of the minute, I had to summarize the steps involved. The person at the counter nodded his head in agreement. I had got the instructions right. I paid the airport charges at the counter and walked away with two receipts. As instructed, I went down one level to what I believed was the level below the ground floor of the airport. I find the modern airports disorienting. When I get out of the flight, I believe that I am a floor above the ground. Then I go down one level to get my baggage, which I believe is the ground floor of the airport. Much to my bewilderment, I find later that another level exists underneath this level and when I reach it, I tend to believe that I have reached the underground. But I ride out of the airport, the taxi goes straight onto the road; it does not go up a ramp. So, all my estimations of the levels inside the airport get messed up. 

When I walked out of the airport, I saw many taxis parked on the other side.  I did not see any Meru cab though. I asked one of the drivers, where I can find the Meru cabs. He asked me to stand under a board that read 'Meru'. I stood under it for a minute, but no cabs appeared. I fished out the receipt and found the name and the mobile number of the driver on it. I called the driver and informed him that I was waiting for him in the underground. He informed that he was at the level above and would come down to my level soon. A few minutes later, I drove out of the airport in a Maruti Swift Dzire. The driver liked to keep me informed of every step that he had and was going through as we attempted to get out of the airport. 

"I was at the level above and thought you will come there but then you informed me that you are here. So, I had to turn around and come down. That took time. Can you give me the receipt that you got from the counter? Ah! There it is. You see this small receipt. This is the airport parking charges. I have to show it to the security guard. He will check my car number against the number on the receipt. Sometimes the cab drivers pick up customers not meant for them and that causes a lot of confusion. See! He is checking the car number. Ah! There you go. Now you can keep the receipt carefully in your pocket. Oh! You are keeping it in your shirt pocket now. You took it out of your pant's back pocket. Oh Ok! Acha! It is not reachable due to the seat belt, is it? Koi baath nahin!"

He stopped talking when we got onto the main road, but not for long. He pointed at the seventeen-year-old sitting in the back seat and asked "Has he taken the vaccine?" I responded hesitantly "Yes." 
"Both the vaccines?"
"Yes."
"He must have taken it sometime back, right?"
"Yes."
"My son did not take the vaccine. He wants to take it now, but it is not available anywhere."
I felt surprised for I had seen in the news that many Covaxin vaccines were on verge of expiry. So, I thought the pharmaceutical company, the Government and the hospitals should be desperate to use them. I asked, "Are they not available anywhere?"
"No."
"What about the private hospitals?"
"Will they be available in the private hospitals?"
"I think so."
"Hmmm! I should ask him to check but they will charge for it."
"True!"
"In the government hospitals it is free, but they are not available there. Anyway, I will ask him to check. You know I did not take the vaccine, not a single dose, but I have had no problems. Right through the lockdown till now."

He paused for a moment before continuing "The lockdown was tough. I had to stay at home and could not come out. These policemen used to beat us when we stepped out of the house. We could get by the younger ones, but the older ones are more experienced and used to beat anyone they came across on the road. But how long can a person stay indoors? I nearly went mad. One day, I drove to my hometown in this taxi."
"Where is your hometown?"
"Benares."
"You went alone?"
"No with my family; my wife and two sons. We forged a pass and used it during the journey."
"Forged?"
"Yes. The government said that they will take three weeks to issue a pass. I did not have the patience to wait and so approached someone who made duplicate passes. You know, the ones who modify the original passes using a computer and give you a printout. It looks just like the original. No one will be able to find out, not even the government employee who signed the original pass. So, I got a pass for three of us, stuck it on the windshield of this taxi and started our journey home."
"Three? Did you not say that you have two sons?"
"That is correct, but they only used to give passes for three people. If I changed it to four, then the police would have found that the pass was forged. So, I made the pass for three and claimed that my son was less than twelve years old though at that time he was fifteen. We drove for four days before we got home. At the borders, the police made us wait for many hours. At one place we were had to sit on the grounds of a police station for eight hours. We had no problems. This was no different from sitting at home doing nothing. We had done that for nearly six months and were experts at sitting in a place for hours doing nothing. Besides, how long could they keep us there? The police had to let us go when the number of people on the ground grew to more than one thousand. I stayed at Benares for a year. I drove all around UP during the year with the forged pass stuck on the windshield. If anyone stopped me, I would show the pass stuck on the windshield and they would let me pass. No one caught me."

He had reached the end of his narration. He remained quiet for a few minutes before going on to the next topic. We were crossing a large-barricaded complex with many policemen guarding it. Somewhere in its midst of the complex resided the Thackerays. He talked about it with such mystery that it seemed that Thackerys were mystical creatures living in an enchanted forest. As we listened to his narration, we looked at the complex nervously and soon completely stopped looking in that direction. Later, when got into the Bandra Kurla complex, we saw a swanky red coloured sports car take the right at a signal and speed away. He pointed at the car and said "There are many such cars in Mumbai these days. Sons of rich men. They are born into wealth and have no qualms about showing it off." His narration moved from the rich men's sons to his own sons. The eldest was studying in a college. The youngest had just finished his 12th and was attempting to get into a college. The words came out of him seemed drenched in anxiety and hope.

By the time, we parted, I felt a sadness pass through me. Only 40 minutes had passed since I got into his cab and yet, it seemed I had known him for longer.  

Weddings, these days, are influenced heavily by the customs and culture of North India. I was in Mumbai to attend a Malayalee wedding, which, I thought, can only stretch up to an hour. But this one stretched across a day and a half and contained many elements. It started off with a Mehendi before going through a Sangeeth and ending in a Reception after travelling through a wedding ceremony. I had witnessed a similarly detailed ceremony for the initiation of a matrimonial relationship, a few months earlier. The trauma of the events stayed with me for nearly two months. During that period my mental and physical faculties became physical and mental faulties. The prime culprit for this situation was the sound and light extravaganza that is essential in any North Indian marriage function. The most affected part of my body was my ear drums. The culprit - dance music. The issue with dance music played at weddings was not the music by itself, which without doubt is useless, but the decibel level at which it is played. I am sure the god Indra will be tapping his feet to the beat of 'Arabi Kuthu' while watching Urvashi and Ramba prance to it. The song 'Arabi Kuthu' is a good representative of the songs played during such occasions. What the hell is that song all about. It seems like a lament sung at a funeral (oppari) - "Avanum poittan poittane, ivanum poittann poittane...". The singer's voice fits the oppari mood too. Every time I hear it, I wipe away a tear from the corner of my eye. What a sad song! Ayyyoo Poitane! After I got back from the earlier wedding, I had to put my ears through an hour of heavy metal treatment to recover. My ears had recovered completely, by the time I had walked into hall to witness the Sangeeth ceremony (which by the way is a poor excuse for people (young and old) to jump around to remixed version of some upbeat song where the singer screams "Baby/Kudi/Whatever, come and dance with me..."). I simply don't understand the obsession that humans have about dancing or the acts that they categorize under the word dancing. Damn! I am digressing. 

Wedding/Marriage halls are also perfect locations to meet people whom you have not met for years. Sometimes, such meetings invoke happiness in us and at other times, something like the following happens. 

During the reception, I found myself walking with one of my uncles. Suddenly, I found a lady waving in our direction wildly. For me, most people attending the reception were strangers and so I looked towards my uncle, who was waving back at her with as much excitement. The two of them uttered as explosive "HIIIIIIIIIIII" as they got closer. For a few minutes, they asked talked about their respective lives. I stood there wondering when the moment would come when I can walk away without it seeming rude. Just a few moments before the moment arrived, my uncle looked towards me and asked, "You know Rekha, right?" I would have responded "yes" if I had not seen him pointing at the lady. I was sure I had never seen her in my life. But my uncle seemed to be sure that I knew her and so my surety wavered. Rekha was looking at me intently. Inside my head I thought I heard her say "Please say no." I let my brain smile back at her and was about to say "No", when my uncle prodded helpfully "Sita's daughter, you know Sita right!" He ended the statement with an exclamation and not a question mark. He was sure I knew Sita even if I did not know Rekha. I was in a fix. I saw that Rekha's nervousness had disappeared and an amused smile lingered on her face. I searched through my head for the Sitas. 

