It EXISTS!!

It exists. I surely DOES exist!! I know this for a fact. Though I've never seen it. You would not have seen it too but I'm sure you, too, will agree with me that it exists!

No. I'm not talking about Him. (Or Her, for that matter). Not God. Or Goddess. Or, if you're a Hindoo... not God, Goddess, not "god" (or "goddess) with the lower case either. 

I have felt it. Hundreds of times. In fact, I'm writing this because I felt it just now... am feeling it NOW, in fact. And that's how it usually is. Manifests itself suddenly, quite often without any reason. In the most sudden manner, often at the most inconvenient times.... GRRR. And in the most inconvenient manner. 

The only thing to do, really, is to ignore it. Which, by the way, is easy to say - not do. So, even as I'm writing this, concentrating my mind on this next word, this next letter, or comma etc, stubbornly focused on actively ignoring it, I'm actually not. Ignoring, I mean. 

It is there. Very much THERE. Not just on my mind. Not in my sub-conscious. Or id. or whatever. It exists. Somewhere behind me. Just beyond arm's reach. And it is not staying put in one place. NOW it is "there" and, in a jiffy, it is now in another "there". Shifty. Shifting. Just as I try to reach for it. 

There's no point, really.. the damn thing is like "Phantom" from those comics. "Faster than the eye can see", which actually doesn't make any sense, you know, because, duh, well, you can't see it in the first place. 

See my face? I'm getting irritated now. Well and TRULY irritated. Where the hell is it?!! I'm reaching for it. THERE! Got it, just barely! F#*K, it's MOVED again. Where's the pen? Or pencil? You think I should use something else, a bit longer maybe? Aah! Got IT, NOW!

An ITCH! There!! Nailed it!!! What bliss, to be able to pin this down and scratch, scratch, SCRATCH, S-C-R-A-TCH!! Sheer relief :) What the hell???!! It's shifted again, somewhere lower, once again beyond reach........ GRRRRRRRRRRR. 

I tell you, guys, an ITCH can truly be a B*^%CH!!

GRIEF - Pure & Simple

There are some times when an image gets burned into the brain - an image that may be incongruous, or perfectly ordinary but still, like being branded with a searing hot iron, gets burned deep. And will stay there. Till the end of memory.

I remember, January 1989 - walking in to my house in Madras after an all day and an all night trip from Nasik to Bombay to Madras. My younger brother and I - and there he was, my father. Stretched out on a slab of ice. Ears and nose stuffed with cotton. 

Dead. What a word!! As cold and unfeeling as that slab of ice on which he lay. His face seemed "normal", as if he was asleep. We had been trying to come to grips with this for close on 24 hours, ever since we got word of his last, final attack. And yet....

Somewhere within me, I had this feeling that he would open his eyes and give us that special, goofy smile that belonged solely to him. Never happened. I was 25 when he died. Old enough to come to terms with the altered reality. That was almost 25 years back - a lifetime ago.

Today, another funeral, another set of images, also burned into the recesses of my mind. A neighbour, after a prolonged bout with cancer, passed away - she was, perhaps, in her mid forties - leaving behind a husband and two young boys. The husband, a man I've held in very high regard during the years of having come to know him well, was stoic and seemingly in control. (As was to be expected, perhaps - guilty of regional stereotyping, surely, but we Nairs/Malayalis are, typically, undemonstrative) 

The children, aged around 13 and 8 perhaps, seemed rather unmoved by the occasion, I thought - perhaps they had become acclimatised to the idea, having seen the mother struggle through pain for close on a year. Till almost to the very end, both boys seemed to have "adjusted" - at least that was what I thought, and I admired them both for their strength and fortitude. 

It was at the end, just as the body was placed on the electric crematorium's sliding rails - the elder boy perhaps realised only then that this was the point of no return. The look of pure desolation, the horror of that moment, those urgent steps that led him out from the crowd into his own lonely corner where he felt the need to be just then... 

Grief, pure & simple, is so difficult to share. It must be shouldered, all alone. He did not cry, he just shivered, trembled and gazed vacantly into a middle distance.  

Me? Mumbaikar??!!

I've been a resident of this, amchi Mumbai since around the end of 2002, so I've dedicated a decade of my existence to this "Maximum City", "land of Bollywood dreams", "financial capital", "Metro City No 1" or whatever other names we denizens may choose to call this by, fondly or otherwise.

