Saturday, 29 March 2025

The Feedback:

 "Just get on with it, what worse could happen?"

From: "A Turn in the corner"

Was it my déjà vu? Is my unconscious mind processing my anguish, even when I was not actively thinking about acceptance, and painting a picture of a self-imagined appreciation and admiration. Why this peculiar format - mind talking to itself and hitting my auditory nerves?

The human brain is a complex organ, stores infinite information, processes them in a way to facilitate retrieval of memories. Imaginch was very well aware of this common knowledge. What he could not understand was this. Why at times, these processes go awry resulting in glitches in memory and erroneous recall, substitution of its own take on how something should have happened or due to crosstalk within its labyrinths, to create a déjà vu situation? 

He had no other option but feel perplexed. He also knew why but wanted to impart a little more spin to this déjà vu ball and bowl a doosra, or carrom ball, to unsuspecting friends! He hoped, his friends are well equipped batsmen.

Players take guard and now, over to the spin bowler: 

Imaginch never dreamt, that one day his dreams would open up a communication channel with his mentor and well-wishers. Per usual, the communication channel also managed to catch unsolicited and spurious chats, as if to confuse and derive a bit of fun at the expense of his sleep. This itself was troublesome and to add to this, as a bonus, his communication channel chose to intrude into the periods of deep sleep cycles, disrupting his thought waves, like the wake left by a huge oil tanker.

As a result, Imaginch’s circadian rhythm went haywire, now and then. Sleep for 2 hours, break for an hour and again a spell of sleep. In effect, sleep or awake, the channel was on in "wakey-talkie-mode". He tried to turn it off but he had no such remote on hand. So, he decided to make use of these nocturnal disturbances to his advantage. To feed his hunger for writing, may be a Blog post!

The mentor-reader:

"Initially, your characters, Muser and Bystander were just feeling their way around. Sometimes they burst out like geysers but mostly flow like calm waters. I can't forget the write-ups on spider and the dogs. 

Now a days, your new character, Imaginch, who occupies more word-space, belts out more angry sermons, lectures and what nots? I wonder where he gets, the spirit to be angry, annoyed and at times able to go deep in to the whys and hows of natural occurrences. With one are two characters managing to present an interesting topic is a noteworthy talent"

I wonder, how you manage to post once a week. Sometimes, I feel you will be burnout at this rate. But considering other factors, maybe it is better for you to continue and post as you may have many of them in waiting, as it is. By naming characters like Muser, Bystander and Imaginch, you deftly avoided getting into naming conflicts or controversies. The recent entrant, a judge and a lawyer, bring variety to the posts. You have managed to rope in Brahma along with Chitragupta and Yamadharmaraj to enliven certain Earthly topics!  Word selection, sentence formation reflects well on your familiarity with the medium of writing. Allowing freedom to your inner voice is an excellent ruse". A Shakespearian touch.

Imaginch felt humbled – this reader, rarely disturbs. On occasions that happens, it used to be an analytical approach and enlightenment.

Serious reader:

"Your confidence is showing up in the ease, with which you take up subjects that range from ordinary to difficult - living to inanimate things. You could vividly picturise the struggles of dogs and spiders. The write up on typewriter, mouse, weighing machine and rails made me to feel their feelings, as if they were directly talking to me. These topics stand testimony for hard work and fertile imagination. Whatever be the topic, you manage to present difficult arguments, in appropriate places. Sometimes, you come up with sentences that steal the march over the central idea itself.  The characters Muser and Bystander with whom you started with, have quietly given way to Imaginch, a judge and a lawyer. It shows your hunger and passion for writing."

 Reluctant reader:

 "I confess, I am little reluctant to start reading. Basically, was afraid that you might have alluded to my nature in the write up. Even after becoming a regular follower, I still do so, with that feeling you might have slipped in something of my nature. might creep in, unexpectedly. I get disappointed with every article, as you have cleverly chosen to pick up actions and behaviours of general populace and then let Muser, Bystander or Imaginch to interact and narrate. The episodes involving grandkids and a retiree or the attempts to raise a garden with or without help, have put me as a permanent fellow traveller, down many memory lanes."

 In-house reader:

 "I don't know whether lucky or burdened. Every waking and sleeping moment, you’re churning out some words in your mind. Most of them are incoherent and meaningless to me. My imaginary legs and hands are paining, as I have to constantly stand on my toes and wave the cautionary flag, so often. This hurt is more when you ignore my voice or forcefully silence it. 