1. Sita from Ramayana - Can't be.
2. Seeta from Seeta Aur Geeta - Impossible.
3. Sita, the Tamil movie actress from the 80's and 90's - Maybe or maybe not. How the hell am I supposed to know?
4. Sitaram Yechury - What! Stop!

I decided to give in and said "Ah yes! Of course! Hi". They continued to talk, and I slunk away.

As I drove back from the Chennai aiport to my house, I started the counting the bachelors and bachelorettes of marriageable age in my family. I realized there were enough of them present to ensure two wedding a year. I sank back in my seat worried. I did not have the stamina to witness people dancing to "A Sami, B Sami, ... O Sami, ... Z Sami" for another year. The future looked loud and bright! Fortunately. my thoughts were broken by the cab driver's narration of events in his life.

"I was a cab driver in Saudi for 18 years. I had my own cabs and a few shops but in 2018 the Saudi Government brought a rule that only Saudi citizens can own companies in Saudi. So, I came back to India with my family..."

Among flora and fauna

By the time, the bus left the bus terminus, all the seats in it were occupied with the students and the teachers from the city occupying most of them. The people boarding the bus at the first few stops from the terminus were shocked to see the packed bus. The buses that start from the town at around noon were usually empty. But the situation in the bus on that day was different. They were disappointed to see that there were no seats available for them to sit. They stared at the children in frustration. They did not understand the need for these children from the city to visit their area. They did not believe that their area had anything to offer to them. As they walked through the aisle of the bus, they looked to the left and right, attempting to identify some space to fit themselves in. One or two of them tried to bargain space from the children. But the children did not give in as they were tired from the train journey and the subsequent walk from the train station to the bus terminus. Besides, many of them had placed their bags on their laps, and this further reduced the space they had. So, the people stood grimly in the aisle.

A few minutes into the journey, I noticed a man getting into the bus at one of the stops. He seemed to be a regular traveler along the route. He waved to the driver and conductor and started talking to them. I could not hear the conversation but was fascinated by his animated expressions and hand movements. I was sitting at the other end of the bus and could not hear his words. As I only understood Telugu sparingly, I would not have understood the conversation anyway. So, the only logical thing to do was to guess parts of their conversation. I started the guessing game when I saw him pointing his index finger in the upward direction while waving his right hand towards the back of the bus. "My niece got married last month. She stays with her in-laws close to here." Alternatively, he could have been saying "that new biriyani shop is good. I had mutton biriyani there and it was like one of those biriyanis from Hyderabad." A few moments later he waved his left hand towards his left and probably said "all this land was available for 50 rupees a cent just 10 years back. Look at the place now. You won't get a cent even if you are ready to pay 10 lakhs for a cent." Soon, I lost interest in the conversation and started focusing on the landscape rolling by.

We stayed in a dormitory at the edge of a forest. A small stream flowed in front of the dormitory. The sound of the flowing water was heard at all times. Sometimes one confused it for the rain. Every morning, a troop of monkeys swung in from the forest. The older and bigger monkeys, like their human counterparts, were precise about the route they took. When they got close to the dormitory, they stopped to stare inside attempting to discern food items from the rest of the objects inside. However, the little monkeys did not bother about the efficiency of their path. They jumped from one branch to another and almost immediately, jumped back to the earlier branch. They went about their journey in this manner and on the whole, jumped many more times than their adult counterparts. To delay their journey further, they spent many minutes swinging at each branch and playing/bullying the other little monkeys. 

One day, I was sitting on the verandah, the top part of which was enclosed in a wire mesh. I was talking to my colleagues while eating a banana. I placed the banana peel on the ledge by the mesh and continued my conversation. Soon, I felt a presence besides me. I turned to my right and saw a small monkey trying to extract the banana peel through the gaps in the mesh. The monkey was looking at me nervously as he/she tried to the pry out the banana peel. Within seconds, the banana peel was between his/her fingers. The monkeys quickly stuffed it in his/her mouth and jumped away. The monkeys only looked at the humans as source of food and did not seem to enjoy their company. I saw one trying to ape a crocodile; only the top part of his/her head were seen above the ledge. When I turned around and looked, he/she ducked under the ledge. I thought the monkey was playing a game with me and humoured him/her by playing along. Soon, the monkey realised that there was no food in sight and exited the game abruptly.

It rained incessantly for two days. Everything was wet and messy on those days. I realised I only loved the rains when its wetness did not reach me. The monkeys did not like the rain either. They sat in the shaded parts of the building, looking at the rain, sadly. A big monkey sat safely below the extension of the roof. Though the space was large enough to accommodate four or five more monkeys, he did not allow any other monkey to occupy it. He growled and pounced at any other monkey approaching the shaded area. Two small monkeys decided to not try their luck with the big monkey. They huddled together in a small square gap on the wall. The gap had a grill that kept the monkeys away from the attic on the other side. They sat there looking at the rain. When the thunder rumbled menacingly above them, they hugged each other tightly and looked away. At times, they hid their faces against each other and at other times, they looked into the room. I was not sure if this was one of the sweetest or saddest sights that I had witnessed in recent times. 

Meanwhile the bigger male monkey sat like a king in his safe place. He looked about him arrogantly and continued to shoo away all other monkeys except for one average sized monkey. This monkey sat at some distance from the bigger monkey. From time to time, the bigger monkey looked towards the other monkey. Soon, he got up and walked towards him/her. As soon as he reached the other monkey, he jumped on top of her and started copulating. The female monkey did not seem alarmed by this action. She straightened herself and, in the process, threw away the male monkey and ran away. The male monkey looked at the receding figure for a few seconds before walking back to its position of dominance.

Besides the monkeys, many insects and reptiles became a part of our lives. Within a few hours of arriving at the dormitory, I heard some of the children came out of their room discussing excitedly. When I inquired about the reason for their agitation, one of them informed "there is a big lizard in the room. It's almost as big as a crocodile." I went into the room and saw a large lizard on the wall at the other end of the room. The children had exaggerated when they said that it was as big as a crocodile. It was only twice as long and thrice as wide as a common lizard. Later, I saw a similar sized lizard near the bathroom. The lizards in the area, probably had a good supply of nutritious food and as a result had grown healthy. 

One morning, as I waited for the sun to rise above the hill, I saw a small black ant dragging a lifeless large black ant away. The dead ant was at least 20 times larger than the small ant, but the ant pulled it along effortlessly. I wondered how the bigger ant had died. If the smaller had killed it, then Marvel comics should drop all its superheroes and consider making a movie with the ant in the lead role. 

Another morning, as I walked towards the dining hall for breakfast, a child pointed towards the sky and said "look". I looked up but did not see anything worth a "look". He urgently pointed towards something and said "spider". The word turned out to be magical one. As soon as I heard it, I noticed a large spider at the centre of the web that it had constructed.  The spider body was black in colour and it had four yellow stripes running across its body. 

Later, as I walked near the dining hall, I noticed a spider on the ground. Its colour matched the ground and if I was not observing the ground intently, I would have missed it. I sat down and looked at the spider. I realised that there was something odd about it; the spider only had six legs! As per my understanding, it should have had eight. I started counting the legs "one, two, three, four, five and six". It only had six legs: four legs on one side and the two on the other. The spot where the third and the fourth legs should have been lay vacant. The spider had lost two of its legs in some mishap. I got up gave the brave spider a salute and walked away. Staying on the topic of spiders, I had the good fortune of observing three large spider webs glistening as light passed through the dew drops that had settled on it. I wanted to take a picture, but the webs lay across the stream, and I could do nothing but observe them.

