Grumbling through Jammu

“Why Jammu?”

“Untapped area my boy.  Lots of potential projects there”

“As far as I know we have one big customer on whom we should focus. We should not go fishing in unknown waters.”

“Stop acting smart. You are stuck in Delhi this weekend anyway. Visit Jammu and find out for yourself”

“Will the army be there to protect me?”

“Stop this nonsense!”

“What nonsense? You know how it is in Kashmir.”

“Yes. That’s Kashmir and this is Jammu.”

“They are different?”

“Yes, they are different”

“What should I do there?”

“Call Vinay. He will tell you.”

“Oh no! Not Vinay. I have a big problem in understanding him. Every time he calls me he talks for an hour but at the end of it I have absolutely no idea what he said. “

“Boss, you have to learn to work with people. You cannot pick and choose the people you work with. Learn to work with anyone.”

“I have no issues working with anyone other than Vinay.”

“What about Sunil?”

“Oh yes! Sunil's annoying.”

“And what about …”

“I will talk to Vinay and go to Kashmir”

“Not Kashmir, Jammu”

“Good bye”

I cut the call and searched for the name Vinay in contacts. I looked at the name for a long time, took a deep breath and pressed the call button. Twenty five minutes passed and I found myself telling “Hey Vinay, I am in Delhi too. Why don’t we meet someplace and discuss face to face?”

“Good idea yaar. Why don’t you come over to Gurgaon? You can take the metro.”

An hour later, I got out of the metro and called Vinay to find his location.

“Arre yaar! I live very close to the Metro station. Why don’t you come home? I have made some paalak samosa. We will have them with tea and discuss.”

I was gnashing my teeth as I disconnected the call. He had warned not to pay more than 60 rupees for auto. As soon as I got out of the station, I was mobbed by auto drivers. I announced my destination and immediately got a 100 rupee response. I responded with half the value. The guy walked off in disgust but another guy jumped in and said OK. I walked towards the auto when another guy enticed me with a 40 rupee fare. I looked at the auto for moment but the high morals instilled in me forced me to refuse the offer. The ride was eventless and as I got out of the auto, I saw a grinning Vinay walking towards me with a “How much is he asking?” “He gave back a surprised “that’s it eh?” for my response.

I prayed to all the gods I was aware of as I walked into the house. An hour later I realized that the gods had forsaken me. I had thought I did not understand Vinay on calls. I now realized I did not understand him. I thought it had something to do with his accent but the issue was the content. He talked about things he did not understand. His talk jumped from one statement to another unrelated statement.  In between he put in a few lines about how unfairly the world treated him. The distractions compounded the general incoherence to make the session seem like a new age European art movie. In desperation, I still had no idea what I was supposed to do at Jammu but tried to summarize it anyway. He responded with a “have another samosa”. Paalak samosa is not an appealing dish but out of politeness I already had three samosas. One more and face would have started turning green.

The flight from Delhi to Jammu went on to Srinagar too and was packed.  Many of the passengers were young couple probably off to their honeymoon. I toyed with the idea of having breakfast in the flight but decided to wait till I got to Jammu as I wanted to try the local cuisine. Jammu airport seemed like a make shift place with a lot of construction taking place around it. As I walked into the terminal and picked my bag the mobile announced the arrival of a call. It was from one of my talkative colleagues. The call went on for 30 useless minutes and in this time I made four unsuccessful attempts to end the call by saying “OK man…”. Finally I had to resort to “Hey I am getting another call. Will call you back”.  

By this time, everyone from the flight had left and the airport was empty. I looked at my messages to determine the location of my meeting but found the message “Vinod ji I will reach Jammu by 2pm. Why don’t you pick a cab and visit the Ragunath temple and other temples till then?” I loved visiting places but not when there is something to be done.  If there is time after work, I like going around but not prior to it.  Even then I really did not care visiting temples unless there is some tremendous history attached to it.  Unfortunately in the north most of the historic temples have been destroyed in invasions.  Hence one has to be satisfied with new age temple built on historic sites.  So with very little interest and choice I decided to visit the famous temples of Jammu.

The prepaid taxi counter was empty. There were two other counters inside the terminal. One was a Vayadooth terminal, which seemed to have been empty for a very long time. The other was a helicopter terminal promising to take people to Vaishno Devi, which was filled with security personnel. I asked one of them very politely where I can find a taxi. He looked at the gun by his side and then gave me a “why are you asking me a may I help you type of question” look. I took no heed of the look but stood there with a firm south Indian lost in north India expression. The guy accepted defeat and gave an intelligent “check the prepaid taxi counter” response. I had expected that response and instantly went back with a “but it’s empty“. My response was an expected response too and he retorted immediately “try the one outside “.

I walked out of the airport lounge into near emptiness. A few security personnel were walking around, their guns hanging by their sides. The prepaid counter outside was also empty. I looked around and found a person sitting in a booth with “may I help you” board. As I walked up to the booth, the person gave me a “why are you here” look. I ignored it and asked him where I can get a taxi. As expected he responded “at the prepaid counter “. “But its empty” was my protest. He walked out of his booth and looked across to the prepaid counter. He took out his mobile, dialled a number and put it against his ear. I did not hear him say anything into the mobile but a moment later, I saw someone walk into the prepaid counter. I thanked the “may I help you” man and walked up to the other counter. I was invited with a “why are you here” expression again. When I enquired for a cab, he said I will find one outside the gate at the taxi stand. I thanked him profusely for the help and walked towards the gate.

Outside I saw a young couple waiting. They seemed to be waiting for a taxi and I joined the queue.  The guy turned around and looked at me suspiciously.  I stared back at him defiantly and he stared back at me vehemently. The vehement stare reminded me of the prepaid fellow’s instructions to take a left from the gate.  I looked left to see a prepaid taxi shed just outside a petrol bunk. I walked up to the counter and asked for a cab for half a day. The stand was run by a Sardar who was busy writing something into a book. He looked up after a couple of minutes and asked “what do you want sirji?”

“I need a taxi for four hours”.

“Oye Sukhi!  Will you go for a four hour package” shouted the Sardar.

“Of course” responded the driver Sukhi Sardar.

By the time I paid the rent for the cab Sukhi was walking towards his car with my luggage. When we got into the car Sukhi started groping his pockets and the store spots in the car’s dashboard. He kept mumbling something through the search. He gave up after a few minutes. He looked at me and said “some bastard has taken my key, let me check at the counter”. A few minutes later he came back and started the car.

“Oh! Was it at the counter?” I asked stupidly.

“No sir. This is the duplicate. One of those bastards is playing the fool. I will kill him when I find who it is. Sir, can we have some tea before we go?”.

 “I would like to have lunch. I have not even had my breakfast.”

“Would some simple food be okay with you? “

I assumed simple food to be some type of dhaba food and accepted. Almost immediately he parked the car and stepped out. When I got out of the car I found that my understanding of simplicity was not simple enough. The dhaba was a nameless road side shanty with a few chairs and a table. As I walked in I realized the place was not dirty but only rundown. The table seemed to have come from the 1800 and did not seem strong enough to stand the load of a plateful of rice. The chairs seemed to be in the same state as the table. I requested god to take care of my spinal chord and hip bone as I carefully placed my backside in one of the chairs. It took my weight undauntedly and did not let out some as a creak. I looked around and noticed a pair of eyes staring at me. Like in most places I have visited in recent times here too I was a misfit. When they saw I had seen them staring at my misfitness, they averted their eyes back to the television screen. The all important final day of the India South Africa third test was taking place and in compassion an odd misfit attired in a blazer, formal shirt and trouser can only be of so much interest.