Like Houdini, the magician you try to pull rabbits out of your mind but end up with sickly mice. Yet, you try to find ways to turn it healthy and try to make me believe you have pulled it off!  Why don't you, for once listen to your mentor-reader and ease up a little. I am getting tired of keeping an eye, open always, on your thinking and the potential traps you habitually ignore. The other day, I eavesdropped on your loud thinking that ‘The goals you chase, turn out to be insignificant, after achieving it or something to that effect’.  Listen to me once, please practice it.”

There are some peeky-scooty readers. They browse, do not part with a like or dislike and like ghosts vanish without leaving a trace. They do not know that the Blog post registers every visit to the page! I smile, count their presence and silently thank them.

In the end, all of them had this one question, before leaving the dream space. “Why do you write? Fumbling for an instant, almost dropping the catch, Imaginch plucked out this answer out of thin air, “Many of us cannot accept and sufficiently react to things and events, that take place, all around us. By strongly reacting to them on our screens, I am giving all of us a chance to participate without raising the hackle in others. Consider this as a tiny ‘public- anguish- relief mechanism’.

Saturday, 22 March 2025

The three gentlemen

 

Mr. Money keeps count

 Let us meet my neighbour Mr. Money. Of course this is not his given name, but due to his excessive obsession on money matters, everyone knows him by this moniker. A word about his obsession, he is not money minded but minds how people handle money. Like a fistful of loose change jingling in your pants pocket, he goes on and on about his observations logged in his memory. He has this knack of taking the listener two or three decades back in time. In the same breath, he could switch to the present as easily as a knife cutting through a block of butter. 

 His blockbuster narrations are anchored in busy railways, bus and airport terminals or supermarkets or malls. After choosing the space, he goes about bending timelines - backward and forward. Closely questioned, his answer sweet talks the listener with currency or plastic cards they still represent money. 

 How he became interested, according to him, in watching money transactions is noteworthy.

Born in an agricultural, rural family, he had watched people transacting in cash. For background, he never failed to point out that those were the days when banking cash and then transact, was a lightyear away from villages. 

 Agricultural loans and domestic expenses are settled on the day of selling off the produce and this leaves nothing much to bank. Then what about the cash transactions he is talking about? What else, the counting of money being taken as loan for the next cycle. Like crops, these cash transactions are also cyclic.

Keen observer that he is, his narration of the process of counting the cash is noteworthy, for an avid listener. In one method, the currency notes are held tightly, like a pack of cards, in one hand. Then the top note is slid out, using the thumb, and followed by a sweep-pull by the fingers of the other hand.  

He has noticed subtle variations employed in swipe-pulling - at hip level or chest level or face level. He has this explanation - hip level sweep-pulling means reluctant to part with the cash but inevitable; chest level signifies getting it over with; face level sweep-pulling is the gesture of the lender to the less fortunate. He poses the question why not cricketers, who play sweep shot, do not try this swipe-pull shot?

Once, a curious listener asked him, whether he had left out any other sundry detail? After a brief pause, like the ATM processing a  cash transaction, and out came his reply – “Yes, I did not narrate how some people constantly moist the swiping fingers over a wet sponge or on outdoor locations, simply touch the tongue with either index or thumb finger, to carry on!

The narrative jumps to the pre-plastic money era. By design or happens, he is in the right place - bus, rail or airport terminals - at the right time - when cash transactions take place. Welcome to the world of wallet exhibitionism. A well-stocked wallet comes out, the owner flips it open, and like an archaeologist shifts through the currency notes, and finally takes out a single low value note. The vendor demands exact change. 

The wallet exhibitionist then pulls open the coin storage pocket, mimics the action of a bus conductor searching for coins, settles with the vendor and moves away. Closing the coin pouch and inserting the wallet into the back pocket of the trouser or side pocket of the kurta is a class act in itself. At the end of this audio show, Mr. Money adds that this is a common sight. If you happen to be in time and at the right place, definitely you can catch such a wallet exhibition by yourself.