The morning of the second day was spent in talking to farmers. Most of what I heard that morning was not new but the effect of hearing it from the people on ground affected me. My interactions with farmer were limited to a few organic farmers in Tamilnadu but organic farming was not even a fad for these farmers. Farming itself was becoming a fad for many of the farmers. They only farmed for their family's needs. Instead, many were moving towards dairy. Even in dairy, they focused on quantity than quality. So, most of their cows were hybrids and not country cows; no one cared for A2 milk here. One of the farmers, who was the ex-sarpanch of the village, offered us tea, orange and groundnut balls. The orange surprised us. Another farmer too offered oranges to another set of students. I could not associate oranges to that part of the country. Maybe, the fruit was considered special and hence was offered to the children from the city. We visited six farmers before deciding to end our study. At noon, the boy who was guiding us started walking away from the village. We followed him through mud roads and fields for twenty minutes. Finally, he stopped in front of a temple. The temple was constructed recently. Besides it stood an older temple, which was in ruins. This temple though broken-down was fascinating. It seemed like a perfect place for forgotten gods and spirits to reside. We walked through it looking at the sculptures carved on its pillars. One of the girls pointed out the figures at the bottom of the pillars. She said they represented different poses in Bharatanatyam. She went from pillar to pillar, displaying each pose herself and naming them. 

Soon, the children sat down in small groups and started talking. One girl leaned against a pillar and slept; another slept on the floor with her on head placed on the former's lap. As children from the other groups started coming in, they found places in the mandapam of the old temple, to lie down and sleep. They used each other's laps as pillows. I stood at a corner of the mandapam and looked at the scene of bonhomie. As I looked at the scene, I noticed something bright on a tree beyond the other side of the mandapam. I walked towards it and as I got closer to the tree, I realized that it was a brightly coloured lizard. The colours on the lizard reminded me of brightly coloured sports cars. The lower part of the lizard's body was coloured black and the top part, orange. Its face was also orange in colour and it had a black streak running from its neck to its mouth. They lizard's eyes lay within this streak. It seemed fantastic and outlandish, I stood by the tree and stared at it for long. I took out my phone and got a picture of the lizard. The lizard was oblivious of my presence and did not move. I used Google Lens to discover that the lizard was called Peninsular Rock Agama. Wikipedia informed me that it was commonly found in the rocky regions of the Eastern Ghats. I showed the lizard to a few of the children. As they crowded around the tree, the lizards became aware of our presence, and ran up the tree. The agama stayed at the higher parts of the tree after that. It sat on a branch and looked towards the horizon. From time to time, it moved its head from side to side. The girl who had talked about Bharatanatyam earlier, said that the lizard's movement reminded her of the neck movements in the dance form.

One evening we started our journey back to our place of stay at 630 pm. The sun had disappeared beneath the horizon, but darkness had not taken over the sky. We travelled back in autos. The children spoke excitedly on topics that interested them. From the back, a boy started singing the song 'why this kolaveri di'. I had heard this song a million times and did not pay much heed to the boy's singing. Soon, a few others joined in, and they started singing 'Hand La Glass, Glass La Scotch, Eyes-U Full-Aa Tear-U, Empty Life-U, Girl-U Come-U, Life Reverse Gear-U'. As soon as the others joined in, I realised that the singing had to be stopped. I bellowed spontaneously "people, these lyrics are PG-13. So, stop!" They laughed and one of them started singing 'Johnny, Johnny, yes papa'. At the end of the song, he asked "is this PG-13 too?" I did not respond. So, they continued singing nursery rhymes. Though I did not want them to sing, I did not stop them. We were traveling on an empty highway and their singing did not disturb anyone. They were also polite enough to stop singing when the auto driver received a call. A few songs later, the children stopped singing and moved on to conversing in small groups. I turned my attention towards the eastern horizon. I saw a light red coloured object peeping from behind the clouds just above the horizon. It was the moon beginning starting it journey through the sky. As I watched, it escaped the clutches of the clouds and beamed at me brightly. It was full moon night, and the moon brightened the dark surroundings. The auto stopped at the beginning of the path that took us to our place of stay. We walked quietly down the path. From time to time, I observed the moon, through the branches of trees. I was reminded of many paintings and pictures that showed a similar scene. Every time I had seen such a picture, I had yearned to witness the scene in person. But now that I was witnessing it, I felt disappointed that my mind was not enjoying the scene as much as I thought it would.

On the third day of the trip, we were taken to a field to pluck groundnuts. Most of the children jumped into the activity with vigour. Some lay at the edge of the field feeling sick or tired. From time to time, we were supplied with ground nut balls and water. Besides groundnuts, the balls also contained jaggery. The children and I gobbled many of them. In 3 hours, we had covered 80 cents of the land and there were no more groundnuts to be plucked. As we started walking away from the field, big drops of rain started falling on and around us. Many of us took out our rain gear and started walking. Some did not have it and took a share of other's umbrellas. Soon the intensity of the rain increased, and our rain gears were unable to save us from getting wet. Our destination was a kilometre away and our guides decided to not proceed further in the rain. They redirected us towards a small shed. The children got into the shed, sat on the floor and started talking. I did not get a place in the shed and so stood under a large tamarind tree with the guides.  The setting should have seemed idyllic, but the rain bothered me. I constantly looked towards the sky and wondered when the rain will stop. When the rain subsided, we started walking towards our destination through green paddy fields. Once again, I was pre-occupied with the thought of reaching our destination before the rain started again. Thinking back, I see that this was another scene that I should have enjoyed more than I did.

One night, as I stood alone and stared at the full moon through the trees, I thought that this was a perfect moment. This is how I had imagined a life of peace would be. But a feeling of satisfaction did not rise through me. I was only enjoying the beauty of the sight. I realized that my idea of the perfect life did not bring me satisfaction. I probably am living a perfect life in the city and not realizing it. I was born in a city, I had lived my life in different cities, and maybe I should continue living in a city. When I feel the need to see the moon through the branches of trees with no ambient light around, I should travel away from the city. Change is a necessity, but it needn't be dramatic because drama is unnecessary.

Run to the hills -- 1. Getting there

 Many years ago, I came across the song ‘Brother John’ by Chris de Burgh. Chris de Burgh sings the song with a lot of passion, like he usually does. The lyrics narrates the story of a brother in a seminary who is attracted to a woman. One day she sees him spying on her and asks him “Brother John, it’s hard to be holy; would you like to be a man?” Chris sings this line with a lot of oomph with the word ‘man’ sung in a whisper. Towards the end of the song, Chris announces “the devil laughed, and the angels cried for the soul of Brother John”. Chris de Burgh’s singing makes the song visual. This song was very popular in the hostel and for a few months we used to listen to it regularly. Many years later, for absolutely no reason, I played this song to a Christian colleague. Being a patient and nice person, he listened to the song quietly. At the end, he turned to me and asked, “you are a rebel, isn’t it?” I was shocked and could not respond. I have never considered myself to be a rebel. If anything, I was just the opposite. I tried to fit in and keep a low profile. That night, I lay on my bed with the question “am I a rebel?” running around my head. The thought of being a rebel thrilled me, but the pragmatic part of my brain had no doubts about my not being a rebel. On further exploration I had to accept that my colleague had got it wrong. I was not a rebel. He had misunderstood the display of my contempt for most aspects of life as rebellion. Without doubt, religion stood at the head of my list of aspects in life that need to be mocked and yet, on many occasions, I call out to God for help.

“Oh God! Please let us board the flight without any issues”. I had spent many minutes during the previous three days visiting the Indigo website and checking in the passengers (us) and their luggage, loading information about their health and promising the airlines that the corona virus has not possessed them during the past few days and that they were perfectly sane. I had taken print outs of some fifteen documents. Still, I was not sure, if we will be able to board the flight. So, I called out to whichever God would listen for help.

As I approached the security person at the entrance of the airport, I felt an initial relief run through me as I observed that he only verified each person’s boarding pass and the identification card. Soon we crossed the different checks points and found ourselves inside the flight. Much to our surprise, our body temperature was not measured even once. It is tougher to get into a mall than to fly to another city in the country.

Unexpected rains had brought down the temperature of Chennai by around 10  ͦ C. So, the heat that welcomed us in Chandigarh came as a shock. For a second, we considered cancelling the trip and going back to Chennai. But we laughed at the ridiculous thought and walked bravely into the Chandigarhi heat. We spent the next ten hours with my cousin whom I met after twenty years. When we started the trip, we only expected to have an occasional dose-a and sambrrrrrr during the next three weeks. But my cousin’s mother-in-law had prepared a fantastic Thanjavurian lunch for us. I will never forget the taste of her puliyodare. 