The owner of the restaurant informed that the menu consisted of phulka with vegetables and rice with rajamma. I chose the phulka combination but like a long lost uncle the dhaba man informed me that he will throw in some rice and rajamma too.  I gave him a thankful smile. When the food arrived I was disappointed to see that it was not very appealing; the vegetable dish was too vegetablish and too few rajammas were swimming the sumptuous swimming pool. As soon as I started eating I felt relieved. The food was so devoid of taste that it had to be healthy. No oil and no salt. The dhabawalla had added some delicious chilli chutney. I mixed it with every other dish on plate and gobbled it in. When I was nearly done the long lost uncle offered more rice, which I refused politely and asked for some tea instead. I don’t remember how the tea tasted. There is good chance it was as miserable as 90% of tea served around the world. 

By the time, I got up the cab driver had come back from the stand. He had gone back in search of the key. When I asked him about his search, he gave a sad shrug and hurled abuses at some names. As soon as we got into the cab, I asked Sukhi to take me to the Ragunath temple. For a moment I felt surprised by my enthusiasm to visit a temple. I only had one or two phases in my life when I visited temples regularly but the credit for that lay with others. The current enthusiasm should be attributed to the necessity of spending a few hours in Jammu, which had nothing other than temples to offer and the possibility of a new God helping me through these tough times. The route to the temple from the airport was fairly nondescript. I found Jammu was nothing like the places Shammi Kapoor pranced through in Kashmir Ki Kali. I realized that Jammu was not Kashmir.  It seemed like any other crowded Indian small town. In retrospect it seems like a hillier version of Salem.

As I travelled through the city, I saw that many of the residents were Sikhs. Sukhi said that the Sikh population was spread across Punjab, Himachal and Jammu.  He went on to say that the residents of Jammu are different from the Sikhs of Punjab. He did not detail out the differences but mentioned that they had come to Jammu at the time of King Ranjith Singh. He then went on to describe the frustrations of the Sikhs post the gruesome 84 riots. “Sikhs are highly energetic and patriotic people. We were an integral part of the Independence movement. Once the country became free, we joined the army to channelize our energy in the service of our nation. But the incidents of 84 have doused the fire of patriotism and these days Sikhs look towards the west.  They prefer expending their energy to live a good in countries like Canada and UK.”

All through this discourse, Sukhi's focus kept flitting from the road. His driving was inconsistent and this made it difficult for other drivers to keep track of his varying speed. They honked, cursed and stared at him but Sukhi seemed oblivious of the annoyance directed at him.  He crawled inconsistently through the Jammu traffic, which was as chaotic as in many other Indian cities. At one signal, I saw a Maruti driving reverse at great speed on the wrong side (which is the right side) of the road. The car was nevird by a Sardar and he travelled at about 40Kph for a good 200 metres. 

As we reached the temple, Sukhi started cautioning me “Do not look at anyone or talk to anyone. Go pray to God and let not the crooks there loot you. All these Pooja-vooja are waste; just pray to god from your heart. I will drop you here; give me a call when you are done. Remember! Be careful.”

From the outside, the temple did not look like the ones I am used to in south. Gopurams and sculptures did not invite me.  Instead the entrance was a door in a plain yellow wall. Devotees cannot carry in anything other than their wallet and money. Even the leather belt had to be removed. I walked in through the entrance hall into a courtyard. The temple was at the far end of the courtyard. I walked towards it looking around. The place looked more like an ashram than a temple. As I got into the temple, lord Ram with his consorts invited me.  I stood at the railing separating me from the Gods and stared down at the neatly arranged notes of 100 and 500. A priest walked over, held me by my shoulders, asked my name and started chanting prayers for the prosperity of poor soul.  Despite Sukhi’s warning I was trapped. I gave the plateful of notes a worried look.

Most of my life, religion and I had maintained a respectable distance from each other. My early years were influenced by the movies and I looked at the clouds get a glimpse of the gods. After two decades of living, science started impacting my thought process. I did not expect seeing Gods when I looked up at clouds. Even then I hoped Gods existed somewhere beyond the stars. In a few years, I let go of these hopes too and I labelled self a rationalist.  But being a rationalist was not easy. Not having someone to take care of your problems made it difficult to live.   Around this time, I ran into the term agnostic and latched on to it as it seemed to describe me perfectly – too confused to decide. Even this phase became shaky when I ran into through a very tough phase a few months ago and I had to give into god and his/her religion. But the results were erratic and my visits to the temples and prayers to God reduced dramatically.  And then the month of November struck me...

November turned out to be a month of upheavals and events of the month weighed on me heavily as the priest chanted the prayers into my ears. The 100s and 500s on the plate mesmerized me further. Ram temples are not common in the south and I don’t believe I have visited one for a long time (if ever).  I wondered if like a new medicine, this new god has a cure for my recurrent bad times. Would the 100 rupee version of this medicine be sufficient or did I require a 500 rupee one? All these thoughts and questions were pushing me back to agnosticism but the priest’s iron grip of my shoulders was coaxing me to drop in a 500 to wash away my worries. By this time, the priest was running out of his mantras and I believe he had already requested Ram Prabhu to make this worried soul a karodpati thrice. He started nudging, tapping my shoulders and using his head to point at the plate. I shifted my eyes from the plate to the idol of lord Ram who gave me a “so what are you going to do” expression. The priest put in some urgency into his nudges and was forced to mention “place your offering and move on son”. I took out my wallet and opened the smaller notes section. I looked at the 10 rupee note and then at the plate. I opened the larger notes section and pulled out a 100 rupee note. As I took the note towards the plate, the priest’s left hand snatched the note and the right hand shoved me away. Within seconds his focus was on large family entering the temple. I gave a final “don’t forget my offerings, prayers and me” look at lord Ram and left the temple.

As I was back towards the exit, I heard a voice informing me to offer prayers to the sun god. The sun god resided in a dark room that had a single door to enter and exit. I did not dare to enter the room.  The voice warned me about the ineffectiveness of my prayers and offerings if I did not visit the sun god’s chamber. I did not pay heed but walked on briskly.  I prophesied that lord Ram would force the sun god to rise in the west if he meddled with my prayers. I am glad to see that the sun continues to rise in the east – lord Ram is working on my prayers.

I got out of the temple complex after paying a 10 rupee tip at the free slipper stand and called Sukhi. As I entered the cab, Sukhi asked “did you get cheated?” My response was truthful.  Sukhi wanted to take me to he will take me to another temple but I refused.  “Ah! Then we will visit the palace” said Sukhi.  As we were driving to the palace Sukhi started recalling event from his life. “I was a hunter.  We used to get into the jungles and kill birds and animals.  One day, I heard Maneka ji and decided to change.  I went from being a hunter to being a conservator.  I now work towards the conservation of birds.  But I am afraid that the change took place too late.  There are hardly any birds left.  When I was young our homes were filled with different types of birds.  Today only the pigeons and crows are left.  There are no other birds.  You see the place on the left.  It used to be filled with deer and birds.  But there are no deer and when we get into the forest there’s only silence.  No chirping of birds at all.  Even pigeons and crows are struggling these days.  Many of their young ones are born with defects and soon after hatching we are forced to end their lives.  We prick them with a needle dipped in cyanide.  Death for such deformed birds is much better than living.  Even the common and hardy birds are unable to survive the radiation from the mobile antennas and pollution.  I tell you sir; we are coming to the end of our times.  Soon a big catastrophe will take place and most of us will die.  90% of human beings will be gone and everything will start all over again”.