None can allege that Mr. Money is partial toward counting printed currency notes. In equal measure, to project his unbiased views, he has observations on the in-use plastic money handlers. Having graphically dwelled upon the actions of a wallet exhibitionist, he requests the listener to revisit the description and apply the same procedure substituting credit/debit cards in place of currency notes. This, he feels will avoid him the trouble of describing, afresh, the cards- trick-in-wallet act.

Though nearing exhaustion, Mr. Money finds sufficient energy to draw a parallel between card flashers and digital payment makers. Though poorer in number of smartphones the person holds, he/she makes it up with four or five payment Apps. Frantic or deliberate searching ensues to locate and select the icon, then go through the steps with PIN and ending in payment received announcement.

In sheer exasperation, Mr. Money says, "It is like standing in a railway station, hearing the announcements of train and platform numbers!"  The hapless, though started to listen eagerly, heaves a huge sigh of relief when Mr. Money takes leave.

The listener is left wondering, why on earth Mr. Money should worry about different forms of exhibitionism!

Is he not intrusively spying on others? Is he doing it for fun or sending out a message with a tinge of regret that he never got to practice such methods? Why at all I listened to him, is it because I too had a similar secretive yearning?

Mr. Sound, sounds the bugle

Mr. Sound is dead against anything, living or non-living, producing high decibel sound bytes when sound in lower scales could as effectively be used.

Here, a word about the name - actually it is a moniker that got attached due to his popularity, among friends, in coning the slogan "less noise the others make, more the peace to you." Being his friends, they overlooked the selfishness of me first.

His friends did not anticipate, the cacophony it will raise, when they started to streamline the production of sound bytes, by specifying the decibel levels, at home to start with. They invariably quoted this borrowed example of an EV (Electric Vehicle) two, three, four or multi-axle vehicles, speeding around noiselessly, to drive home their point (courtesy Mr. Sound). 

The first one tried to gently ease the slogan into practice. But he made a wrong choice, in selecting the grandchildren for the trial. As children do, they happily screeched and scooted all day long, shooting the decibel levels skyward. To be heard over this din, the friend raised his voice a little. This triggered the parents' protective instinct, mistaking the grandfather being harsh on them, and in turn they too joined in an audio-skirmish. The crowd dwelled with the arrival of the grandmother and for her part she too added some high-pitched admonishments. The friend, after taking a sound beating retreated. He regretted the choice and as well as the slogan coined by Mr. Sound.

The second friend encountered a storm in the house, when he just started to explain how all can bring a little relief from reducing sound level. For making this speech, he reduced the volume in the music system. This act was replied with angry shouts from the teenage grandchildren. They were crooning, along with shrieking soprano voice trying to compete with shrill metallic background score.  To quieten them, the other members of the family raised their collective voices, forcing the friend to reset the volume to the original level, to restore peace. Unable to bear the reverberations in his eardrums, he silently left the sound chamber.

A "wrong place at the wrong time" type of person, he chose to highlight the benefit of less noise and more peace, to none other than his wife.  She has ‘the ripple in the pond like’ acquaintances, partially gone deaf while pushing their age to the upper circuits of seventies. Cell phonic conversations usually end up in almost shattering the window panes. Subtle, gentle and serious gestures to tone down the volume only had the opposite effect. It usually ended in a verbal duel between them, of course after spending an hour to complete the call. The story of this friend of Mr. Sound ends like the Greek tragedy – he is shedding tears in frustration.

After a few days, the friends gathered to compare notes on their attempts to implement Mr. Sound’s slogan. Lengthy discussion, carried out in hushed tones, resulted in a broad consensus to Confront Mr. Sound.

To ask him why he hit upon this slogan?

To Find out if he has successfully implemented his idea at home?

To know if he or his family members suffering with tinnitus (ringing in ears)?

Soon the noise of complaints, from his close friends, filled Mr. Sound’s ears. He started to hear ringing in ears. It was like a sound track from a sour throat!

⁉️

Mr. Q. P   questions:                         

 

His friends, having no other go but to be known as such, had nick named him Q.P. To foster the friendship, they kept him in the dark about it. Unaware of this, Mr. Q P carried on, as usual to the discomfort of his friends.

 

From sink hole to black holes, gentle breeze to cyclone and pipelines to Panama Canal, he gets worked up just like that. This in itself is not a worry factor but as actions have consequences, the domino effect resulted in a train load of questions.

 

This aspect of Mr QP had his friends wondering, why at all this deluge and why only on to them? A few of them secretly acknowledged the inductive effect it had, as they too got the urge to pose questions to others!

