One short of a quarter
Plenty more shots to make a full
These are the days that must happen to you
Birthday or otherwise...keep drifting.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Friday, May 29, 2009
Home Coming
Day 1
Routine kills. As the road opens up, traffic-free and glistening, like a wet reptile sunning itself, in the mild rays of the rising sun, the routine killing drive to office on Hosur Road is the last thing on my mind. The speedometer sees a rapid surge as the needle shoots to the 100 mark. The trees and huts blur at the side, turning into a speck in the rearview mirror. Michael Monarch's languid riff kicks in as John Kay's gruff vocals begin to grumble. Minutes later we are all howling along with Steppenwolf, "Born to be Wild". And so begins my journey, not as wild, considering I am traveling with the family, but wild enough.
Though you could manage to speed around 90kmpha on the highways, a long stretch was being expanded into a 4 lane system, creating bottlenecks at junctions and also slowing us down with the numerous deviations. The route via Hosur, Krishnagiri, Dharmapuri(bye-pass), Salem, Avinashi, Coimbatore(L&T bye-pass), Palakkad and Trichur(destination) is mix of hills, dusty open grounds, fertile paddy fields, crowded villages, shanty towns, dingy dhabas, et al; a veritable cross-section of most parts of India. Nine and a half hours later, 470 km clocked in, a full tank down to reserve, 6 bottles of water downed, 48 idlis decimated for breakfast as well as lunch, innumerable MintRox consumed, 4 cartons of sugar free Apple juice dry mostly the efforts of my father, 2 cartons of Mango juice(normal)drunk; we reached home.
Day 2
'Native' as is the colloquial term for your home town at least for the Kannadigas is best for extended meals, sleep and the same repeated as many days as you are there. Kerala being in the boom of mango season definitely enhanced these aforementioned activities. The king of fruits in its various forms presents with various culinary opportunities. Starting with the flavoured chutney for breakfast with idlis and dosa, diced into small pieces and mixed a with coconutty paste and curd it serves well as a side dish for meals, finely cut and marinated in spices it can be consumed as a ready to eat pickle, the ripe varieties when boiled with jaggery and pumpkins make a lip-smacking curry; and just after you groggily appear post your afternoon siesta it pops up in the form of a refreshing glass of juice or two.
During the short breaks in between meals, while poring over bound volumes of my father’s and uncle’s Phantom and Mandrake (for the umpteenth time) banana and jackfruit chips serve well.
Day 3
Today is the engagement of my cousin H. The venue is about 30 km from where we live. All of us pile into the car and leave at 7:30 AM having been asked to arrive in time for breakfast. Breakfast appears a kichdi of sorts (that’s what the person serving it claims). It’s a mixed upma of rava and semolina, doused in coconut chutney. A dollop of kesari bath and a cut piece sweet boiled nendra pazham complement the kichdi perfectly. Breakfast done, its time to wait for the senior members (their actual duties explained later) of the groom-to-be’s party. It’s also time to catch up with the rest of the extended family. Gup-shup is suddenly silenced at the arrival of the matchmaking seniors. Surprisingly the groom has no visible duties on his and the bride-to-be’s betrothal as is clear from the fact that he is absent. The seniors now refreshed arrange themselves on both sides of a quickly laid out mat. After hushed words are exchanged the actual engagement process ends with everyone bursting into a round of applause. They have discussed and finalised the date and muhurtam is what I am informed by a better knowing cousin. Another hour is spent chatting. Sudden questions arise on my MBA and I mumble prepared answers and escape from one corner to another.
Lunch is served. In the true traditional format as described here, the banana leaf is spread out and feasting begins. A healthy meal later, traditional games follow; cards and dumb charades!
The evening requires us to visit the Guruvayoor temple. My parents and sister take darshan of Sri Krishna. I rest in the car, driver-like, listening to Ustad Rashid Khan’s The Song of Shiva.