We were supposed to get into a Volvo bus from outside the Sohana Gurudwara in Mohali at 1 AM. When I booked the ticket in the Redbus application, I expected the place to be a bus stand with a beautiful Volvo bus with the words ‘National Travels’ written on its side waiting for us to board. My expectations were far from reality. The bus did not start from Mohali but from Delhi and this was only a stop enroute to the destination. Also, there was no bus stand with chairs. Instead, we were expected to stand besides a signal in front of the gurudwara. We reached the spot at 12:30 AM. The Redbus application had promised to give us a mechanism to track the bus’ location, but it did not fulfill this promise. So, I called the helper on the bus and asked him about the bus’ arrival time. He said that the bus was stuck in traffic, and he had no idea when it will reach the stop. The best estimate that I could get was that it would reach after 1:30 AM. So, the three of us were stuck by a signal in front of a gurudwara at Mohali with two large suitcases in the middle of the night. 

Earlier, my cousin had mentioned that we could wait inside the gurudwara if we had to. The large and open gates of the gurudwara seemed a welcoming sight for us. We had never been to a gurudwara earlier. So, we tentatively walked into the gurudwara dragging our large suitcases behind us. Soon, we saw two elderly men with flowing white beards sitting in a shed. They observed us silently. We approached them and one of us asked “We are waiting for a bus. Can we spend some time inside the Gurudwara?” One of them responded “Sure. Wear a scarf over your head and go in. Do you want some tea?” We did not want ‘some tea’, but it seemed impolite to say so and so we said “Sure”. He responded, “ask someone near the gurudwara”. I picked up a saffron scarf and tied it around my head. The man who had not spoken so far looked at me disapprovingly and said, “not that way”. I took off the scarf and tied it again. The look of disapproval did not go away. He was about to say something when, the other man said, “it’s ok; go ahead”.

Though it was past midnight, we found several men, women and children in the gurudwara and its grounds. We sat on chairs in a shed by the stairs of the main structure. After a few moments, we decided to take turns to go into the gurudwara. As I waited for the other two to come back, I decided to take a selfie. I opened the camera application on my phone, toggled it to the front camera and looked into the screen. Instantly, I realized that there was something wrong with the way I tied the scarf. The scarf was in the shape of a square and one had to fold it along the diagonal before tying it. When folded had two ends: one pointed and the other straight. One was expected to tie it such that the straight side was in the front, on one’s forehead, and the pointed side was at the back of one’s head. I had done the reverse. The pointed side was on my forehead and my headgear looked like Loki’s helmet without the metallic sideburns and horns. I quickly corrected the mistake.

The structure stood at a height and at the bottom of the stairs that led to it was a shallow pool of water. One had to walk through the water prior to climbing the stairs. This ensured that everyone washed their feet prior to entering the holy place. At the top of the stairs was a set of doors through which I walked into a large hall. The ceiling of the hall was decorated with coloured mirrors. I was reminded of the hall in the ‘pyar kiya tho darna kya’ scene of Mughal-e-azaam. To my left was a platform. A few men were folding large sheets of cloth on the platform as they chanted a verse repeatedly. I started circumambulating the platform. On one side of the platform, a set of weapons were placed on a wooden cot. The only place I had seen weapons like these were in the glass cases of museums. I continued walking. At the end of one round, I stood by the weapons and wondered what to do next. I turned around and walked out of the holy place. 

When I reached back to the seating area, I found that the people at the gurudwara were determined to make us consume tea. The tea was neither good nor bad. We waited for another thirty minutes. People continued to walk around the gurudwara. They busied themselves in cleaning the already clean place. Some arranged the already well-arranged shoes and slippers by the stairs. At 1:30 AM, I got a call from the bus. They informed that the bus would reach the stop in another ten minutes. We quickly picked our luggage and left the gurudwara. 

The bus seemed flashy from the outside but quite ordinary inside. The seats that we had reserved were occupied by others but there were three other empty seats towards the front of the bus. As we tried to fit into our seats, we disturbed all the sleeping bodies around. The seats were cramped, and it felt like the person in the seat ahead was sleeping on my lap. I managed to find a reasonably comfortable position and started watching the road through the windshield in the front. We drove along the highway towards the mountains. Within an hour, the roads started twisting and turning around the mountains. I closed my eyes. I did not sleep well as the journey was not smooth.

At 6:30 AM, the bus stopped near a restaurant for a short break. We were a few hours from our destination. Ten Volvo buses were lined outside the restaurant and the passengers from the buses roamed about the large open space besides the restaurant. The open space overlooked a valley through which the river Beas flowed. As plain as my words are, I believe, it still enhances the beauty of the place, which was anything but beautiful. As in many places in north India, this one too was enveloped in fine dust. The river was not much more than a sliver of water flowing between the rocks. Too many vehicles plied on the road. The pile of people in the open space were increasing due to the constant flow of buses.

The remaining part of the journey was miserable. The roads were being expanded from two to four lanes. In many stretches, the road was reduced to rubble. To make matters worse, flow of vehicles from both sides was heavy. The dust due to the rubble on the road and construction was all around and though it did not get into the bus, the sight by itself was disturbing. By this time, the bus driver had lost his patience and was honking at everyone on the road. The road ran along the river and as we climbed higher, the river seemed more like a river. The water ran and jumped over the many rocks and pebbles that occupied the riverbed. The Volvo-ness of the bus blocked the sound of the rushing river though. 

At 9:45 AM, the bus finally reached its destination, Manali.

Nothing to do with flowers

On the side-lines of a journey, many forgettable events occur. A man of knowledge said many decades ago that nothing should be forgotten. For this reason I would like to record these peripheral events. These are not a factual descriptions but descriptions with a few embedded facts.

The way to our place of stay is simple. Take a left from the main road, go straight till the road forks. You will find a newly laid road on the right. Ignore that road and take the bad road on the left. Soon the road forks again. You will find a newly laid road on the right. Once again ignore that road and take the bad road on the left. A little later you will reach another fork. The road on the left will be a really bad road. Take it and you will reach your destination in ten minutes. 

Boundaries don't exist in a dormitory. One cannot even claim ownership of the bed one sleeps on. But some of the residents of our dormitory did not believe or even know this. One could hear them shouting across the hall. "Why are sitting on my pillow man?" or "Hey! You are sitting on my bed in your undergarments. How disgusting!"

Dormitories have common bathrooms which are usually a few minutes away from it. If a person realizes he/she has forgotten his/her towel once he/she has entered the bathroom then all he/she can do is to call out "Hey! Get me my towel. It’s the orange one". This call for help results in a few enthusiastic souls running around searching for the orange towel. Soon one of them announced "I found it". As he took the towel off the rope another person ran up to him crying "that's my towel". But the enthusiastic searcher did not accept this objection. The owner of the towel tried snatching the towel and a tug of war ensued. A friend of the towel's claimant came to his help by saying "it is his". The searcher loosened his hold of the towel and shouted to the person in the bathroom "but there are no other orange towels here". He got a response immediately "sorry, sorry, sorry! I brought a pink towel". The orange towel's owner shouted in confusion "What! Have you been using my towel?" He was relieved by the response "No da! I got confused." The searcher were offended and said "What da! You don't even know the colour of your towel."

Spiderman is the second most popular super hero among the new generation. But the reason for the Spiderman being a Spiderman is not popular among many of this generations. The web of the spider is valued more than the spider itself. As long as the spider is less than 3 millimetres long, no one cares about it. But just the sight of the bigger spiders invoke terror in many. Frankly, I too find a big spider terrifying. Someone screamed "spiiiddddeeeerrrrr" from one of the bathrooms. The occupants of the other bathrooms screamed back "where?". The first screamer responded "in my bathroom! On the wall!" The others lost their interest and responded with a disinterested "oh!" The first screamer continued "it's huge". After a few minutes, the first screamer's neighbour asked "has it gone?".

"No! It’s not moved an inch."

"But has it moved a centimetre?"

"Of course not! It has remained stationary."