 

QP was a silent spectator in class rooms and every period got inoculated with a dose of "Ask questions, when in doubt" exhortation. Slow learner that he was, though with an active mind full of wandering thoughts, he got the message much later.

 

These prolonged exhortations of his teachers, led to an undesirable side effect - anything and everything needed to be questioned, to get an answer. Some of his classmates are his current friends, on whom he has chosen to exercise the teacher's exhortations. In his regimented approach, he decided to leave the answering part to his close friends, though they would like to keep a considerable distance away from him at these sessions.

While watching the telecast of Olympic Games, he suddenly asked, “Why tightrope walk on egg shells is not in Olympic games?" His friend busy passing around the popcorn, was taken aback and almost dropped the tub. 

By this time, QP had changed the channel to weather forecast.

It was no let up for the friends.  Why cyclones are named but tsunamis and earth quakes do not get that privilege? Friends kept mum as they knew Q.P will find something else for posing questions.

Q.P has the habit of channel surfing, that too when in the company of friends. On display was a heavy subject – gravitational lensing. They discussed on light getting reflected and refracted., a simple form of bending, without much complication. His friends were happy to be on the same chapter. But every chapter has a bank of questions at the end, is it not?  This triggered Q.P to ask, “Bending one's or another’s will, is it like bending of light? Is there a mathematical equation to estimate the bending of mind?”

What are the contributions of persons, with IQ higher than famous scientists like Albert Einstein and Stefan Hawkins, in the field of science or medicines? 

The child prodigies, who show cased their musical talent, have they produced original music like that of Beethoven, Bach or Chopin?

Why cherry pick on IQ and child prodigies, out of timeframe, to strike a comparison, forgetting that the current level of electronic universities was a futuristic concept at that time?

 Obviously, the friends had no answer for the simple reasons – not interested in such subjects and even if had some interest they did not spend energy to get the doubts cleared. On their own they decided to give their regular get-togethers, a miss to avail breathing space. Missing his captive audience, Q.P decided to host a dinner and make a plain-speak. The friends reluctantly agreed to attend and were taken aback by delicious feast being arranged on the table. Except for the sound of cutlery, a studied silence enveloped the dining table. Some of his friends likened it to ‘calm before storm’ phenomenon. Q.P did not disappoint them but with a twist.

The first answer - tightrope walking on eggshells is not feasible as the shells will crumble, and so not included. The supplementary answer would be if sturdy eggshells are available, there is a chance!

The second answer- earthquake and tsunamis get tagged not by name but by date and geographical location.  In the case of cyclones, it is a multiple choice - more than one system might develop, in the same period, that is why distinguished with a name!

The third answer- bending of light follows certain physical laws and equations have been derived and proved. Human reaction is in the meta-physical realm and unique to an individual. Consequently, the forces that help to bend the will of a person is inexplicable. So, no satisfactory mathematical equation could be derived or proved!

The fourth answer- The I Q comparison, otherwise will lack a perspective. As Einstein said, “It is true for a particular frame of reference.” No disrespect is to be assumed. Coming to child prodigies, it is nothing but referring to a super-fast assimilation faculty of minds involved. A compilation of historical achievements of such prodigies, in our times, might settle the issue, if similar, original music works have been produced.

The last explanation-. Forgetting that the current level of electronic universities, was a futuristic concept at that time, is poetic license for the out of timeframe cherry picking!

Q.P decided, it was time drop the bombshell. He looked at his friends with a knowing smile and remained silent. In that silence, he could hear the meshing of gears in their minds. In turn they looked at each other for a clue. It was a difficult task as the heavy dinner weighing down in their stomach, has made them drowsy. Sensing disquiet, Q.P said in a bold voice, “You all think that I don’t know the secret. Behind my back and in a hushed tone, call me Q.P. I know it stands for question paper! Don’t you know, there would be answers in the textbook itself?”

P.S:

If you happen to meet any one of them, by chance of course, do not share my identity please!

Saturday, 15 March 2025

Cobweb series-1

                          A writer cannot be an editor and publisher. If tried, ends up as the lone reader!

                                                                        - A word form ‘Nightmares’

Preamble:

-When asymmetrical thoughts occur in irregular patterns, hampered by fuzzy and inexact recollection, what can he do? 