Day 4
Breakfast, nap, lunch, Malayalam movie on Asianet, late afternoon tending to evening siesta, read, IPL, dinner, IPL, sleep.
Day 5
The plains begin to fade. Rolling hills build up slowly and suddenly the board appears, ‘Hairpin Bend 1 of 16’. Another board welcomes us to Idukki, famous for its numerous hydro-electric projects, wondrous rains, breath-taking views, fascinating flora and fauna and its various shades of ‘green’. Vagamon, a small hillock is our final destination for the day, but we decide to drive to the Idukki dam first. En route we come across a well in the middle of the road. Investigations lead to the discovery of water, almost half way down, but defiled by cigarette butts, packs, plastic and other tourist discards. Our next stop is a view point from where the official authorised to dispense viewing point tickets points out Vagamon in the distance. It intermittently goes into hiding behind thick columns of Cirrus before appearing in full splendour, taller and prouder than the surrounding peaks.
We drive on till we reach the Kulamavu Dam. A huge dip covered like a tropical jungle on one side with the reservoir on the other. A bridge leads over the reservoir, wide enough space for a bus to move through. There are 2 Police Outposts at both ends to ensure peace, safety, aid and prevent people from capturing the beauty. A quick conversation struck with them however helps us as they sagely advice against visiting the Idukki Dam, as people cannot gain access without a special permit. Disappointed we take a U-turn and head back down the hill negotiating the same 16 hair-pin bends, this time covered in a mild yet delightful drizzle.Next stop Vagamon. More to follow...
When your on the road...keep drifting.
Routine kills. As the road opens up, traffic-free and glistening, like a wet reptile sunning itself, in the mild rays of the rising sun, the routine killing drive to office on Hosur Road is the last thing on my mind. The speedometer sees a rapid surge as the needle shoots to the 100 mark. The trees and huts blur at the side, turning into a speck in the rearview mirror. Michael Monarch's languid riff kicks in as John Kay's gruff vocals begin to grumble. Minutes later we are all howling along with Steppenwolf, "Born to be Wild". And so begins my journey, not as wild, considering I am traveling with the family, but wild enough.
Though you could manage to speed around 90kmpha on the highways, a long stretch was being expanded into a 4 lane system, creating bottlenecks at junctions and also slowing us down with the numerous deviations. The route via Hosur, Krishnagiri, Dharmapuri(bye-pass), Salem, Avinashi, Coimbatore(L&T bye-pass), Palakkad and Trichur(destination) is mix of hills, dusty open grounds, fertile paddy fields, crowded villages, shanty towns, dingy dhabas, et al; a veritable cross-section of most parts of India. Nine and a half hours later, 470 km clocked in, a full tank down to reserve, 6 bottles of water downed, 48 idlis decimated for breakfast as well as lunch, innumerable MintRox consumed, 4 cartons of sugar free Apple juice dry mostly the efforts of my father, 2 cartons of Mango juice(normal)drunk; we reached home.
Day 2
'Native' as is the colloquial term for your home town at least for the Kannadigas is best for extended meals, sleep and the same repeated as many days as you are there. Kerala being in the boom of mango season definitely enhanced these aforementioned activities. The king of fruits in its various forms presents with various culinary opportunities. Starting with the flavoured chutney for breakfast with idlis and dosa, diced into small pieces and mixed a with coconutty paste and curd it serves well as a side dish for meals, finely cut and marinated in spices it can be consumed as a ready to eat pickle, the ripe varieties when boiled with jaggery and pumpkins make a lip-smacking curry; and just after you groggily appear post your afternoon siesta it pops up in the form of a refreshing glass of juice or two.
During the short breaks in between meals, while poring over bound volumes of my father’s and uncle’s Phantom and Mandrake (for the umpteenth time) banana and jackfruit chips serve well.