I interjected a few words to this monologue.  I brought in the topic of sparrows that have gone missing from Madras (in fact Madras itself is missing; we are now forced to live with its poorer cousin Chennai).  But these distractions did not create much of an impact to the monologue.  It ended when we turned off the main road and went in through a gate into the palace grounds.   The way to the palace was blocked by security personnel and as we approached it Sukhi asked me to tell them that I had come looking for a room in the hotel.

“What hotel?”

“The palace is the first building you see on the left.  Beyond it there is a hotel.”

“But why can’t we just tell them that we are going to the palace?”

“I think the palace is closed.”

“What!”

“Not to worry sir, the hotel is just like the palace.  There are some very good old photographs there.  You should see it.”

Jammu is not a place for sightseeing; it is a plain Indian city that gets crowded in the winter as the Government shifts here from Srinagar.  It is the gateway to Vaishno Devi and by itself did not seem to have any character.  Sukhi was trying his best to keep me amused in such an unamusing place.  But his conversations were more amusing than the place itself.  We reached the security block and Sukhi informed that I was looking for a room at the hotel.  We passed the palace en route to the hotel.  It was built in European style and did not create much of an impression on me.  The hotel had a similar structure.  I got out of car and went in.  I was more interested in using their restroom than in seeing the place.  To not look like a sightsee-er, I enquired room availability for that night at the reception.  I was sure rooms were not available as the hotel was decked up for a reception of some sort.  I got the expected response.  But instead of walking away I gave in to my curiosity got better of me. I asked the taboo question – “What are the charges for a night?”  The lady at the counter gave me a “that’s who you are” look and said 35K.  I smiled and walked on to the backyard, which had a big lawn with tables and chairs.  It overlooked a dry river bed, which I later learned is the Tawi River.  I would not say that it was a sight to be seen but it was pleasant enough to take a selfie (which will stay in my mobile and laptop forever). 

I got out of the hotel after a quick visit to the wash room (I wish I could use the word toilet – all these rest and wash room makes it seem more than what it really is).  Sukhi’s first question when I got into the car was “So did you see those beautiful photographs?”   This time, I lied in response. 

 “So where do you want to go?  There is nothing else to be seen in Jammu?”

“I want to buy some sweets and dry fruits.  Take me to the best sweet shop in Jammu”

This resulted in Sukhi taking me through a number of rights and lefts.  At some places he had to back off due to the incessant traffic from the opposite direction.   Sukhi talked about a number of things, which have all grown faint in my head.  He talked about a famous old theatre that is now closed due to some political pressure.  He said that the area around the theatre used to be a jungle when he was young but now mankind has turned it into a concrete jungle.  In the process, he informed me that he is much older than me.  He continued his dooms day prediction for mankind.  He talked about how the current government in the centre has increasingly sidelined the minority and thus has increased the feeling of insecurity for all.  He informed that the auto rickshaw could explode anytime; we can never be sure.  The mood was, in general, black and bleak.  I bought some sweets and dry fruits from the most famous shops in Jammu.

I decided I had enough of negativity for the month and wanted to go to my meeting place.  I called my contact in Jammu and he asked me to “go to Sector 8”.  I asked “Sector 8?” I received an annoyed response “Sectariat”.  I passed this information to Sukhi who in a matter of minutes dropped me at the location and sped away without a proper farewell.  The next few hours were spent in waiting, confusion and frustration.  I did not meet the person I had come to meet.  But I reached the planned destination and met someone else.  I got out of the office complex at 4PM. My train to Delhi was at 7:40PM. I called my contact person person at Jammu.  He asked me to take an auto and come over to a place that he would SMS me.  Soon I received the SMS that said “Please Come To Digiana Ashram Gurdwara”.  I hailed an auto and asked him to take me to “Dijiana ashram gurdwara”.  He asked “where” and I repeated the name of the place.  I repeated the name of the place a few more time before he responded “Oh! Dighiana ashram gurdwara”.  The guy took off and made me realize that Jammu was a bigger place than I thought.  He sped around for a 30 minutes before he informed me that we had reached the location.  As I looked around without really knowing what I was looking for, I received a call from a numberI did not know.  The person at the other end said he was sent to pick me and asked me where I was.  I handed the phone to the auto driver who spoke for a bit before handing back the phone and speeding on.  It was 5PM and I was not sure if I would be able to make it to the station.  He stopped the auto a few minutes later.  He pointed at a car parked on the other side of the road and informed me that the car would take me to the destination.  The auto guy demanded a hefty charge that I had to pay.  I crossed the road and got into the car.

The driver took off but instead of going straight he made a near 360 degree turn and got into a narrow gully that was right behind the car.  In the process he nearly ran over two or three two wheelers.  The car proceeded into the gully at great speed.  What followed was a series of head spinning rights and lefts executed at a great pace.  I was reminded of the scene kidnapping scene from Roja.  The big difference in this case was that I got into the car on my own and I was not bound or blind folded.  But the differences did not matter when I sitting in a car with strangers speeding through narrow unfamiliar streets in a place that is not exactly know for its safety.  Five minutes into the ride I was convinced I was getting kidnapped.  In the current sorry state of our finance, I thought my family, friends and colleagues could only manage to get back parts of me rather than the whole.  I was not sure if there was any use of calling out to God for help.  I closed my eyes and attempted to fall asleep or induce a heart attack.  I succeeded in neither by the time the car reached its destination. 

The car was parked outside a large bungalow.  It was surrounded by small houses on all sides and seemed completely out of place.  I walked towards the bungalow on a path running through a lawn.  “Could this be the easiest kidnapping ever?” was the thought running through my head.  I was shown into a room with a fat man drinking tea and eating nuts, kachoris and samosas.  I smiled at him but his focus did not waver from the food.  I hoped this is not the person I had come to meet and waited.  Soon a large man in kurta pyjama walked in.  The meeting itself did not go on for more than 10 minutes.  Much as I would like to share the learning from that meeting, I am forced not to.  I walked out relieved at not being kidnapped and at same time disappointed at the pointlessness of the whole trip.

Of rains and a rumor

Chennai was rising from what seemed for some days to be its watery grave.  A semblance of normalcy was returning to Chennai.  People were getting back to their usual schedules, except for the school kids.  Their unexpected vacation  extended for a few more days and they were busy eating their parent's heads.  The previous week had been harrowing for almost everyone associated with Chennai.  Many houses had marooned, others did not have power and food.  The mobile revolution had come to a stand still due to the lack of power.  No one could reach across to anyone.  Only the news channel brought sensational reports from a water laden and dark city.  Other than these reports and an occasional message and call, family and friend in the deluged city were completely cut off from people outside.