-If the arguments are flimsy, in an intricate plot catching him unawares, leaving him with a valueless      of text, what should he do?

-Rarely revisits the draft pages, lazy to update and correct it, what should have been done by him?

 Midnight after midnight, burning the LED lights out of their lives, Imaginch could not find satisfactory answers to these questions he had posed to himself. All along, his inner voice, keeping a studied silence, decided to answer them one by one.

 It said," You relearn geometry and practice memory tricks for exact recollection. Try to rewrite with strong arguments or safely bin it. If you had binned it, this question does not arise. Lastly don't burn out the LED bulbs. I am unable to sleep peacefully."

 This should not happen to anyone, particularly to me, he fumed. The very first thing, he decided, to do was, to rectify the shortcomings his inner voice had boldly pointed out. As he had blurted out in anger, the final draft versions would appear as articles under "cobweb series".

 "As a punishment for speaking out of turn, you have to read this cobweb series, without a whimper." He knew very well these words would not have any effect on his tormentor, but anyways he had strongly lodged his disapproval.

 The story of escape artists:

Crime and punishment, and work-life balance. Imaginch had deeply thought about these everyday maladies and decided to do a C.E.T, cost-effort-time analysis. Before that, he planned to do the analysis on himself. He held his breath and waited for his inner voice to come up with some wisecracks. Strangely, it kept quite probably thinking why to waste time as this analysis would not have any impact on Imaginch or anyone would care to know about the outcome. Imaginch did not give up that easily. To get the agenda in focus, he decided to re-read the news items to set the train of his thoughts on the move.

 (A)The other side is green (ease of living):

 One family wanted to settle in a country, which they thought was conducive for living one's life fairly easily. Though they rued losing financial and promotional advantages, at home, the grass in the other country appeared greener than found in the native land. Lesser tax, on lesser earning of course, appeared as icing on cake in comparison with what the native country expected as tax, coolly forgetting various tax exemptions availed and infrastructure facilities used and social welfare programmes getting funded. Imaginch would not have any issue with them if they had said, this noble thought as the reason - “We are moving out to give a chance to one of our brothers and sisters to find a jobs”

The man and the woman have benefited a moderate cost higher education (turning a blind eye on the prevailing education cost elsewhere), landed good jobs and own a minimum of two or three flats and have a healthy bank balance. Now enlightenment dawns upon them, to think of settling down for an ease of life environment. In the process, are they not depicting a poor picture of the native country which elevated and helped them to this level and about the people who still live there.?

If so desirous of settling elsewhere, those of you desiring to leave should do so permanently. But before that relinquish citizenship and pay the society for whatever resources you have used. In the first place, think how you got the job in an MNC?  Because any MNC, counting its dollars and cents, comes here purely dictated by business interests and availability of a talent pool. How can you forget the fact that you happened to be a part of that pool because the nation educated you?

Imaginch felt his comments are   harsher and laying it on thick.  His point was that anyone wishing to settle in a greener pasture could at least do so by not grumbling about missing things, which might be purely a personal perception.

His thought went on to highlight what would invariably happen next. What do they do there, except for driving down the nostalgic lane, while driving the car on the right-hand side! After some time, search begins for people from homeland to mingle with in get-togethers, birthdays and festivals or to meet just like that. Having spent 25 to 30 years, the food habit prompts the taste buds to hunt for restaurants or supermarkets for accustomed food items. 

Slowly, the ruler straight living wears off, stocking up on ennui. Ears yearn to constantly hear the musical sound of native tongue spoken in all its nuances and colloquialism. In case of difficulties run and knock on the doors of a consulate or an embassy of the native country. Suddenly, people who went in search of ease of living turn to develop doubts " Was it worth it?". The present tense becomes a past tense. Is it not proof enough that a known devil is better than an unknown angel?

 (B)The Right type of disconnect:

                                                                  News: Right to disconnect from work and life-work balance

A nation harbours poor to super-rich and many layers in between. Peasants to professors, industrial workmen to industrialists and white colour executives.  Imaginch could not fathom the impact of this news on overall well-being of a nation.

Advancements and innovations result from unwavering focus backed by long hours spent in their pursuit. This kind of people may not stand scrutiny if work-life balance criteria is applied. But their contribution is essential for of people who use their contributions, to find work and earn a living. How can anyone run away from putting in long hours after enjoying the fruits of such long hours spent to give this present opportunity? In the other place will it be only work as you please? There too, one resettling will be gently forced to work for someone else or replenish the working hands!