Day 3
Today is the engagement of my cousin H. The venue is about 30 km from where we live. All of us pile into the car and leave at 7:30 AM having been asked to arrive in time for breakfast. Breakfast appears a kichdi of sorts (that’s what the person serving it claims). It’s a mixed upma of rava and semolina, doused in coconut chutney. A dollop of kesari bath and a cut piece sweet boiled nendra pazham complement the kichdi perfectly. Breakfast done, its time to wait for the senior members (their actual duties explained later) of the groom-to-be’s party. It’s also time to catch up with the rest of the extended family. Gup-shup is suddenly silenced at the arrival of the matchmaking seniors. Surprisingly the groom has no visible duties on his and the bride-to-be’s betrothal as is clear from the fact that he is absent. The seniors now refreshed arrange themselves on both sides of a quickly laid out mat. After hushed words are exchanged the actual engagement process ends with everyone bursting into a round of applause. They have discussed and finalised the date and muhurtam is what I am informed by a better knowing cousin. Another hour is spent chatting. Sudden questions arise on my MBA and I mumble prepared answers and escape from one corner to another.
Lunch is served. In the true traditional format as described here, the banana leaf is spread out and feasting begins. A healthy meal later, traditional games follow; cards and dumb charades!
The evening requires us to visit the Guruvayoor temple. My parents and sister take darshan of Sri Krishna. I rest in the car, driver-like, listening to Ustad Rashid Khan’s The Song of Shiva.
Day 4
Breakfast, nap, lunch, Malayalam movie on Asianet, late afternoon tending to evening siesta, read, IPL, dinner, IPL, sleep.
Day 5
The plains begin to fade. Rolling hills build up slowly and suddenly the board appears, ‘Hairpin Bend 1 of 16’. Another board welcomes us to Idukki, famous for its numerous hydro-electric projects, wondrous rains, breath-taking views, fascinating flora and fauna and its various shades of ‘green’. Vagamon, a small hillock is our final destination for the day, but we decide to drive to the Idukki dam first. En route we come across a well in the middle of the road. Investigations lead to the discovery of water, almost half way down, but defiled by cigarette butts, packs, plastic and other tourist discards. Our next stop is a view point from where the official authorised to dispense viewing point tickets points out Vagamon in the distance. It intermittently goes into hiding behind thick columns of Cirrus before appearing in full splendour, taller and prouder than the surrounding peaks.
We drive on till we reach the Kulamavu Dam. A huge dip covered like a tropical jungle on one side with the reservoir on the other. A bridge leads over the reservoir, wide enough space for a bus to move through. There are 2 Police Outposts at both ends to ensure peace, safety, aid and prevent people from capturing the beauty. A quick conversation struck with them however helps us as they sagely advice against visiting the Idukki Dam, as people cannot gain access without a special permit. Disappointed we take a U-turn and head back down the hill negotiating the same 16 hair-pin bends, this time covered in a mild yet delightful drizzle.Next stop Vagamon. More to follow...
When your on the road...keep drifting.
Friday, April 24, 2009
The Great Indian Tamasha and other ideals
Cynicism apart thousands if not lakhs of people walked/rode/(insert mode of transport here) to their respective polling stations and exercised their adult secret franchise yesterday. Secret taking second priority, as most wear their political affiliations on their chests. For me secret remains equally important as the right to exercise my vote. A strong ideal ingrained in me by my father who in turn had been adviced similarly by his father.
A large part of the day was however spent in cynicism, evaluating the bios of the candidates and their manifestos. A mighty task made simpler by Smartvote.in. Mammoth rather, as the Bangalore Central constituency had 37 candidates battling it out including a certain candidate from the BSP whose symbol inspite of violent ideals incidentally is the gentle pachyderm. Of the 37 candidates, 22 were independents. Independents whose manifestos had agenda varying from shockingly turning their constituency vegetarian to more mundane ideas which most politicians (wannabes included) stand for like water/electricity/education for everyone. My father wondered why there were so many in number. It was quite clear that some were in it for working for the betterment of society, others for the pride, some for the mere fact that they could spare Rs 10,000 to contest; but for most, its their single easiest way to achieve higher hits on the media waves.