I was one of the outside persons.  I had taken one of the last flights out of Chennai to Delhi.  The disastrous rain spell had started when I reached the airport.  The incoming flight could not land for sometime but a brief respite allowed the flight to land and take off with me inside.  I realized the terribleness of situation only when I reached the hotel in the evening.  I was in constant touch with my family in Chennai till the next afternoon.  After that Chennai became unreachable.  One or two messages or calls went through.  These calls and messages and the news channels gave us information about large scale flooding in the city.  Beyond that at most times I was in the dark about my family's status while they were in the dark all the time.  

I got through to my sister once and heard that my parent's house was flooded. But they were safe in her house.  I got through to a friend who was kind enough to visit our house.  She informed me that my family was safe with no instances of flooding in the area.  Late that night, I got a call from my wife and I spoke to her and my son for about an hour.  This trend continued for the next few days.  Things finally settled down at the end of the week.  

The airport and railway station were closed for the week and getting back to Chennai had become equivalent to attacking one of Chattrapati Shivaji's fort.  Since my family was safe, I did not feel the need to indulge in heroics to get home.  My two day trip to Delhi grew into a week long trip to different locations in North India. One such trip took me to Jammu.  How and what happened during that trip should be a part of another write-up (I guess).  The trip was just a day long and I returned by the Rajdhani express that night.  I had just finished my dinner and was sitting with my laptop when a message popped up in my Whatsapp.  The conversation that resulted out of this message went as follows.

SOMEONE: If any of your friends or relatives are living in Chennai ask them to leave Chennai immediately because in the next 72 hours very heavy rain is expected more than multiple level of the present rain. As per NASA Report this is not the ordinary rain. It's name is EL Nino cyclone. There is a chance for 250 cm rain. Chances are there nearly the entire Chennai may be submerged in water. Search in Google, you will understand. Somehow inform of your friends and relatives in Chennai.
Wipro announces t p. drop people to out of chennai city. Over 100 wipro buses starts tomorrow 7 am - 8.30am from Koyambedu bus stop. Please share this message to those stuck in chennai.....
Spread the news tomorrow 6 flights gonna take off from arakkonam air base. Flat rates of 1000 rs for any city in south India and 2000 for north India . Only hand baggage allowed
Air India flights to Hyderabad for Rs 1000 and Delhi For Rs 2000 only for emergency cases
Pls post this to diff.groups. Please read this.


HELPFUL CITIZEN (HC): No, this is a hoax , Someone has created this to create terror..
VICTIM1 (V1): Hopefully
VICTIM2 (V2): I'm sure that's a rumour. We'll be careful though. No worries
HC: Yes, I had looked it up about 4 hours back. It is a rumour
V2: This must be a rumour. But it won't hurt to be careful and stock up on essentials.
HC: Yes, BBC has also reported rains apparently..
V2: Shockingly, people have it in them to create panic to the extent of saying "leave the city" when it's such a vulnerable condition already
SMARTASS (SA): I quite like the Rs.1000 and Rs.2000 flat rate part. Seems to be dedicated to Chennai auto drivers.
HC: Haha..news websites are all like
VC2: Yeah. But we'll be careful. We seem to have got used to the routine now 😒
HC (vehemently): 'the message doing the rounds on WhatsApp is fake, NASA has published no such report'... 😂
SA: But this one was first seen a month back when the first spell happen. We should intimate NASA that their satellites are looking in the wrong direction
HC: Haha, NASA will be like 'whaaat!'
VC1: Or whatsap
SA: Hey NASA that is an auto not pluto.
HC: Ha ha. Tsunami scare happens every year I think
SA: Yeah every time the sea recedes
HC: Every year our exams used to get rescheduled because of Tsunami warnings..and the collector will also declare a holiday
SA: That was the Amma election time and not Tsunami Siddarth
HC: Amma election also of course.
SA: Tsunamma
HC: An epic washout that was..

The conversation ended there, I closed the laptop, pulled on the blanket and went to sleep.

sIn Now To Objectively Look at a progrEssively Rising nAtion - Creating issuEs

My grandmother is an ardent Congress supporter.  Her father had made his children promise that their families and they will always support Congress.  Her forceful personality ensured her pushing the adoration for Congress down her children's throat.  Though they did not have much have much regard for Congress, they did not bother to protest.  Soon the family grew and people from other families came into her small and secure family as in-laws. Unfortunately for my grandmother these newer entrants to the family did not have similar upbringing or political orientation.  My father’s political thoughts were formed during a period when many of the states started seeing the rise of political alternatives to the Congress.  These younger parties were spewing ideas that seemed progressive and inclusive compared to the Congress. The party had lost its sheen.  From my father's generation's point of view, Congress died with Gandhi and the cremation rituals were complete by the time the Nehru era ended.  My father's political thoughts were shaped on two concepts, namely, "Indira Congress is not India Congress" and "If you see a snake and a congress man, don't kill the snake first.  The snake attacks you only if you disturb it".  I grew up seeing these two generation and ideas in conflict.

This conflict has an effect on my political beliefs.  Obviously, I was closer to my father's thought process.  My grandmother’s view comes from the independence era which saw Kumari Kamala dancing to the tune “Mahaan Gandhi Mahaan”.  Gandhi, Nehru and Congress motivated the young blood fighting and ultimately building a new nation.  In those days, the Congress seemed revolutionary like the Communist and Dravidian parties in the sixties and AAP in 21^st century.  The country becoming independent was probably one of the most important events of her life.  Thus, she felt indebted to the Congress for life.  But with time the party changed from Indian National Congress (INC) to “Nehruvian Congress” and finally to “Indira Congress”.  She did not understand these changes.  During this time a number of disillusioned Congress leaders left the party and formed newer parties.  These leaders took away a good part of the soul of INC to the newer parties thus making the party poor of principles.  But all this was lost of my grandmother and she blindly followed her father’s words when she supported the Congress.  Though I did not have all these thoughts in my younger days, I ended up disliking the Congress in my teens.  

My political opinions are never too strong.  I believe this comes from the fact that current affairs and politics do not interest me much.  The cartoon section of newspapers captured (and continues to capture) my attention more than any other page.  So I had no idea about my political leanings.  Though I did not like the Congress I was not sure which party I supported.  I had some liking to communism but the fall of communism in the late 80's and a few pages of Ayn Rand killed that liking for ever.  I am sure how but by the time I reached the votable age, BJP seemed an attractive option.  It probably was due to the messy vacuum created by V.P.Singh (whose reincarnation, I believe, Kejriwal is).  Their leadership team also seemed attractive.  That is till Advani climbed atop the Babri issue and caused a lot of confusion and bloodshed in the country. But Deve Gowda's sleepy tenure and Gujral’s prequel to Manmohan Singh tenure removed the Babri-cal thoughts from my head.  

At the turn of the century I was very happy to see the BJP Government at centre.  A few goods emerged from the five years of BJP rule.  Only the five years of Narasimha Rao Government left a similar impression in my mind.  Unfortunately, the BJP rule lasted five years only and the Congress was back in power.  The few days after election were worrying with the prospect of living in shame under a person of foreign origin.  To out relief the brilliant Manmohan Singh was chosen the prime minister.  Five years went by and the Congress Government did not seem to perform badly – the Manmohan magic had not lost its sheen.  Around this time, Congress' own Prince Charles started flexing his muscles.  For a few days, I was misled by the idea of joining the Congress to build a new India.  At around this time, events took a disastrous turn and the Congress Government spiralled into corruption, chaos, a speechless PM, allegations of the family looting the country, the prodigal son-in-law, the mumbling–bumbling future icon of the party and many other nonsense that I cannot remember now.