In an individual’s life, importance of work and quality of life should be balanced but not at the cost of the other. Is it not a personal ambition which motivates an individual to work hard and achieve excellence? The repercussion is in slowing down the pace of economic growth, which in turn affects the individual as well as the nation? Is it not the responsibility of every individual to contribute to the overall growth of a country? 

In the long run, the diminished capacity pushes the nation down the ladder of development. If stressed think of changing the job and try to live within your means. Listen to your mind and body instead of a utopian dream sold by Public Relations professionals. These PR publications have microscope-readable fine print – the story of the fox in a grape garden!

The respected and shining examples, of persons in noble professions did not leave them. How long they will be ladders and stools? Can't they too aspire to get a lift in status!  If it is an excuse, think of the soldier guarding the nation. If they decide to opt for an easy way of life, which country you would like them to try? Think of those who left and decide to come back – for ease of living or conducive environment?

Having said all he could think of, Imaginch felt compelled to include, “If it has to be slavery then let it be here. Whatever be the profession, at least it will work, for the fellow country men, women and children.” Instead of advocating for “let us catch up with the west”, a more mature approach would be to compel recognition for importance of hard work, ambition, and sustained productivity, which would indirectly ensure a healthy and motivated working environment.

You may be tempted to ask, “Are you an economist or holding a position of power or run an enterprise?” Rest assured, I am none and a nobody. Only, another cry in wilderness!”

(C) Come what may (way of living):

In any given country, people born in different races could be living. The same country could have autocratic, democratic and dictatorial rule. The laws governing the people might be viewed through a kaleidoscope. Crime and the punishment for it is not a matter based on logic or fair play. The playing field is slippery for some, with paved stones for some and smooth as a glass for those wearing anti-slip shoes. And ease of getting away from the net is different for different people, in any country in the world. After all life is a reflection of our times and more so on the mirror we face.

A miniscule percentage of the population would wield overpowering influence on events and others. The source of such influence comes from wealth, power or easy approach to power corridors. The wielded influence could be a quid pro quo, transferred gifts or finding a way to a bank account.  Once caught in this web, corruption takes deep roots and in turn corrupts those exercising that power. Given the chance, Imaginch would alter the wise saying "power corrupts " and enlarge its scope to read - "corruption too corrupts power."  This is a game of mutual benefit for all, in that vicious circle, played without any gaming license.

The influential person enjoys a hefty windfall benefit and when get entangled, pick legal luminaries to unravel the knotted threads.  If, the person happens to be part of a power structure, hires a team of lawyers to haunt the courts with batch petitions. For this public spirited’ one, is it not logical for the public to pay? The bills for their efforts get promptly paid from public funds!  The cases against them are given the uncanny knack of settling down, at the bottom of Mariana Trench, without the help of a submersible! Or, made to age, rivaling the longest living tortoise. Whereas, the case of ordinary people, floats like a cork on choppy water, drifting and never reaching a shore. So much for the ordinary people.

Imaginch fumed and recollected Hook’s law. By borrowing the concepts, he formulated this Laws of escape:

(1)   Ease of escape is directly proportional to the power of influence squared.

(2)    The litigation time is proportional to the elasticity of time, without a limit, and to the quantum of misappropriation.


He hoped that this Law would be universally accepted; locally a Padma award and globally a Nobel in

economics!??

Saturday, 8 March 2025

Travails of travel in grouse land:

There is no bug worse than a travel bug. A menace like the cockroaches, daring you in the kitchen. Some scurry to hide, a few wave their feelers in a mock salute and scoot and the few brave ones brandish their feelers like a samurai sword. The passion with which my ‘travel bug bitten’ family discussed the tour itinerary, which an outsider would easily misconstrue as a project for National Geography Channel or YouTube to influence fellow citizens, to hit the road.

Having endured many such tours, I hurry to the sidelines, before they draw me into another maelstrom! I have a zero chance for an escape. After the tour, who else would wear the mantle of the exhibit of honour to grumble with proof of rashes, bruises and aches, over cups of coffees and among friends? Who would care that I was merely drafted to accompanying them?