In all these years, my preferred mode of toodling around this benighted (and betrayed - by its leaders, politicians, bureaucrats, administrators, whoever) town has been, mostly, by my very own car. A humble Maruti 800, to begin with, imported from blissful Goa during my early days in Mumbai. That wonderful, trusty car has, since, gone back to Goa and, last seen, was still tooling along, unhurriedly in the wide open spaces there. In the years intervening I've gone through a couple of cars more and, perhaps, ought to begin the search for my next chariot sometime soon. But that is another story.

Unlike most Mumbaikars who depend on the famed "locals" of Mumbai, honestly, in these many years since 2002 I would have perhaps traveled by/on them not more than a dozen times. Including one memorable journey, circa 2003, when I tried (momentarily successfully) to impersonate Rajnikanth, hanging from the foot board of the local from Andheri to Bandra (en route to Mahalaxmi). 

               

Empirical evidence does, indeed, prove that it IS possible for the average Mumbaikar to stand - quite comfortably - on the foot board of the average local train (back in Chennai where I hail from these trains are called, quaintly, EMUs, by the way), with just a mere 7 square inches of foot space and the last phalange of just three fingers of one hand. I confess, I am not the average Mumbaikar. I am alive, this day, and typing this (with the last phalange of two fingers, one from each hand, by the way) solely and exclusively because a group of average Mumbaikars who shared that sever square inches (each) alongside me, on realising my plight, promoted me to "Uncle" and, in that spirit of generosity for which Mumbai has been acclaimed, pushed me deeper into the confines of the coach and to safety.

Anyway, the point is, in the 11 years that I've been here, I've probably traveled on the local trains perhaps 12 times. Venkatesh Prasad has a better batting average than this? And, recently, last month, I'd been to that other city that pretends to be a rival to Mumbai. New Delhi. 

 

     

Capital city. Big. Broad. Brawny. Brash. Boorish. 

Was there for one night, two days. And I traveled. From Gurgaon to Connaught Place (Rajiv Chowk, oops!). From Rajiv Chowk to Dwarka Sector 347 (or whatever). Back to back - two evenings. By public transport. Like any average Delhiwalla. (Is there an "average" Delhiwalla? They're all outstanding chappies!) On their famed Delhi Metro (OK, OK, I know, the Bongs and the bhadralok had it first, in Calcutta). 

And I came away IMPRESSED. No sarcasm here. Not an iota of it! What an experience?!! I was simply blown!! 

I was like John Keats "On First Looking Into Chapman's Homer"...I felt like some watcher of the skies when a new planet swims into his ken.... and I gazed and gazed and I wondered...

If Dilli can do it, what the eff is wrong with Mumbai? WHY oh WHY can this not be done here?? 

The comfort! The space! The frequency! The fabulous network crisscrossing NCR from Gurgaon to NOIDA and all across! The sheer affordability! The cleanliness. The discipline!! The speed! The crystal clear information announcements (next station, which side the platform would come, everything!!)

     

Do we really NEED to wait for a new Mumbai Metro Rail to be inaugurated (God knows when?) in order to enable human beings travel as human beings? Why is it not possible to make over the existing network, the existing rails and coaches?   

Honest to goodness, if Mumbai can go and get itself a rail service that can match Delhi/Kolkata, I sell my car! I travel by train. I become an average Mumbaikar. 

Until that day..... who? Me? Mumbaikar?!!!

Smart, Dumb & Dumber...

This is somewhat like that Birbal - Akbar story.... how do you make one line smaller without even touching it? 

So, you start off with the not too unreasonable assumption that you are smart. Intelligent even. I mean, all those IQ tests that you used to take had all "certified" you as near level genius if not actually genius. Ah, so what does it matter if you're not a card holding Mensa member, that is merely a non-issue, no? Anyway, the couple of times one tried calling up the Mensa chapter in Mumbai, one was unable to get past the substitute watchdog at the other end...

So, how does one make a person who has an IQ upwards of 138, look dumb, dumber and more?

Zimble... get the guy a "smartphone"! Easy peasy, in the blink of an eye, just as all of Akbar's ministers and courtiers (and couturiers, too, eh, what?) looked on with amazement when Birbal drew a longer line alongside, there I was, a few months back, at an electronics store, having just paid for a phone that, eventually, proved to be a lot "smarter" than I bargained for...

Not being too technologically proficient - a fact that the sales attendant quickly cottoned on to - I had to ask that kindly, helpful soul to "install" my contacts from the old phone, configure my e-mail settings etc. Which he did. In a jiffy. ("Phantom faster than the eye can see" kind of jiffy...) While I looked on, pretending to know all that he was talking about. 

Then, for good measure, since the phone had a 5 mp camera, I clicked the wife - big smile, bigger eyes. Not to be outdone, aforesaid kindly helpful soul offered to click "both the two of us" and we posed, side (self) by bashful side (spouse), beaming at the camera. And, with a final thank you, we left the store... and then began the process of discovery of dumbness...