Songs were an integral part of this trip. Usually we started the day with a set of songs sung by the group. Over the past couple of years, I have come to appreciate the calm that singing brings onto oneself and have enjoyed such singing sessions. In the dormitory, the day started with one of its occupants singing "vinayagane vinai theerpavane". The singer cannot be compared to Sirkazhi but had a good voice but it was definitely not the first note that the other occupants of the room wanted to hear in the morning. They cried out "Stop!" and "Please don't do this" but morning after morning this song reverberated through the insides of the room. Another occupant loved singing the song "naane varuven" from the Tamil movie "Yaar Nee" in the afternoon. The singing of this song did not send a shivers down anyone's spine voice. On the contrary everyone in the room laughed for the singer's  voice sounded cute. Instead of the ghost in the movie (played by our very own Amma when she was a few decades away from becoming Amma), the singing reminded us of Casper, the friendly ghost. As I think about it, it is a good song to be played as one lay down for a quick afternoon sleep.

I watched the driver turning the steering wheel ferociously as the van sped through the narrow roads. Actually, the van was not speeding but the road was only one van broad and at places it had potholes. So the 30 kmph seemed like 60. At the turns the driver honked enough to wake a person in Cincinnati. On taking the fifteenth turn, he looked at the person sitting beside me and said "I have to be careful at the turns. These fellows on the two wheelers don't slow down." This opening statement resulted in the following conversation between the driver and my neighbour with my neighbour responding thus to the driver.

"The bushes by the side of the road have grown a lot. They obstruct the view. Now that we have a Panchayat, they should trim the bushes."

"I don't think they will do anything."

"They are taking charge today."

"But our people have chosen a crook as the head."

"I have heard people say that about him".

"He is a contractor who is used to paying commission for everything. He did the same during the elections too."

"Oh! Is it?"

"He paid 500 rupees per vote. The people accepted the money and voted for him. Now he will not do anything for the place and no one can question him."

"Why?"

"He has paid them already and the votes were given in return. They have no right to expect anything more."

"He must have spent plenty of money in the process."

"Of course. He has spent 15 lakhs to win the elections. Now he has to earn the money in the next few years."

"Poor people!"

"Not really! The people had a choice. One of the candidates is a good person.  He is a kind and supportive person and everyone likes him. But he refused to give money during the elections. So no one voted for him. The people deserve it!"

"That's sad!"

The village roads are happening places. Children play on the road or simply run across it. Many food items are dried under the sun. People sit in a line or a circle and talk. I once saw a set of women sitting by the side of narrow road on their bonds or bands (the equipment used to carry mud or rubble on their heads - it's pronunciation is between bond and band in Tamil. I have no idea what it is called in English). The driver of the approaching van could not have missed seeing them but he did not slow down. The women did not seem too concerned either. When the van reached near them, they only moved the top part of the body away from the van. Once the van crossed, they went back to their conversation. The vehicles disturb the animals more than humans. The dogs and hens consider the road as their home and a passing vehicle usually disturbs their peaceful lives. But the dogs and hens react differently to an approaching vehicle. The hen stands clucking and pecking the ground ignoring all occurrences around till the vehicle is a few metres from them. They then turn around, give a wild stare at the vehicle and run off its track wildly. It reminds me of the phrase "Run! The sky is falling on our heads" In reality, the hens scream "Entammo rakshikane!", which inadequately translates to "Oh my god!". On the other hand the dogs are nonchalant about the approaching vehicle. One of the dogs I observed, turned around and looked at the van some 10 metres away. It sat down on the ground and let the van slow down to deal with the road bump. By the time the front wheels crossed the road bump, it had started scratching its back. It was not even looking at the bus when the rear wheels crossed the bump. As the van reached the two metre mark from the dog, it let out a sigh, got up calmly and strolled to the side of the road. The distance between the van and the end of the dog's tail was probably 3 or 4 centimetres as the van went by.

The driver of the van had the habit of talking on the mobile while driving. He seemed to be the busiest person on the planet. It was Sabarimala season and vans were in demand. So he could not spare one moment and hence spent even his driving time talking to customers and van drivers. During the calls, he used his left hand to drive. The situation was dangerous and one of us decided to give him a suggestion to help him. 

"Why don't you get a bluetooth headset?"

"Oh! That is of no use."

"It sure is. You can use both the hands to drive and talk over the bluetooth headset."

"Oh! Bluetooth headset is a fad."

"No it isn't! Many people use it, especially while driving."

"But what will people say!"

"What have people got to do with it! It's your and our lives at stake!"

"I mean, people will say that I am showing off with such fancy items."

"You got to be kidding me. What you are doing is dangerous! You cannot drive with your phone in one hand. This is not acceptable."

The driver remained silent and avoided using the phone during the remaining part of the journey.

As mentioned previously, it was Sabarimala season and all the vans were used by devotees. Once we went to a particular spot in a van. When we came back an hour later, we found that van had transformed itself into another van. We asked the driver “what happened to the other van?” He responded "Oh! That one went to Sabarimala." One of the members of our group said "Oh no! I left my book in the van." The driver responded "You are very fortunate then. The book is on its way to Sabarimala and will return as a holy book." The person who had lost the book did not appreciate the comment.

On the way back from a farm, we crossed a temple. We had alighted nearby three days ago. We were a few hundred metres from our place of stay and had to walk in darkness through narrow lanes. Each house had a dog guarding it and the dogs barked at us vehemently and persistently. In the darkness, we did not notice the Government school opposite to the temple then. As we walked by the school that afternoon children of various ages ran out to look at the differently attired children from the city. They observed the group of students walking by and at times whispered to each other. A little boy standing quietly in the front pointed at one of the girls and shouted "Aiyo! Vellakari" and ran away. The girl looked at him annoyed. She expressed her displeasure to her friend "What is wrong with these kids? Yesterday as we looking at the flowers by the road, two kids jumped out of the bush screaming 'Vellakari' and ran away. They are so annoying."

As I was going towards the bus, a passerby stopped me and said "You look like a college professor. I have a question for you." I said "I am not a college professor." He said "OK! The roots of the plants start rotting once the flowers start blooming. Why does that happen?" I was not sure what to tell and so uttered "Ehhh!" "Tell me! It is a big problem." I responded "I don't know. I have to check." "But you are a college professor. You should know!" "No, I am not a professor. Sorry!" The man looked at me for a moment before walking away shaking his head in disappointment.

The dam was a disappointment. To start with it was not one of those humongous dams with large gates. This one was more like a bridge with gates to control the flow of water. Also the dam had little water flowing underneath. A few men rolled in the film of water. At various points on the bridge graffiti were scrawled on the walls. A few of the graffiti praised RCB and Virat Kohli. In one of them, Kohli was written as கோli. The graffiti SS King was repeated at a number of places. We wondered what SS stood for and I decided that it stood for Stainless Steel. A pair of denim pants lay inside the water. As the water ran through the pants, it bloated and gave the eerie appearance of it containing the bottom part of a human body.

I was told that the paalkhova or paaltheratti at Vinayaka Sweet Shop is heavenly. It is believed that on Tuesday nights Indradevan comes down disguised from Devalokam to taste this sweet. As per the scriptures, this paaltheratti mixed with amrudham is the preferred dessert for the gods in the evening. Though I had not tasted the paaltheratti, I did not doubt the veracity of these claims. On the third day of the trip, I found myself walking into the Vinayaka Sweet Shop. It looked more like a bakery than a sweet shop and I hence was surprised by the reputation it had garnered. I found the god loved sweet sitting in a plastic box on top of the counter. I ordered a kilo of the sweet and looked at the other items in the shop. One of the sweets caught my attention. It was something that I had not seen for many years. Emotions of various sorts started running through different parts of my brains. The emotions resulted in my brain triggering my saliva glands. My appearance must have seemed similar to a dog drooling at a bone for the shop keeper asked if I wanted to have a taste of the sweet. I could not open my mouth and talk. My brain had lost its ability to control my vocal chords. Besides the saliva swishing inside my mouth threatened to spew out the moment I opened my mouth. So I shook my head in acceptance. He picked a few of the small coloured balls and placed them on my extended palm. I took one of the balls and admired it for a moment before placing it in my mouth. It tasted sweet and also had the fragrance of sweet. I am not sure but I probably uttered an ecstatic "mmmmmmmm". The sweet brought back a few sweet memories of my younger days. I think my grandparents used to buy this sweet from a restaurant near Children's theatre near Mount Road and I think the restaurant was called Hotel Annapurna. I took my time to savour each of the sugar coated sweet ball. When I realized that my palm was empty I looked up at the shopkeeper with sadness in my eyes. The shopkeeper being a kind man, placed some more sweet balls on my palm. I thanked him with a smile and continued my sugary  journey into my past.