Sometime in the middle of Congress' disastrous second term, the name Narendra Modi emerged.  That Gujarat man can never make it is what many of thought.  The Gujarat riots and related accusations against him left a lot of impression on us.  But with time people started talking about him and the development he ushered in Gujarat.  His followers attracted the sceptics through the videos of his speeches.  What he said made sense and he was a powerful speaker whose words seemed very convincing.  I was soon under his sway and was desperate to see him become the PM of the country.  Apparently many others in the country thought so too and soon we had a powerful leader at the centre.  He did not have the necessity to look towards people with dubious intentions before he opened his mouth.   But the bed of roses was not thorn free.  There were doubters and agitators inside and outside of the party.  The old guards under Advani’s able leadership were sulking.  Modi and BJP's RSS associations made the so called minorities nervous (Why "so called"?  How can a secular democracy have majority and minority?).  The wilting of the roses made the thorns prominent.

Most people I met were happy with our new PM.  He seemed to have the right vision for the future and articulated them well.  We expected him to indulge in bombastic and populist action. But his actions were sober and to many he seemed to take a step at a time.  He was working to bring in timeliness at the Government offices.  We heard about him terrifying his ministers with 5AM and 7 AM review meetings.   He brought out the necessity of making India clean and every family having a bank account.  These were not all talk but we saw it happening around us too.  For me, the cleanliness of Chennai central station was a big surprise.  It was longer wet and the foul.  It was not just the stations but the trains and their toilets were clean too.  But this did not extend to all places – Chennai continued to be dirty.  But I don’t think we can blame the PM for it.  The local Governments and the citizens have to take a big chunk of that responsibility.  There were instances when even the most ardent supporter of Modi was seen throwing waste on road.  Such is our attitude.  Interestingly, the PM had mentioned some place that all the talk about “Swach Bharat” is to make people think about it initially.  He does expect India to become like Singapore in a matter of months.  That surely is a well thought of plan with realistic expectation.

Soon the honeymoon period came to an end. The trouble makers started lifting their heads.  The purportedly hard core Hindus wanted to ban beef and surprisingly the whole world went up in arms.  Many people who had issues sitting on the same table as a non-vegetarian were supporting the holding of beef parties and beef eaters were now equated to freedom fighters.   The news papers and TV channels started screaming out about the sensational case of Hindu extremism – a few hard core Hindus killed a freedom loving beef eater.  Demands of apology from every Hindu right from Narendra Modi were heard.  I do not watch the cable network and so am not sure if Arnab apologized on our behalf in prime time television.  The battle shifted to the social media with people taking sides and many versions of the reality emerged.  Since then the media and social media have been trading pole-apart realities.

This barbaric Dadri killing resulted in the strong emergence of the word - "INTOLERANCE".  I think this word is primarily used to describe an allergy – “I am intolerant to pollen”, “I am intolerant to Vijay movies” and in the latest trend “I am intolerant to Hindus”. Since that last sentence is grammatically incorrect, the word extremism is added at the end.  As a result of this allergy, many intellectuals started returning awards.  Many caring citizens expressed their concern in prime time television. Soon the King-Kongs of Bollywood joined.  Shahrukh Khan cried out at the intolerance he was being subjected to.  One of my oldest friends mentioned over dinner that he was very disturbed by the growing Hindu extremism.  This happened a week before the attacks in Paris.  I was of the view that that is an instance of extremism.  I am not sure if the ISIS would quite appreciate it if we equate the Dadri killers to them.  As the word suggests, extremism requires something extreme to be done.  I am not sure if the Hindus have the capacity to indulge in extreme acts.  Maybe a sacrifice here or a stone thrown there but none of those grand “lets blast a few round of AK47s in a concert”.  Sure there are fanatical elements in Hinduism but extremism is taking it too far.  Unlike riots which are immediate and reactionary in nature, extremism leads to well thought acts of destruction as in Paris.  It is not fair to compare Alexander with Aurangazeb (I am not sure which of the two would be feel insulted with this comparison).

The Paris incident and the BJP not winning Bihar elections brought a lull to intolerance to intolerance storm.  Modi was yesterday’s hero; the press had newer one.  The ever charming Lalu, the angry old leader Nitish, the man of the messes Kejriwal, the atomic Didi and the American returned Akhilesh were the new hopes of India.  Lalu's ninth and twelfth failed sons with that hope-dope of the future were the shining stars of youthful democracy.  The media and in a few instance social media started singing praises for these shining stars of 2019.  I hope that the Mayans have missed the end of the world by few years and that the world would end by 2019.

I did not realize that I missed intolerance’s Arnold-ish “I will be back”. Coincidentally, A is for Arnold, A is for Aamir Khan and A is for that stinky place too.   Aamir Khan possibly figures in every Indians best actors list.  For a long time, he also seemed to be a perfect human being - a good and concerned citizen.  If Aamir had made that statement a few years ago, it would have made many of us reassess our thoughts.  But Aamir's personal reputation has not been the same for the past decade or so.  There were talks of affairs and a child abroad.  He separated from his long standing wife and soon got married again. I have no issues with these if I was thinking of Aamir the actor.  But these thoughts are not good enough for me to appreciate or even tolerate Aamir the social activist. Personally, I found his actions during the Narmada Bachao Andolan disappointing.  Initially it was impressive to see him sit in the dharna supporting the farmers.  He seemed genuinely concerned about the dam effects on the fate of the small farmers.  Many of us were touched and had a tear in our eyes.  A few days later, the ever vigilant media vilified today’s hero with the news that Aamir would lose some of his ancestral property as a result of the dam.  Suddenly a chink appeared in Aamir's golden armor of selflessness.  He put on the Lagaan hat and became a farmer's grandson whose genes have been tuned to understand the pain of a farmer.  Many faces emerged in the broken mirror.  It is not wrong to be selfish but to mask selfishness with selflessness is quite a cheat.  Apparently, it only takes a misstep to get to the bottom of the goodness hill regardless of how high one is.

Aamir continued his concerned citizen act with Satyamev Jayate and had the whole nation in tears.  The success of the programme and his movies made Aamir feel like a God.  He now believes he knows the ultimate truth and now can will others to utter it too.  His words seem to be the worst among all the tolerant servants of Gods.  Sadly, he does not come in and say that he finds this place intolerable to live due to all the intolerance (is that a paradox?).   He generously brings in his Hindu wife’s name and casually mentions a bedroom conversation in public.  The point to note is the Hinduness of his wife.  She finds it intolerable and that is good enough for us to realize how pathetic India is.  The country has become so dangerous that she want to move out of here.  I wonder which safe country she has in  mind when she says she wants to move.  On the day of this momentous disclosure, Russian jets were brought down by Turkey and the worry of World War III was in the air. A few days earlier, an African-American was shot 16 times by cops.  A week or so earlier, ISIS gunned down over 100 people in Paris. As a result Muslims around the world were facing many unfriendly situations.  Switzerland had banned the use of hijab in public places.  A few weeks later, a couple of Pakistani origin shot a number of innocent Americans in California.  A friend had mentioned that sometimes it is scary living in US because they are not quite sure who is going to get out a gun and start shooting.  I don’t think Mrs. and Mr. Khan are stupid enough not to know of these occurrences.  So how do they think there is a safer place than India somewhere on this messy planet?  Aamir himself was strip searched and interrogated at Chicago in 2002 as a result of his name.  The dream destination of many Indians is definitely not the comfortable place for Mrs. and Mr.Khan.