I checked "gallery" to take yet another look at the photo that k.h.s had clicked.... to my clear & certain knowledge, there ought to have been TWO photos. One taken by me and the second taken by k.h.s....and, discovered, to my complete and total astonishment upwards of 900 photos in that "gallery". How the heck? I mean WHAT the heck?!! Pictures of my, my friends, family, etc that were taken months, even years earlier.... that LOOK on my face set the wife off in alarm. "What happened, what happened, whathappened, whathappenedwhathappenedwhatwhatwhatwhat....?" kind of alarm.... if you're married and if you're a male, you know what I mean... so, I showed her the pictures, and you know what? She was DELIGHTED. Where I was baffled, she was absolutely out of her mind with the sheer joy of seeing so many many photos and, eyes wider than usual, she was exclaiming in joy. Till I pointed out to her THE question - HOW did these pictures come to reside in the phone that is less than 15 minutes old??? THEN her mouth opened, as wide as her eyes, as she "understood" the source of my dumbstruck look. Dumb Lesson No: 1.

Lesson No: 2 followed almost instantly thereafter. Seeking to scroll through my contacts book I discovered names of long forgotten people, people whose details were most certainly NOT existing on the phone that I was using a mere 20 minutes ago. I know this to be true. I checked. And double checked. There were names on my smart phone, along with e-mail addresses, telephone numbers etc, that were not there on my other phone. Shaking my head in bafflement, I decided to give my aching head a rest for some time.

It was later, sometime the next day, that I realised what had happened...... and we shall leave that there. Why spoil the "mystery" for potential smart phone buyers?

In the months since, my smartphone continues to perversely display its superiority over me. In a multitude of ways. 

• The "battery power meter" in "settings" alternate, wilfully, mischievously and with malice, wildly fluctuating from 99% to 14% back to 43% to 71% etc all in the course of an hour. I have no clue why this happens. All I know is, like some pagan tribal who goes around wearing charms and amulets to ward off imminent attacks, I now go around carrying my damn charger at all times, ready to plug in whenever, wherever.... the moment I do, battery display shows 99%!
• Having "discovered" an application called "Maps" I search for a route between Chembur and Dadar.... not that I needed to know, but still.... just for the heck of it. My phone, perhaps knowing that I was trying to pull a fast one, did the next best thing. The screen informed me that I was at Bandra, when, in fact, I was actually at Chembur. Bandra, a good distance away, left me bamboozled! Lesson learnt, never try to pull a fast one, on your phone. You simply ain't equipped to deal with the repercussions!
• Every now and again I am "informed" that I now have some random number (could be 41, or 273, or 55 or any goddamn integer) of photos that are ready for back-up and/or sharing. 
• My "Gallery" has several folders, none of which were created by me. Some of them are capable of being deleted. Some aren't. And, well, duh, this stands to reason too..... the ones that cannot be deleted are the ones that you really, totally, truly want to delete! And there they reside, permanently, like Dracula, unkillable, undeleteable, eternal, everlasting...

I could go on, and on.... but shall end with just this plaintive cry - does anyone know what the hell is the significance of that folder "My Education"? My education would, perhaps, be complete then.

Stock at close....

I landed around 11 pm - Mumbai, the city that never sleeps, was pulsing with that frenetic energy that is peculiar to Mumbai like no place else. Coming out from the airport one encountered the traffic, thankfully not a jam but surely a bit of a treacle, flowing slowly...

Thankfully, the weather was certainly better than Delhi where I'd been earlier - it's not too often that one can speak some kind words about Mumbai's weather, right. So, it was a bit of a relief, temperatures around 25, a mild breeze too. 

And, stopped at a traffic light turning off from the WE Highway to JVLR, holding back a giant yawn, I see her..... bicycles are EXEMPT from observing traffic lights, no? Whether the light's red, green, orange or whatever, if you're on a bicycle you simply breeze through, merrily while lesser mortals on other vehicles idly idle their engines polluting dhartimaa... and so, it must have been a mere few seconds that I saw her.

Seated on the rear - "carrier seat" isn't it? - of a bicycle, a seat that seemed extra wide such that it seemed to mine eyes that surely she must be discomfited sitting astride that... 

I had just held back a big yawn.... and I noticed she didn't. She yawned, too, absolutely undaintily. Totally unconcerned, too tired to bother with the "niceties", she simply yawned. And scratched her head, hair disheveled, sleep staring out of her eyes and face. 