The Economist labelled the jumbo democratic exercise as "The worst possible way of choosing a government—apart from all the others". I say the method is fine, the participants ignorant (some gullible) and the politicains (at least most of them) whose fate will be sealed for another five (hopefully) years, delinquents. The end result of this massive exercise will be a hung parliament. Independents and regional parties will eat into the vote banks leading to no clear cut results. Parties will look at reworking alliances post results to best suit their power and monetary requirements. Regional parties will become more vociferous on the national front, as they alreay are. I am sure all points aforementioned have been discussed and digressed about by psephologists/journalists/campaign managers/the public. But the point is: Is there an end to this Tamasha? And no clear answer dawns.
My solution would be to eliminate the number of political parties for the Lok Sabha elections. What we require is a basic two party system. The government and an opposition. A government who has administrative powers. All laws and rules will have to be passed by the general public. It would be a rather long process but it can be implemented. The government would act like a CEO and his team would be answerable to us and we would be the final stake holders. In a country like ours with its (trumpets and drum roll) diverse and colourful paradoxes (where else would you see two ladies walk side by side, one with a pot of water extracted from a hand-pump miles away from home and the other ipod plugged into her ears with the latest Laptop strung across her shoulder) such a proposition is hard to dream about but given the right incentive it should take off. As Alan Moore puts it in V for Vendetta, "People shouldn't be afraid of their government. Governments should be afraid of their people." A situation which is very much the case here.
The ideal situation would be when we have the freedom to pursue ends for our own good. What we deem good for ourselves physically and mentally and without impinging or denying what others deem their own benfits. But, as is the scheming mentailty of the human species loopholes will be literally expoited at the drop of the coin. The key word being ideal, utilitarianism is again a distant reality which I dont see happening in my progeny's let alone my own lifetime. However the 'human will' will survive and that day will come...soon.
A large part of the day was however spent in cynicism, evaluating the bios of the candidates and their manifestos. A mighty task made simpler by Smartvote.in. Mammoth rather, as the Bangalore Central constituency had 37 candidates battling it out including a certain candidate from the BSP whose symbol inspite of violent ideals incidentally is the gentle pachyderm. Of the 37 candidates, 22 were independents. Independents whose manifestos had agenda varying from shockingly turning their constituency vegetarian to more mundane ideas which most politicians (wannabes included) stand for like water/electricity/education for everyone. My father wondered why there were so many in number. It was quite clear that some were in it for working for the betterment of society, others for the pride, some for the mere fact that they could spare Rs 10,000 to contest; but for most, its their single easiest way to achieve higher hits on the media waves.
The Economist labelled the jumbo democratic exercise as "The worst possible way of choosing a government—apart from all the others". I say the method is fine, the participants ignorant (some gullible) and the politicains (at least most of them) whose fate will be sealed for another five (hopefully) years, delinquents. The end result of this massive exercise will be a hung parliament. Independents and regional parties will eat into the vote banks leading to no clear cut results. Parties will look at reworking alliances post results to best suit their power and monetary requirements. Regional parties will become more vociferous on the national front, as they alreay are. I am sure all points aforementioned have been discussed and digressed about by psephologists/journalists/campaign managers/the public. But the point is: Is there an end to this Tamasha? And no clear answer dawns.
My solution would be to eliminate the number of political parties for the Lok Sabha elections. What we require is a basic two party system. The government and an opposition. A government who has administrative powers. All laws and rules will have to be passed by the general public. It would be a rather long process but it can be implemented. The government would act like a CEO and his team would be answerable to us and we would be the final stake holders. In a country like ours with its (trumpets and drum roll) diverse and colourful paradoxes (where else would you see two ladies walk side by side, one with a pot of water extracted from a hand-pump miles away from home and the other ipod plugged into her ears with the latest Laptop strung across her shoulder) such a proposition is hard to dream about but given the right incentive it should take off. As Alan Moore puts it in V for Vendetta, "People shouldn't be afraid of their government. Governments should be afraid of their people." A situation which is very much the case here.