But there is something more hurtful than Khans statement!  I don’t too much about that guy’s personal beliefs and morals to take his seemingly intellectual statement seriously.  What hurts me more is the kind of support many people extend to this ridiculous statement.  While the common people on the social media have been tearing the ever selfish Khan to pieces our dear journalist and media persons continue to talk about freedom of expression and intolerance.  The statement "with great power comes great responsibility" should be remembered by all these people in power.  Aamir is a person with a lot of power and while he has the freedom to express what he wants, he should express it responsibly.  He cannot make populist statements to be a part of the intelligentsia (all of whom have decided to be journalists and media persons).  Unfortunately, we the common people of India don't have a choice but be embarrassed about being a Hindu, Muslim, forward caste, Dalit, north Indian, Madrasi and a million other things.  Some of us write, not very well, and put these words in blogs that no one reads.  Others express it much better and get noticed by many as in the case of this link.

Probably for the first time in the nation’s history, we have a PM who seems to care about the nation.  He does not have a family trying to loot the country or let the country into dynastic rule.  He has a tough task ahead of him in first attempting to change the nation's attitude.  Only then can he think of trying to achieve anything.  Not many in his party support him in the endeavor, which makes things tougher.  To complicate matters further, he cannot make enemies inside the party and at the same time has the tough task of making his party seem intelligent.  We have to support him for our country to be successful.  Instead what do we do - we indulge in absurdities, we build stories about the downfall of Narendra Modi.  We wait for him to fail.  Even if he fails, I am sure he will move on but I am not so sure about the country.  Just this morning, the news was showing how the Congress ridiculing the parliament by sloganeering in Rajya Sabha.  The reason, their beloved leaders are summoned by the court.  How dare these jokers treat their leaders like first among equals?  Can’t people file a case against these two and should they not appear before the court?  How can we let jokers with such absurd mentality come back and rule this country?  Or do we expect an odd-even prime minister for the nation?  The rest are not even worth a discussion.

When will all these tolerant intelligentsia understand we don't have a bloody choice!

Stars along the way

"You should be in Trivandrum tomorrow" announced my boss as I walked into the office.  My first thought was to rectify the blunder he committed in referring to Thiruvanathapuram as Trivandrum but I let it go.  After all for a good ten years of my life I struggled pronouncing the Malayalam version of the name.  It always came out as Thiruvanthanapuram much to the amusement of the listeners.  So I preferred calling it Trivandrum.  Soon I realized there was another bigger issue to be addressed.  I was planning to leave to Bangalore the next day and this trip would mess things up.

"But I am going to Bangalore" I said tentatively.

"Oh shit! I forgot" said boss.  "But it is OK, you can go to Bangalore from Trivandrum".

"But I booked my tickets to Bangalore through Tatkal" I protested weakly.  After many attempts in the past years, I had, for the first time, succeeded in booking a tatkat railway ticket through the irctc site and I did not want the success to go wasted.  "The ticket is already booked" continued my protesting voice.

Boss did not look up as he gave back a curt "Cancel it".  I did not have the guts to say another word and a few hours later I found myself in the seat 9F of an Indigo airlines flight to Trivandrum.  As is usually the case in a flight, I buried my head in a book.  When I heard the end of the boarding process announcement, I looked up to see a towering figure with a familiar face walk down the aisle.  The lower part of his face was buried under a beard and the middle part under a pair of goggles.  He seated himself at the other end from me - seat 9A.  I gave a furtive look at him and came to a decision about his identity - the Malayalam star Jayaram.  A few more furtive looks brought in some doubts.  No one was bothering him - No trying to talk to him; No taking selfies with him; nothing.  But the person in question kept his sight away from all by looking out of the window.  I went back to the book and did not look up till the announcement preparing us for landing came on.  I looked around and found a number of heads were now turned towards the celebrity.  "Ah a confirmation at last!" thought I.  When the plane landed I got up to get down but the star continued to sit.  For a brief moment, we looked at each other and by the time I could make up my mind to smile or not he looked away.

As soon as I got out of the airplane, I checked my mobile to find a message from a good old Thiruvanthurain friend.  It read "Hey man a quick q. Have you been to Hong Kong?".  Though I had only briefly traveled through Hong Kong to Shenzhen, I gave a technically correct "Once" and put in a querying "What's up?".  A short while later came the response "Trivandrum is just like Hong Kong. That experience will help".  I rolled my eyes and responded an agreement but added a protesting "but they don't speak Chinese".  I had been to Trivandrum a few decades ago but remembered little.  The ups and downs of the rain washed roads and the cinemascopic gopuram of the Padmanabhaswamy Ksethram were my only memories from the trip.

Thiruvananthapuram looked different from earlier memories and from the other places I visit in Kerala, which are usually the smaller towns and villages of Kerala.  A couple of times I had been to Kochi, which seemed more inspired by Bangalore than any other place.  But Thiruvananthapuram seemed a great combination of a Kerala town and Delhi.  Broad tree lined roads with neatly laid out buildings.  My colleague from Thiruvananthapuram kept warning me that I was seeing the best places in the city and I should not conclude every place looked like this.  But we were on the road for quite a bit that day and I did not see any place that looked different.

I stayed at the Hotel Mascot, which is managed by KTDC.  It is one of the oldest hotels in the city and had been in existence from the time of the British.  I was fortunate enough to stay in one of the older rooms which was probably occupied by some British WW I soldier with a bandage round his head.  It was a large TV remote unfriendly room that did not allow me to control the television placed at the other of the room from my bed.  Surprisingly not many people knew of this place when I mentioned it .  This in spite of the area outside the hotel being named on the Hotel.  Later I realized everyone referred to the hotel as Muscat hotel.  The citizen of the land had, very rightly, dedicated this age old hotel to the Middle East, which has converted (and continues to convert) many dreams into reality.

The next morning, I walked in for breakfast at around 9AM.  The restaurant, like the hotel itself, was large and had about 30 tables.  Of these only two were occupied.  I chose a table hidden between two pillars and started forking in the good food.  One of the table was occupied by an elderly lady and two others.  The lady's spoke in a very audible tone.  She was talking in Malayalam laden with what I thought was a Tamil accent.  Soon, I realized she was talking about Telegu movies and Balakrishna.  I realized that it was Telugu that had caught hold of her Malayalam.  I went back to the buffet to pick some more food.  When I got back to the table I saw a lady sitting one of the seats.  A man was standing respectfully besides her.  I hesitated a moment before informing the lady that I occupied this table and as proof pointed at the cup of tea placed opposite to her.  The man very generously mentioned "its okay you can sit there, no problem".  I looked around at the near empty restaurant before sitting down.  A little later, the old lady got up to leave.  She was immediately surrounded by a group of waiters clicking pictures on mobiles and requesting for autograph.  I looked at her and realized the person looked familiar.  The man, standing politely besides my table helped me out by saying "that is an old famous actress, Saradha.  Urvashi Saradha".  Ah yes! Urvashi Saradha from Thulabharam - kattadichu kodum kattadichu.  Should I not do something?  Get a picture or sign or something.  Too late; she was out of the restaurant.