Perhaps seven years, certainly not more than eight. Small, tiny, tired and sleepy, struggling to stay upright on her carrier as her father (I presume) pedaled past the signal and moved on. 

A clutch of rubber balloons, varied colours, happily floating on a small bamboo stick behind her, floating merrily, in pink, purple, bright orange, electric green etc, perhaps nine or ten of them. 

Unsold inventory at the end of a long day, I guess. 

Memories assail me, the joy of holding a gas filled balloon on Marina Beach, Madras, when I was around six. Not an everyday joy, treasured moments when Dad's mood was lighter than the gas in the balloon, not an everyday occurrence that.... my heart would go up, up and up with the balloon, the joy too spontaneous to be captured by mere words..

and, fleetingly, I recall the expression on this little girl's face. No joy, there. Not even an ABSENCE of joy. No unhappiness. Just an achingly sleepy look, all she seemed to want right then, perhaps, was to curl up and sleep.

Those balloons continued to remain visible, dancing merrily, whispering among themselves, as the signal turned green. 

I hope she slept well, that night. I hope her father did not take out the frustrations of an unsold dreams on that wee little kid....

Homo Indicus

I wonder what would Charles Darwin have to say about stuff such as "survival of the fittest" and "theory of evolution" if he were to drive a car in Mumbai. Or Delhi. Or perhaps even Bengaluru, Pune, or any other place in Mera Bharat Mahan.....

Don't get me wrong, this ain't a complaint. I'm about as patriotic as the next guy who takes forever to stand up when the Jana Gana Mana is played... and I wholly preserve his right to honk as loudly and as often as he pleases. After all, that's what horns are for, right? So, no, this ain't a litany of complaints - I'm merely wondering, what if....

What if Charles Darwin, instead of wasting his time in the Galapagos, were to spend a month here... let's see, where would we take him? For the limited purposes of this academic discussion, let's stick with amchi Mumbai, ok...

Saki Naka is an absolute must, of course. 

As is that truly magical stretch of road from Everard Nagar going towards Sion where, strictly under laboratory conditions we shall insist that Darwin should stay in that outermost lane and attempt to take that one lane flyoover/bridge...

Let's also throw in that stretch of road coming back from Chheda Nagar towards Ghatkopar/Thane where there is a small bridge as well as there isn't a small bridge (doesn't make sense? You're not a Mumbaikar, then, so just shut up, ok, all of US know what I'm talking about here)

Oh, and how could I not mention the first turning, at Chakala, while coming from the domestic airport towards the international airport? You know, the one where there is that traffic light that, after 7:30, serves a decorative purpose?

Actually, why bother to select roads or routes.... let's just leave it to the poor sot to drive damn well anywhere he wishes, and to make observations as to the sheer adaptability of Homo Indicus Drivus... I'm sure, some of the startling discoveries (and this is, by no means, an exhaustive list) would include:

• The average Mumbai driver (ok, I guess the average Indian driver) is possessed of 360 degree vision, he can see traffic that is behind his head, coming in from all sides and is equipped with high speed neurons that are capable of discerning that nano-metre gap that is as yet non existent in the space just ahead of him.                                                                                         
• The average driver (see, I am generous) is possessed of an uncanny sense of deafness, enabling him to continuously ignore the continuously blaring horn from the vehicle behind him. And the vehicle beside him. And the vehicle ahead of him. And, from his own vehicle, of course...
• The average driver exists in multiple dimensions AND in multiple lanes. One moment he is in the middle lane and in the same moment, seamlessly, he has slid across 2, sometimes 3 lanes on a road that is chock-a-block with noisy, speeding vehicles driven by honky, swearing drivers.
• The average driver, having executed above mentioned maneuver with insouciant panace, suddenly loses that 360 degree vision, in fact, he goes temporarily but totally blind - this is a defensive mechanism that has evolved to enable him to be blasely unaware of the glares that other average drivers turn in his direction, for if looks could kill the average driver would have a million deaths each day. So, while lesser than average drivers glare, this supreme being, having overtaken one from the wrong side (which is the right side, actually) he remains blissfully insulated from one's glares, gaalis etc.
• The average driver also has developed X ray vision and is able to see that invisible scourge, the traffic police, frantically waving his arms while trying to regulate the irregulatable... so, the arms keep waving while the traffic, like an inexorable force, keeps flowing...    

I haven't even begun to mention such other unparalleled skills as: talking on the phone while driving, spitting paan/gutkha every 314 metres, etc. Those are too mundane, Charles would yawn...

Insects, it is said, have compound eyes. I submit, so does Homo Indicus Drivus.... pests!!