The ideal situation would be when we have the freedom to pursue ends for our own good. What we deem good for ourselves physically and mentally and without impinging or denying what others deem their own benfits. But, as is the scheming mentailty of the human species loopholes will be literally expoited at the drop of the coin. The key word being ideal, utilitarianism is again a distant reality which I dont see happening in my progeny's let alone my own lifetime. However the 'human will' will survive and that day will come...soon.
Monday, April 6, 2009
Lets put a smile on that face
A trickster is a god, goddess, spirit, man, woman, or anthropomorphic animal who plays tricks or otherwise disobeys normal rules and norms of behavior. And who better a trickster than....from an old photo album of mine gathering dust in the attics of my mountainside home Beetle Juice and The Joker.
Saturday, April 4, 2009
In the Middle of the Night and Death
Having wrongly read a news report of an electronica music show at the Max Muller Bhavan by Mouse on Mars a descendant of Kraftwerk and having also wrongly informed a friend M about the show, at about 22:00 hrs last night I felt it was only right that I make up for having brought her all the way from Koramangala to CMH Road. After downing a hot chocolate, a cappuccino and a rosemary chicken quiche at Gloria Jean's cafe and knowing she had traveled the distance to capture the electronic colours and hues on her Nikon I suggested that we go down the road to the Lakshmipuram Hindu Cemetery. A cemetery in the night time being one of the bullet points on her "To Capture" list.
A silence intermittently broken by the barks of dogs and ever excited, ubiquitous crickets welcomed us as we crossed the open gates. The quintessential cemetery, stood in the stark yellow light of street lamps throwing an occasional shadow which required a furtive second glance to make sure no mysterious characters were lurking in them. Having set up the tripod M got shutter happy and I just looked around, n stick glowering.
Knowing the area from childhood I was aware we were being observed by a couple of inquisitive characters. Ignoring them for a while didnt quite please them as one of them walked in and started questioning us in Hindi first followed by Kannada. On explaining that M was just taking a couple of snaps and not disturbing the environment or creating a ruckus the ruffled inquisitor inquired if we had permission from the gatekeeper who I assumed to be tucked in bed. The time being past 23:30hrs I contested his suggestion believing the gatekeeper didnt want to be disturbed and the fact that I rather didnt want to disturb him right now. On that repartee the inquisitor took the onus of knocking the door of the gatekeeper's ramshackle hut and after repeated knockings and pleas the lady of the house stepped. Much like Helga, wife of Hagar the Horrible in appearance, the rumpled lady was not in much too a friendly mood to have a chat on what we were doing there and our exact purposes. We explained that we were here just to take some photos of the cemetery in the night time and we would not create any issues natural or supernatural. The inquisitor tried convincing that we were upto no good and had to be evicted from the property immediately. "Helga", rubbing sleepy eyes thought otherwise, warned us not to venture into the crepier looking areas and promptly went back to bed. Inquisitor in question slightly ashamed, slunk away after threatening that we should not disturb the peace of the people in their final rest..supernatural blah...supernatural blah...
We moved ahead. M capturing gravestones, trees, the crescent, inquisitive(apparently our man was not the only one) dogs, smoke from my n stick (quite unsuccessfully though), boards advertising coffin and undertaking services. By about 00:30hrs we decided to head back home. On the way back there was another stop to capture the traffic below, on and beyond the flyover connecting the Inner Ring Road and 100 Feet Road. Some beautiful snaps later I saw M off at her home and called it a rather early Saturday morning.
10:30 hrs or so there was some commotion heard from my neighbour's house. On investigating I found that the purohit who had performed the annual death observance ceremonies had uttered the final ritual incantations and had himself collapsed. Further investigation led me to conclude from a body already quite cold as well as any visible lack of breathing that the man was dead. However to reassure the neighbour that such was not the case and that there could be hope I quickly put the man into the car and drove him to the nearest nursing home. The doctor on duty presumably shared my sentiments explaining that she could not feel a pulse and advised us to rush to Chinmaya Mission Hospital. After weaving in and out of traffic for about 15 minutes we reached the hospital only to be confirmed that the purohit had indeed died. Tight lipped the neighbour and I waited for the purohit's son and daughter in law to arrive, complete the necessary formalities and then returned home.