At the end of the day, I took a taxi to the airport.  As the taxi pulled into the airport I saw the departure gate enveloped by a number of people.  There were TV vans and it looked like another celebrity was crossing my path.  The crowd and the TV cameras made me assume it to be some kind of political leader.  There were people everywhere and many of their mobile cameras were recording the proceedings.  I walked up to a police man and asked him how to get in.  He said there was a small way on the side.  When I got to the place, I saw that was blocked too.  As I walked back I asked a person about the celebrity's identity.  He said very simply "that's Abdul Nazer".  I was not into Kerala politics and so had no idea who this Abdul Nazer was.  So I asked him "Who's Abdul Nazer?"  He looked at me with sternness flowing out of his.  He did say a word.  I had made a great error. I mumbled something as I walked away quickly.  I tried to get in through the arrival gate but the security personnel shoo-ed me away.  As I walked back to the departure gate the crowd went ecstatic with chants of "Allah hu Akbar" and "Abdul Nazer Zindabad".  I moved away from the crowd and waited.  A few minutes later, Abdul Nazer went in and the crowd went away.  As I walked into the airport, I called a Malayalee friend and asked him "who's Abdul Nazar".  He responded "Oh Madani".

A hard day's night

I could not keep my eyes open.  I blamed the time I spent under the hot sun for my tired state.  I dragged my feet as I entered my hotel room and flopped on the bed.  The TV went on automatically and an enthusiastic young man started raving about a not-to-miss kill deal.  I lay on the bed listening to the man go on about one of the greatest mobile phones on the planet.  From time to time he interjected a sentence or two about the lower than the lowest price of the mobile.  I was informed that the big wow of this mobile is the big screen usually found on expensive mobile made available on this lower than the lowest priced mobile.  I raised my head to see how this incredible product looked but my sight was captured by the sincere expression on the guys face.  I put my head back on the bed and continued to listen.

When I woke up, I realized that I had slept at some point of time.  The excited guy was no longer heard.  It was a pious voice telling me about Rudraksh.   I continued to lie and listen to this new voice.   The voice informed in pious earnestness about the wonderful powers of the Rudraksh.  He claimed that the Rudraksh is a direct connection between our heart and Lord Shiva who resides in the high regions of Mount Kailash.  For that reason we should wear it close to our heart.  It gives us peace and the Mount Kailash connection helps us cool down after a day’s hard work.  I decided I needed a Rudraksh.  I decided the pious man and put my hand into my pocket to get out my mobile.  I did not find my mobile there; I had thrown it somewhere as soon as I entered the room.  I decided to memorize his mobile number, which he recited ever so often.  After hearing the number a few times I had it safe in my head.  

When I woke up, I realized that I had slept at some point of time.  The voice had changed again.  It was back to enthusiasm and excitement.  There were two voices – a guy and a girl.  Both their voices were in the shriller regions of excitement.  They were talking about some clothing that made a person look slimmer.  As I continued to listen, I understood this wonderful product was only available for men.  Specifically for men like me who had lost their confidence in life due to their “U” shapes and desperately needed a “V” shape to get back their confidence.  And this confident “V” shape resulted when one wore this clothing made out of a perfect combination of cotton, nylon and spandex.  Unlike the earlier two episodes, I was only saddened by this one.  This product was not for me.  It required a “U” to start off with rather than a “O” that I possessed. Oh no!

When I woke up, I realized that I had slept at some point of time.  I had enough of this cycle and decided to get up.  It took me a few seconds to stabilize and in this period a sultry voice was informing of some ayurvedic drug that would help a person to beat lethargy and turn on the heat.  I reached out and switched the TV off.  The only light in room went out and I was enveloped by darkness.  I cursed and switched on the TV again.  “She deserves it.  So buy now” said the sultry voice.  I moved with surprising quickness to switch on the lights and turn off the TV before another word was uttered by the sultry voice.  I looked at the table and found my mobile and wallet lying there.  I walked up to the table and picked the mobile.  Four missed calls, two from my boss.  It was too late to call back.  This was the moment for the Rudraksh.  I started dialing the number.  I got as far as the 4th number.  I was not sure if the 5th number was a 3 or a 7.  I picked 3 and then wondered if the next number was a 5 or a 2.  I locked the mobile, threw it back onto the table, switched off the light and went back to sleep.

Oh Kolkotta!

Many of us in the right side of 80s, (i.e.) the side in which I was born, have fond remembrance of Doordarshan.  DD was the king of entertainment in the 80s.  Visual entertainment reached our drawing rooms and we felt we could be entertained anytime.   No longer were we required to plan, book, travel and keep a big chunk of our time assigned to visual entertainment.  We just switch on the TV and we are entertained with movies, songs, information and news.  What fun!  The only issue was that we did not have the choice of time or content.  We were entertained only when the masters at DD felt so and that too with content of their choice.  So we waited a whole week to see the latest movie songs only to be given a load of patriotic songs from many years prior to our birth,  At that time, we did not have the taste to enjoy such classics from the past.  Even so, many of us look back at those days with a nostalgically satisfying sniff and tear.  I guess one of Bruce Springsteen's songs tell us why those days were better than today, at least as far as TV was concerned - those were not the days of "56 channels and nothing on".

Among all these programmes, the Sunday afternoon regional language movie held a special place in our hearts.  The excitement of finding which language would be shown, the thrill on learning that a movie from your region has been selected and the pleasure of having tears steam down our cheeks non-stop for two hours made a lasting impression in our heads.  There are a couple of things that I remember about these movie.  First, Oriya directors made the saddest movies on Earth - Even at that tender age it took a lot of self control for me not to kill myself at the end of an Oriya movie.  Second, Calcutta (as it was called then) is the most fascinating place on Earth.  The trams, the people, the language, the Rosgullas and Satyajit Ray made the movies and ultimately Calcutta the most fascinating place on Earth - a place to visit.  

Many decades have passed since those days and we have leaped across a century.  That brilliantly futuristic 21st century we envisaged is here and yet visiting Calcutta (or Kolkotta as it will be called from now on) did not take place.  Once I had the good luck of visiting the airport en route to Guahati,  I peered out of the airport and the flight as it took off and landed in an attempt to see the Howrah bridge with disappointing results.  A few years back an opportunity came by for me to spend a week there but another plan interjected to ruin it all.  Thus the wish remained a wish for a good part of my life.

A good 14 years into the 21st century the day finally arrived.  The tyres of the plane rudely smashed onto the earth and our belted bodies felt force in many directions.  The plane took a left off the main runway and the belts started clicking open.  A few souls in hurry to get out of the steel tube, got up and started opening the overhead lockers.  The hostess came online to remind everyone that "we are taxiing still" and requested everyone to continue to be seated.  Then the pilot came on and assured everyone that he planned to reach the gate safe.  He promised that everyone would reach their home in a short while and that no one would be left back on the plane.  "So sit back and enjoy the final moments of this flight" he ended.  The mobiles started ringing and many voices said similar words in many language "Yes we have landed and would be out in a few minutes".  