I have come to the conclusion non-vegetarian unlike vegetarians have gradations. I believe there is scope some research in this area and to set the ball rolling, I will try and categorize non-vegetarians.

WARNING: GORY DESCRIPTIONS AHEAD - If you are person who feels queasy when someone utters “non-vegetarian”, you are advised to skip the remaining part of this section. 

1. Forever: The non-vegetarians in this category require a dead creature on their plate for every meal.

2. Periodic: These folks love the phrase "once in a ..." and would love to eat creatures once in a week or once in three days or once a fortnight or... Well! You get the idea.

3. Variety: The people in this category also belong to one of the above two categories. As the name suggests, the Variety-non-vegetarians love variety. So they are constantly on the lookout for places that serve cat or crow biryani or snake machurian or crab masala or shark puttu or deep fried reindeer. This group could also be referred to as "Wide".

4. Bird lovers: I would have preferred to refer to this group as "Chickens" but the that term would seem derogatory to some. These people love to eat chicken and its egg. They would belong to either category 1 or 2 above. Some of members of this group shudder on hearing the words "red meat".

5. Outliers: This group consists of vegetarians or more probably eggetarians who usually pose as non-vegetarians.  To clarify, eggetarians are not non-vegetarians. They are vegetarians who eat egg. The persons in this category usually lie at the periphery of the non-vegetarian world and usually consume a small piece of chicken when they go out with their non-vegetarian friends.

The persons in the Forever category struggle to survive during a strictly vegetarian trip. Their mental condition degrades in the following manner as the trip proceeds.

1. Day 1: Everything's fine. The brinjal sambhar tastes good and the bitter gourd poriyal is not bitter at all. They usually end the day, feeling good about themselves.

2. Day 2: Everything's fine till dinner. At dinner time, they try to convince others that egg is an integral part of vegetarian cuisine.

3. Day 3: Tears start appearing in the seam. They start the day demanding egg omelette for their idlis. They clamour for egg based dishes through the day. 

4. Day 4: Bursting at the seams. At breakfast they discuss loudly with their fellow table mates about the cruelty of not serving eggs for breakfast and how in reality chicken based dishes are actually  vegetarian dishes. The discussions take place at every meal and in between too.

5. Day 5: Resignation to cruelty of destiny. They continue the behaviour of day 4 but their craving for flesh has crossed all limits of good behaviour for they start licking their lips and look longingly at every passing chicken/goat/buffalo (not cow).

6. Day 6, 7, 8, ...: Usually the same behaviour as in day 5 with occasional spells of sighing and crying. I don't have data on how long this behaviour can continue without further degradation of senses.

This trip too had a few persons belonging to the first category and they displayed all the behaviours explained above. Their rantings tended to be harsher than usual due to the presence of many Chettinad restaurants in the vicinity making barottas besides the road. Once one of the young but promising members of this category shouted in a voice dripping with frustration "thirumbi poyi, mavane, pathu aade vetta poren!"  

All the happenings of a journey cannot be captured in writing. I mean it can be but I don't think it is necessary to capture and in some cases it is best not to write them all down. But some of the incidents written above are enough to remind me of those unwritten events. So I think this is a good place to stop.

Ēkaṭi rēla yātrā

Though I had slept late the previous night, I woke up earlier than I wanted to. Fortunately, it was later than my usual wake up time. I decided to get up and take care of the morning duties. The Indian style toilet resembled the Indian roads during monsoon. So I had no choice but to use the western style toilet. I stepped in with the mantra that I have repeatedly evoked while facing disgusting situations -  "disgust is nothing but a feeling". Composting has helped me assimilate this mantra by making me understand that the disgusting and smelly decomposing vegetables ultimately turn into beautiful manure. I walked into the toilet and did the job I had to do. There was the minor complexity of the mug being fixed to the wall using a small chain on my left hand side but I believe I handled the situation dexterously.

On getting back to my seat I realized everyone was asleep still. I went up to my berth and went back to sleep. I woke up when a fellow passenger's phone rang. From the previous night's events I had realised that the fellow was quite a fellow and he lived up to being a fellow by attending the call on the speaker. A young voice asked him what he was doing. The voice sounded shocked when he said that he was sleeping. She exclaimed "but it's 10 o clock".  He responded with a nonchalant "yes, we slept late last night". Now it was my turn to be shocked. I looked at my watch and found that the time was 9:05 am.

I find it interesting that I write these words about the fellow sitting right next to him. 

In a few minutes, every one got up and the middle berths came down. Everyone sat down and started staring and meddling with their mobiles. I took out my headphones and started listening to songs as I looked through my Facebook wall. Ian Gillian was struggling to sing "Black Knight" to a bunch of screaming audience. I started watching the aisle at intervals for breakfast. The choice for breakfast was limited - bread omelette, bread cutlet and upma-vada. The pantry car was manned by people from the north of the country, who found it difficult to pronounce upma and vada let alone make it. Bread and cutlet seemed an awful combination. Years of eating cutlet has helped me realize that the quality of a cutlet can either be good or bad and in most cases it is bad. So I waited for "braidomlate" to arrive.

Opeth's Blackwater park came on and suddenly and quite unexpectedly a feeling of bliss came over me. It was raining outside and most lights within the compartment were off. Water droplets ran down the window drawing zigzag lines; fortunately on the outside. The bleakness of the song matched the bleakness around. I decided to listen to the whole album. As the songs came on, a chaiwallah came by. The co-passenger ordered for "two teas". When he received the cups, he looked at it with disdain. He asked the chaiwallah "why only half a cup? Why don't you fill it up?" He did not get a response. He gave back one of the cups and said "this is too little; fill it up". I too got a cup of tea. As I sipped the tea, I realized that it was not tea but masala chai. As is usually the case, the masala chai tasted like everything other than tea. But I was happy to let the warm liquid travel to my gut. 

Finally, the food I was looking for arrived. My travels over the past few months have made me realize that bread-omelette is served differently in different trains. In one case, it contained two slices of bread and an omelette. During the onward journey, I was surprised to find three pieces of oily potato fries and a seven small green balls that looked like peas. On that occasion I had stuffed the omelet, potato and peas within the slices of bread and chomped them. This time they had thrown in a small pack of butter to the contents mentioned earlier. I looked at the butter pack suspiciously. It carried the name of a popular brand on it but the package looked suspiciously thin. It opened easily and I spread the butter on one of the slices. The butter looked surprisingly genuine. Asian paints could have used the yellow of the butter to represent "mera wallah yellow". I tasted the butter; it tastes genuine. I reached the conclusion that the butter was fake. The other items were not branded. Here I forget the packet of ketchup which is also usually provided too. I have never understood the Indians obsession with ketchup. We like to immerse everything in ketchup. Omlette - ketchup, bread - ketchup, Hakka noodles - ketchup, puffs - ketchup, pasta - ketchup, samosa - ketchup. Personally I can never forgive people for murdering the samosa in ketchup.

I placed the omelette on the slice of bread with butter spread over it. I placed sad pieces of potato and peas over the omlette and enclosed the mess with the remaining slice of bread. I bit a corner of the gruesome sandwich and enjoyed the different flavours running around my mouth. At that moment it did not matter to me that most of the ingredients could be adulterated or fake. I think we have to accept that human beings have moved to the next phase of evolution. We have now the ability to live on absolute crap. We eat crap, breathe crap and drink crap. This does not bother us for we can exercise and pop some pills into our mouths.