It was only at home when it struck me that I had a near reverse chronological experience of visiting the cemetery first and then the death, all in less than a span of half a day.
Its a funny thing how after a life of division; from birth through caste, creed, sex, wealth, knowledge, position, health; a life of being ahead or being beaten by someone; a life of compromises, competition, celebration, confusion; everyone meets the same end-Death. Death is the ultimate leveler.
A silence intermittently broken by the barks of dogs and ever excited, ubiquitous crickets welcomed us as we crossed the open gates. The quintessential cemetery, stood in the stark yellow light of street lamps throwing an occasional shadow which required a furtive second glance to make sure no mysterious characters were lurking in them. Having set up the tripod M got shutter happy and I just looked around, n stick glowering.
Knowing the area from childhood I was aware we were being observed by a couple of inquisitive characters. Ignoring them for a while didnt quite please them as one of them walked in and started questioning us in Hindi first followed by Kannada. On explaining that M was just taking a couple of snaps and not disturbing the environment or creating a ruckus the ruffled inquisitor inquired if we had permission from the gatekeeper who I assumed to be tucked in bed. The time being past 23:30hrs I contested his suggestion believing the gatekeeper didnt want to be disturbed and the fact that I rather didnt want to disturb him right now. On that repartee the inquisitor took the onus of knocking the door of the gatekeeper's ramshackle hut and after repeated knockings and pleas the lady of the house stepped. Much like Helga, wife of Hagar the Horrible in appearance, the rumpled lady was not in much too a friendly mood to have a chat on what we were doing there and our exact purposes. We explained that we were here just to take some photos of the cemetery in the night time and we would not create any issues natural or supernatural. The inquisitor tried convincing that we were upto no good and had to be evicted from the property immediately. "Helga", rubbing sleepy eyes thought otherwise, warned us not to venture into the crepier looking areas and promptly went back to bed. Inquisitor in question slightly ashamed, slunk away after threatening that we should not disturb the peace of the people in their final rest..supernatural blah...supernatural blah...
We moved ahead. M capturing gravestones, trees, the crescent, inquisitive(apparently our man was not the only one) dogs, smoke from my n stick (quite unsuccessfully though), boards advertising coffin and undertaking services. By about 00:30hrs we decided to head back home. On the way back there was another stop to capture the traffic below, on and beyond the flyover connecting the Inner Ring Road and 100 Feet Road. Some beautiful snaps later I saw M off at her home and called it a rather early Saturday morning.
10:30 hrs or so there was some commotion heard from my neighbour's house. On investigating I found that the purohit who had performed the annual death observance ceremonies had uttered the final ritual incantations and had himself collapsed. Further investigation led me to conclude from a body already quite cold as well as any visible lack of breathing that the man was dead. However to reassure the neighbour that such was not the case and that there could be hope I quickly put the man into the car and drove him to the nearest nursing home. The doctor on duty presumably shared my sentiments explaining that she could not feel a pulse and advised us to rush to Chinmaya Mission Hospital. After weaving in and out of traffic for about 15 minutes we reached the hospital only to be confirmed that the purohit had indeed died. Tight lipped the neighbour and I waited for the purohit's son and daughter in law to arrive, complete the necessary formalities and then returned home.
It was only at home when it struck me that I had a near reverse chronological experience of visiting the cemetery first and then the death, all in less than a span of half a day.
Its a funny thing how after a life of division; from birth through caste, creed, sex, wealth, knowledge, position, health; a life of being ahead or being beaten by someone; a life of compromises, competition, celebration, confusion; everyone meets the same end-Death. Death is the ultimate leveler.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