Kolkotta airport seemed much better than the Calcutta airport I visited a few years earlier.  It seemed spacious and more international.  It did not look as though parts of the roof would fall on our heads. I looked down at the baggage carousal hall from the arrival gate and saw that parts of the hall were not complete yet.  My colleague pointed at a few flower pots placed at a corner.  They were in the shapes of frogs, spiders, mushrooms, elves and other such  fancy creatures.  For some reason, these fancy creature-ish pots caught his fancy and he whipped out his mobile to click pictures in five different angles.  His embarrassed companion tried his best to keep away and act as though he had no idea who this naive picture taker was.  But there was no escape; the company logo proudly beaming out of t-shirts clarified to all the relation between the two people.  

The queue at the taxi counter was long.  I remembered the omnipresent yellow taxis from all those Bengali movies and saw a few of them outside.  But not enough of them were around for the passengers inside.  A Volvo bus came by and picked up a few passengers.  By the time, we decided to move out of the queue and get into the bus it had moved on.  My colleague called some expert on Kolkotta who said that we had to only get out of the airport to catch one of the many buses that went very close to our destination.  We got out of the queue and airport.  The only way to the road outside was through the car park.  We maneuvered through cars of many sizes and shapes eager to get out the of the lot.  In the process, I experienced a few "near death experiences" - my whole life started playing in front of my eyes - I got as far as my first day at school.

As we walked up the ramp of the parking lot, we saw a yellow cab slow down at some distance.  The cab stopped and the driver waved at us.  We increased our pace of walking.  Our luggages struggled to keep up with us.  As we reached the cab, the driver waved us into the cab with a few words of Bangla. We got in and uttered the name of our destination.  The driver uttered many words in Bangla and started the cab (he probably said "Ok, I will take you there.  Now sit back and relax while I take a few twists and turns to take you two to your wonderful destination").  As we got out of the airport, we saw the bus stop.  As the guy had said there were many buses.  Each of them had more than a hundred people in excess to its capacity.  The bus stop itself had many more hundreds of people trying to clamber into the buses.  We gave thankful looks at the cab driver and God (though lately God's performance in the area of looking after us was way below our expectations).

Kolkotta is a city of building (not buildings for I use that word to mean "in the process of being built").  Every where I looked something getting built.  Skyscrapers, apartments, flyovers, metros, bridges, houses, offices, malls and many such incomplete whatevers watched us pass by.  Many of these incompletes did not have anyone around. It seemed like they would continue to be in this state for many more years.  The few lucky incompletes had two or three people walking around carrying rubble on their heads.  

The road leading from the airport were wide and the traffic free flowing.  Some amount of landscaping was done on the stretch from the airport to the city.  Many of the crossing were marked with large statues.  The two owls looking down at me with their large questioning eyes reside in my head still.  Among the partially and fully completed structures that lined the road were a few lakes, fields and marsh land.  These came out as a surprise in the least expected of the places.  While the right side of the road was filled with humanity, the left was left open to fields, lakes and marsh land.  The landscape on either side of these stretches seemed to belong to different centuries.  

One hour into the ride, the taxi driver said something, in Bangla of course.  I responded with a brave "Kya app hindi mein baath kar sakthe hain?" He seemed to hesitate for a moment before asking, in hindi, the exact address of the place where we would alight.  I looked up the address in my phone and said it out.  He said he did not know how to get there and that we have to ask someone.  I called up "someone"and passed the phone to him.  Many Bangla words were exchanged through the phone before it reached my hands again.  The drive continued but now we moved out of the highway into some bye-lanes.  I looked at the houses and buildings that lined these lanes.  They were nondescript and were just like the buildings and houses that lined the lanes of any city or town in India.  In a few minutes, the driver stopped the vehicle with a sudden jerk.  He then pointed ahead and mentioned that our destination was the fifth building on the right.  I asked him to go on to the building.  He said he cannot proceed anymore; a cat had crossed the cab's path.  On further inquiry he said that a cat crossing your path brought bad luck.  I said "nothing of that sort, go ahead".  He then got onto a long story on how a cat crossing his path had brought terrible ill luck.  As a matter of fact, he had nearly been killed in that incident. Apparently, his car fell into a pond soon after the cat crossed his path.  He lost the car but was able to save his life "thanks for Shibji's kripa".  So there was no way he was going to move an inch ahead.  We got out, paid him and saw the taxi zoom back at an inhuman pace.  In the process, he nearly ran over a couple of people; maybe the cat crossed their paths too.

We spent the rest of the day in the office indulging in a lot of this and that activities.  At the end of the day, one of our hosts was kind enough to offer a spin around the city.  We were shameless enough to accept the offer without any display of hesitation.  The next two hours were spent surrounded by a million people walking, driving, shouting, spitting, honking, running, teasing, etc.  Even in Mumbai, I had not seen so many people.  In many ways, Kolkotta seems like an older but poorer brother of Mumbai.  The Esplanade area with many of the buildings from the British age still standing, though barely, reminded one of the Colaba area of Mumbai.  Though in this case there are many more people and the British age buildings in Mumbai are much better maintained than the ones here.

Kolkotta is very famous for its Maidans.  These are large spaces in the centre of the city left open for people to play, run and relax.  Right across one of these, is the famous Victoria memorial.  It was nearly 9pm when we reached there and we looked at the lighted memorial at a distance from the gate.  The gate was guarded by two majestic lions in white stone.  I am not sure how the place looks in the morning but at night with the lights focused on the lions and the memorial, in the distance, the sight was simply magnificent.  Through the day, we had heard of the wonderful puchkas (some kind of pani poori apparently) you get in the Victoria area.  By the time, we got there all the puchka sellers had called it a day.

Now it was time to get to the river.  We started off with an average but expensive dinner in a ship docked at the bank of the river.  The ship has been converted into a hotel and restaurant.  From the top deck of the ship you get a good view of the river and through the foggy night we were able to discern the vague shape of the Howrah bridge.  The sight on that foggy night made it seem like a painting by some famous painter whose name I should remember.  Unfortunately, the food was less than an average affair and the cost was much more than an expensive affair.  Fortunately, for us our host vehemently insisted on paying the bill and we obliged very willingly.

On the way back to our hotel, which was quite a distance away from where we were, our host decided to take a lengthy detour to show us the new (relatively speaking that is) rope bridge across the Howrah river.  He claimed to have an uncle who was involved in the building and the maintenance of the bridge. This uncle had taken him to the top of the column that held the ropes and that the view from the top of the column was better than spectacular.  The drive across the bridge felt like a drive across any bridge.  The massive ropes that held the bridge were a sight though.  At the other end of the bridge were the toll booths, which we were not able to avoid.  We had to travel further for another couple of kilometres before heading back to our hotel.

The next day, was spent in the office with nothing spectacular happening except for those fantastic Rosgullas and sandeshs that entered our digestive system every hour of the day.  The drive back to the airport was a nail biting thriller though.  We did not realize that the evening traffic would be such that getting out of the office two and a half hour prior to the flight was barely enough to get us to the check-in counters 45 minutes prior to the flight.  Fortunately for us, we were not travelling Air India and we were able check-in.

A very happy end to 2014

Ah! A new year is here

To rejoice the end of a year

Miseries of hope unrealized

Resolutions unceremoniously dropped

Relationships distancing a little more

Promises gone sour

Come to an end, I hope

Should I say a very happy new year?

Might be just words, I fear.