This off-the- beaten-path tour started on a bright note with Volvo buses and the last mile connectivity by SUVs. Among the fellow travellers, a bonhomie started to develop. Family stories filled the air, interspersed with mild to hearty laughs. Enroute, kilometer after kilometer, trees standing guard appeared to be asking me, with a smirk, “Instead of enjoying the greenery and colourful flowers we display, why are you zipping by only to stop at garbage littered eyesores called tourist spots?”

The first stop, on the banks of a riverbank signalled bathing time. Shivering in wet clothes, this shocking revelation dawned upon us. Sometime in the past, this river might have gushed with crystal clear water. For sure, the river had no use in dwelling upon this degradation. I gathered grouse number one. The forlorn looking temple, standing testimony for bygone better days and stuck with the river for company. Having nothing else to do, all of us entered the premises.  The sheer endeavour of countless and nameless artisans, who had toiled to construct this temple, engulfed us with a feeling of awe. Standing amidst exquisitely sculptured idols and filigree works, I had no heart to pick up one more grouse.

A boat ride that followed, dampened the euphoria felt after the temple visit. The murky water, probably feeding off from the same river, showed no interest, even to reflect our faces clearly. This ride completely obliterated my interest for any such future foray. Except me, everybody else seemed to enjoy the ride, like a fish taking, even to this type of water. At the end, I marked a grouse point and let out a grumble there itself. My folks quickly shut me off with an icy stare.

In the meanwhile, some bright enthusiast had already sold the idea of a climbing expedition, on a nearby hillock. Another person further sweetened the deal, with a once in a lifetime chance of visiting a famous fort, just down the slope. People did not notice the booby trap - that you have to climb and then go downhill and to boot, without proper shoes. The plan was to leave, at sunrise. Little did we imagine, what a night and a sunrise it would turn out to be!

The much-touted luxurious stay turned out to be a war zone. Teams of mosquitoes celebrating some occasion took over the premises. Like Predator drones, this swarm of performers zeroed in on us in two waves. Their precision aerial bombardment, commenced with a mixture of high-pitched whine and low-pitched hum. The buzz at the right and left auditory canals, was anything but musical entertainment! We had no forewarning and so had no repellents. The sleepless night helped me to notch up grumblings (to be broadcast in the morning) and fill the kitty bag of grouses (to be opened, back home).

The trekking expedition started in earnest. All except me had their heart already filled with pride as if they are waiting at the base camp, to scale the Himalayas. I smelled a rat and it turned out to be a search for the ‘off the beaten path’ track. A lone tree, from the peak, watched us in confusion as to why these many had gathered around a single person. He happened to be the one who sold the idea and was worriedly searching for a path to lead. And finding none, he eyed the sweet talker for a way out. 

Out of sheer frustration, someone started the climb, unmindful of slipping, sliding, slithering and managing the act, like a gymnast. Brave heart, had some guts and followers too! One by one, rest of us courageously kept one foot in front of the other, slowly getting the hang of the routine, set by the brave heart. Wild brambles and thorny plants lying -in-wait, to stick some sharp needles, necessitated the inclusion of an avoidance dance to the gymnastics act. Sweating profusely, huffing and puffing, we somehow reached our landmark - the lone tree. The tree appeared less impressed by our, thorn in the flesh and bruised - skin efforts.

The sentiment of having come this far, overpowered the aches and bleeds. After a brief halt, we started the descent, down the slope. . A look down the slope brought to my mind, the act of sure-footed hooves of mountain goats hopping from one boulder to another. Awe inspiring feat but it only managed to bring up a terrifying image of me tumbling down, broken and bruised. I added a few more grouses and voiced some grumble, which did not reach anyone's ears, as howling winds blew it away.

Adding the mechanical principle of stick and slip in the reverse order – like a combo of breakdance and gymnastics, the brave heart again took the lead and the first tentative steps, down the slope. I admired his impromptu improvisation. Soon, all of us attempted this technical variant.  The gruelling descent - along with rolling stones, expelled ahhss and ouches, came to an end, in front of the fort, for a once in a lifetime viewing opportunity.

As we entered the tall gate, it cried hoarse for a decent lock and the overdue maintenance. A high granite wall encircled acre of land. The guide droned on, tracing its ancestry from heydays to current disintegration, with practiced ease. The compound wall stood show-casing battle scars and era of neglect and old age. A few saplings put up roots and grew a bonsai garden, in an attempt to patch up these scars and marginally improve the weather-beaten appearance.