The man besides me asked a lady co-passenger "are you a Nepali?" She looked at him for a moment without answering. The man persisted. "Where are you from?" She hesitated for a moment before answering "from Jharkhand". The man seemed perplexed as he said "from Jharkhand!". By now, another lady co-passenger started sharing family gossip with someone over the phone. Her husband listened intently and occasionally provided information that she had missed. From time to time she said "we are Brahmans" or "at least the boy was a Brahman". The curious man's wife observed the conversation keenly and when her husband asked if she wanted fish for lunch, she refused by saying "I will not have fish in front of them. Did you not hear her speak?" She had eggs for lunch and complained to her husband about its tastelessness later.

The train's running late by three hours and it is refusing the make up the delay. The 27 hour journey promises to extend by another 4 hours. 

Let's talk about the journey

This is what happens when you have 37 km separating you from the railway station. You get into the cab two hours ahead of the train’s departure time and spend the next one hour and forty five minutes wondering if you will make it to the station on time. Google map advised "take the lengthier 45 km route as it will get you to the station in one hour and thirty minutes. But the cab driver pooh-poohed the map's recommendation. He claimed he had inside information about Google's nexus with the cab companies. He said that Google misinforms its users to help the cab companies can make money. I did not believe him. My experience told me that the journey usually takes more time than Google's estimate. But I did not argue with the driver as I would probably end up listening the driver's complaints about the traffic and how Google maps should never be trusted for rest of the journey. Besides the driver assured me he was aware of the shortest route to the station. An hour later, we had covered a great distance but many kilometres of city roads separated the cab from its destination. The driver, in between his constant chatter, inserted the statement "the roads are too crowded at this time of the day" surreptitiously. I did not miss the statement and inquired in a tension dripping voice "will we make it?" He responded in an accusing tone "you should have started two and a half hours earlier but let's see."

The cab driver loved to talked. He talked through the journey about the various hardships faced by the Indian middle class. I listened to him with a small part of my brain. I let the remaining parts of my brain remain in anxiety. Google map promised that the cab would reach the station with fifteen minutes to spare. My eyes spent most of the time on the estimated time of arrival. Sometimes it went higher and I felt my heart pound inside my throat and at other times I let a smile play across my nearly non-existent lips. With twenty seven minutes to spare, the cab arrived the last signal prior to the destination. If I were to use Malayalam I would have said "athoru onnonnara signal ayyirunnu" which means "that was a one - one and a half signal". The cab driver took his hands off the wheel as it halted the cab behind the 167th vehicle from the signal. He complained "this is a terrible signal. It would take some time to get through this signal. You see, people cross the road when the vehicles are taking the left and the traffic gets blocked. These fellows don't use the pedestrian subway that runs underneath their feet instead they run across the roads. Most of these people are below 35 years. Their laziness in using the subway has resulted in us being stuck at this signal for so many minutes. You see an average Indian spends 40% of his life travelling. It does not matter whether he is rich or poor or whether he is traveling by Maruti or BMW. He spends 40% of his life travelling. What a waste!" By the time he reached this point of his monologue the signal had turned green twice and we were manoeuvring through the crowd of people trying to cross the road. We reached the station with twenty minutes to spare. I walked at a comfortable pace to the train and boarded it ten minutes ahead of its departure time. The train left at the designated time.

We were on the look out for a White Scorpio in the parking lot at the Pune station. The search turned out to be easier than I expected. There was only one Scorpio in the parking lot and as expected it was white in colour. As the Scorpio started its journey, I noticed the words “Syrup Xerox” on a LED display at the front of a shop. I was perplexed and tried to understand what “Syrup Xerox” meant. I realized that the words were displayed outside a grocery shop that also let people photocopy. So the syrup came from the grocery section of the shop and the Xerox came from the photocopying part of the shop. The absence of a comma between syrup and Xerox added the intrigue to the display. 

I did not notice enough of Pune to form an impression. But as the car left the city, I noticed garbage strewn by the sides of the road. This was not everyday garbage thrown by the people in that area but large amounts of garbage dumped systematically. I came to the conclusion that the Pune remained clean by dumping its garbage out of the city. As the Scorpio proceeded further, the sides of the road got cleaner. Many villagers walked by the side of road purposefully. All of them wore simple white pyjama–kurta with a traditional white cap over their heads. One of the villager wore a large multicoloured turban over his head. The colours on the turban were neon bright and did not fit his remaining attire. His brisk walk reminded me of Gandhi’s walk to Dandi.

An hour into the journey, the driver asked if we would like to have a cup of tea. We were not really interested but out of politeness said “hmmmm aaaaaaa”. The driver persisted by saying that we should try the tea as it is the speciality of Pune. We gave in with a hesitant “OK”. As we got off the Scorpio, the driver said “it is good to have a tea during these long drives”. The tea shop was called “Yevala Amruttulya”, which as per the driver had around 90 branches across Pune and its suburb. They did not serve anything other than a single type of tea in their shops. The shop by itself was an average sized place with a big white board containing the shop’s name written in red announcing its presence. 

As I walked into the shop I noticed the brown coloured liquid boiling in a large vessel. A person was attempting to take out the last drop of tea trapped within the boiled tea leaves by relentlessly tightening the cloth that held it. Each cup of tea costed ten Rupees. It tasted as I expected it to taste. Milky and sweet with a strong flavour of cardamom. Though it did not have any flavour of tea, I loved it. It reminded me of payasam. The journey lasted two and a half hours. I spent the next three days with a mobile phone that could only be used as a paper weight. 

The Pune station was crowded beyond description. Fortunately, we had decided to spend the two hour we had in a café and not the station. We watched the India – England world cup cricket match as we bit into our respective sandwiches and sipped our coffee. We stayed at the café for longer than the time required to eat a sandwich and drink a cup of coffee. The large café was practically empty in the afternoon and for that reason, probably, we were not asked to leave. Sports does not interest me but being an Indian cricket stays at the periphery of interest. That said, I usually don’t watch cricket and so I did not really enjoy Roy and Bairstow smashing Indian bowlers. I only enjoyed the two wickets that fell a few minutes prior to us leaving the café. 

We continued to track the score as we got into the train. As we sat and discussed about the match, a middle aged woman sitting beside me asked in a mix of broken Hindi and English “Is Bairstow out?” I said “No”. She let out an annoyed “Paradesinge!” A fellow passenger started streaming the match live to satiate his fellows passenger’s interest in cricket. The lady was thrilled. She was completely immersed in the match. Every time the English batsmen pounded the Indian bowlers she hurled abuses at the Indians. When Bairstow got out she knew who should come in next. But to her utter contempt someone else walked in. She half screamed “this fellow is a waste. They should have sent the other fellow”. Sure enough, the new batsmen walked back to the pavilion in a matter of minutes and the other fellow, whose name I don’t remember, walked in. Much to her annoyance the match went as per her prediction and she hurled curses and abuses at the Indian bowlers. She went to sleep at around the time the Indian innings started. Next morning she asked to me in Tamil “what happened to the match?” On informing her the result she said “Waste fellows! They should not have let them score 300 runs.”

Do the right thing!

The place would have been quiet. The irrepressible voices of the 23 children reverberated through the path. They were excited to be present among the wilderness. The city did not offer them with open spaces and clean air. The city offered them with a lot of noise, which they had got used to. They loved to carry it with them wherever they went. The important gift of silence offered by the wilderness went unnoticed. The elders in the group were too few to control the children. 

They reached the rock strewn bed of a stream. The water that had flown over the rocks had rounded them over the years. They lay strewn on the stream bed. The children sat down and marveled their shapes and colours. They took the rocks in their small hands and caressed them. They discussed their discoveries with their friends excitedly. They exchanged ideas on building stone towers. They traded stones and sticks to make their stone towers exciting. They were walking from one place to another carefully and at times without care. The rocks let out metallic sounds as they ran into each other under the children's feet. The adults watched them for a few moments. While their excitement was good to watch, the adults weren't happy. 

The intent of the walk through the jungle and the time spent on the stream bed was different. It was to bring in a sense of quiet. It was for the children to understand the importance of quiet and even enjoy it. But the children did not understand the need for quiet. They wanted to share the excitement of their findings and this resulted in a clash of intents. In such situations, the adults do everything in their power to ensure the children follow their way. They raised their voices and humiliated the children to silence. The children looked at each other unhappily but continued to work on their stone towers. The clink of the stone against the stone was the only sound besides the sounds of the forest.

The adults were not happy with this sort of silence either. They did not want the children to do anything. They wanted them to contemplate either through plain thinking or through thinking and writing and/or drawing. They stood on the beautiful dried stream bed and lectured the children. The children listened to the adults in growing bewilderment. They were not quite sure what was expected of them. So they started to talking to each other in hushed up tones at first. Soon their voices were heard in various parts of the jungle.

In the evening, they walked further to a nearly dried river bed. The river bed was strewn with many more rounded rocks. They seemed like giant pebbles and the children christened the place "the pebble place". This place was even more beautiful than the dried river stream. They ran to the puddles of water and looked into them expectantly. They squealed in happiness when they saw a crab tentatively prod its surroundings for food. One kid took out a peanut from his peanut candy and threw it into the water. The crab used its claw to investigate it. The investigations concluded satisfactorily and the crab slid back into its home between the rock under the water with the peanut in its claw. This crab was a small one. At another spot in the same puddle was a larger crab which did not bother to investigate but strode out of its home briskly, picked the peanut and rushed back inside. The squeals of delight drowned the peace and calm of the jungle. The adults seemed to be disturbed more than the residents of the jungle.

At another puddle, the children found a weird looking snail. If the creature was magnified a thousand times we would all have been running through the jungle screaming. It would have fit very well into a B-grade Hollywood science-experiment-gone-wrong or alien attack movie. Fortunately for us it was just a little larger than an adult toe. It glided through the water slowly. Its antennae moved here and there. The children looked at it intently for they were trying to decipher the location of its eyes. "There it is. That little dot under the antenna. Do you all see?" The children spent many minutes watching the apple snail move through the water.

At another puddle, a child gently threw a stone into the water to determine if a stick was a snake. When the stick moved, the children realized that the stick was a snake. One of the children said, it could be an eel. They craned their neck and looked at the creature intently. "No, its not an eel. Its a snake!" They spent the next few minutes tracking the snake go in and out of its home under the rock.

One child walked up to an adult and demanded that she wanted to meet the forest officials. The adult was perplexed and asked for the reason. She pointed at a puddle at some distance and said "that was such a quiet place. I wanted to sit and look at the water for sometime. But when I approached I saw three beer bottle peeping out of the water. The place stinks of alcohol. How can people be so irresponsible? I want to place a complaint with the forest officials." The adult's face lost its perplexed expression and gained a bewildered one.

A child lying quietly on the rock got up disturbed. He looked at the adult close by and said "why are these people being so noisy? This is such a peaceful place. Why are they disturbing the peace of this place?" The adult got up and led the child away. Seeing them, the other children followed them. The adult's face turned red with anger. She turned around and shouted at the children. She shamed them for not having noticed the dried animal poop on the river bed. It was children's turn to be perplexed. "Poop! Why should we notice the poop?" "How disgusting?" "Eeeks! Animal poop." The comments frustrated the adult further. She turned around and said "Forget it! Let us all go back. You don't deserve to be in this place."

One of the adults walked up to the girl sleeping peacefully on a rock. He had to nearly scream into her ears to wake her up. She woke up with a start and said "Oh! Did I sleep? I have not slept like this ever. I feel refreshed." She got up slowly and said she would be the last person to leave the place.

As they walked back, they crossed the river stream. A boy looked up at an adult and asked for permission to kick down two of the stone towers. The adult responded in a shock drenched voice "I knew you would say this. Why are so destructive?" He went on to lecture the child on the necessity to respect others and their works. He requested the child to avoid taking pleasure at the expense of other. The boy listened to the adult politely and shook his head in agreement. The next day at around the same time, the adult found that the two structures destroyed. He did not know for sure who had done it but he knew that the boy had passed the spot a few minutes earlier.

As warned, the walk next morning was long and arduous. The thorns that lined the path poked and prodded the walkers. At many places, the path was not really a path. It seemed that the path was identified through the whims and fancies of the guide. At many points, he would stop look left, right, up and down before turning around , walking some distance back and taking a left or right from the path. So it was a bewildering experience for the children. They could not fathom the reason for traversing through the millions of thorns. But they forgot about the thorns and pain when they reached the first stop; a pool of water in a dry riverbed with a large rock overlooking it. Some of the children climbed the rock and sat at the edge. Other looked at the fishes and plants in the water. The adults got into a huddle to discuss their next move. The guide and one of the adults wanted to go back as one of the children was finding it tough to walk. The remaining adults wanted to proceed. Finally the group decided to proceed.

On the way back, the hot sun took a toll on the children's stamina. Soon everyone's water bottles were empty and hunger started gnawing the children's stomachs. The adults bi- and trisected a few bananas and distributed them among the children. One of the adults promised to provide a magic potion. He went behind a tree and came back with a water bottle filled with the magic potion. He did not handover the bottle to anyone, instead poured a mouthful of the potion into everyone's open and demanding mouths. The children loved the potion and started identifying it. Someone said "it's Limca". Another said "no, it Gatorade", which was promptly rectified to "Getorade" by many. They demanded the identity of the potion but the adult laughed and moved on.

Just as the walk was nearing its end one girl said "I am going to faint". "No, you will not" said an adult. "I have fainted in Chennai itself" said the girl. "This is not Chennai" was the response. The girl completed the walk without fainting. But the girl whose ability the guide doubted struggled to get back. She was made to walk in the front to avoid being left behind. This slowed down the group and they were not happy. They complained constantly about the girl being slow. This and the tiredness affected the girl's morale and tears streamed down her cheeks as she walked back.

As Kenneth Anderson had written many years ago, the afternoon sea breeze started blowing in at around 2 pm. The verandah of the 99 year old guest house was the perfect place to relax. One of the adults started reading one of Kenneth Anderson's account on his hunt for a man-eater in that very forest.  The place had changed much from those days. Today, tigers and bears do not roam the forest. A few people talked about sighting wild dogs, leopards and deers in the forest. Cows and buffaloes grazed through the forest fearlessly. Like many forests in the country, the forest was called a forest due to the tree cover. In this case, there were more bamboos and shrubs than trees. There were more empty and broken alcohol bottles than animals in the forest. Kenneth Anderson's accounts were detailed and at times gory. But the description of events were done well and one could see the decapitated head rolling from side to side as one listened to the reader.

As the group walked along the jungle paths it seemed that hardly any life existed in the forest. This opinion changed when the bird watchers pointed out the many birds that resided in the jungle. Almost every tree had a bird. The cries of the birds were no longer the background music. The laughing dove laughed and even gave a glimpse to a few. The Grey Jungle Fowl cried from this bank of the dried river bed. A few moments later a fainter response came from the other bank. The two fowls conversed for a long time. The tone of the exchange seemed aggressive and a few thought that something foul was being exchanged between the fowls. But one of the guides informed that the two fowls were discussing the the time and location they would meet for a drink in the river.

At the end of day, the trip, like many other trips, threw more questions than answers. What is the intention of the trip? Is it to help the environment or the children or the adults? Humans tend to be loud and are capable of creating a mess easily. So how did the trip help the environment? The feeding of the crab seems innocent but ends up meddling with the life habits of the crab. That doesn't seem fair. Children learn about life and their environment through curiosity and exploration. They like to share their learning to exhibit their learning and also to validate it. They are in the process of discovering their world and discovery takes place through exploration and exchange of views. While silence and quiet are important in life, is it important at this young an age? Do we all remember ourselves when we were young? How silent were we? Can our own lack of silence be attributed to our lack of awareness? How aware can a 12 year old be?  I am sure there are "right" answers for these question but I wish we could have realistic answers for we do not live is a "right" world but a real world.

It is not necessary that we should do the "right" thing and not cause harm to the world. In many cases, we brush aside the harm we cause by trying to be "right". This has caused more harm to the world than good. We cause harm to the environment when we visit a forest or go for a trek. It is done for our own pleasure than to save the planet or to show our love for the planet. So why don't we accept this fact and enjoy life, instead of putting in artificial criteria to prove to ourselves that we are all the good citizens of the worlds unlike the beer-bottle throwers.