 Even with our collective imagination, it was difficult to visualise, buildings, living quarters, animal sheds, workshop, other utilities and facility for combat drills that should have existed as detailed by the loquacious guide. We strained to locate the remnant of a rampart, the gateway to the port.  The mote, once the swimming pool, breeding and happy hunting ground for the alligators or gharials was now filled with boulder and debris and clumps of vegetation.  A relic in ruin is a ruin, even if it has had a glorious past. I had half a mind to take it out on the seller of this once in a life time historical capsule. Bitter sense and growling stomach prevailed and saved the day for him.

Our crowd at the fort, must have alerted the enterprising vendor. He decided to rustle up some food, pronto! Wisps of smoke soon started rising and awhile later, our nostrils smelt the wafting aroma. Like homing guided missiles, all of us slowly walked towards the thatched house. A collection of odd shaped, colour faded chairs offered seating. The owner of the establishment, vanished towards the backyard and came back, followed by his wife and two children, carrying paper plates, cups and jugs of water. Soon, blackened cook wares with steaming hot food items were placed on a shaky table. As hunger requires no formal invitation, we dug in and the rest is history - for the food items. At this point it would be frivolous of me, to grumble or add a grouse in the kitty., though the menu could have included one or two items that I could have relished.

This act of unsolicited kindness to feed, without commercial motive burrowed deep into our hearts. After a brief light-hearted enquiry and exchanging of appreciation and defraying the cost, we took leave. The family beamed with satisfied smiles. The hotelier (he deserves this upgrade!) politely asked, “Did you miss the used pathway which goes up and down this hill?” A man of few words, did not even point out the mistake.

Only two persons, from our crowd, looked sheepish on hearing about this regular route and we decided to let it go without a fuss. Now, at least the return trip will be easier. A few metres walk and presto! A winding well-trodden pathway appeared and our eager legs propelling forward, we reached the resort, with energy to spare.

A sightseeing tour never ends without hunting for curios. The all-knowing curio-hunter tries to unleash the bargaining prowess on the vendors. In the process, gets fooled by their rustic charm, fails to read the pitch - a seasoned, deep deception. In the end, the vendors end up pocketing more and the curio-hunter holding a lesser value item for the money spent. Our troop did the same and collected curios to admire and display at home.

The final straw on the back of the camel came in the form of vehicles breaking down in a no-man’s land. Weariness vanquished comradery, nitpicking over non-existent issues added misery to misfortune. With complaints of aches from all over the body, the tour finally ended, on a grape-gone-sour note.

Returning home, I entered the kitchen to switch on a light. A battalion of cockroaches dared me to take one more step. All of them assumed threatening postures brandishing their feelers like swords, resenting my unauthorised incursion. Beating a hasty retreat, I came face to face with, the all-knowing smiles of my family members. The reason for their smiles - some AppWallah will be bring food, palatable or not, or whether I like it or not type! 

Why to travel? To undergo suffering and rue, later? Are the few pictures posted in social media a relief mechanism to unwind accumulated stress and pent-up anger?  I hear a loud yes from all of you. Then, courier me a response to this - " Is there an easy way to manage all of the above, without embarking on a group travel?"

I had spent a bundle of money and lost body weight, on account of my taste buds not agreeing with the food choices, and the voluntary hunger strike. To sum it up. I detested being used as a silent string when others played the notes. 

Why did not I opt out? Because, I am the card-carrying member, forced to handle the expenditure account. and better suited to carry the bucket of woes! You get my point? 

Oh! What a travel experience, it turned out to be! If an experience is a lesson, I have learnt mine. What would be the best way to let loose the remaining grouses? Let me a share a secret. For all the travails of travels they have inflicted on me, I am planning an unforgettable shocker for them!  A revenge tour, where they would be collecting grouses!

Saturday, 1 March 2025

Cui bono - who benefits?

 I am not a connoisseur of food and practically know nothing about making up a meal. This disadvantage apart, I like food that suits my taste buds, purse and importantly, how appealing they are to look at, without cosmetic touches. This might appear a tall order, but for one who is satisfied with a frugal serving, could I not afford to be a little choosy? Straying away into unchartered to taste diverse cuisines, is not on the map of my ‘food-venture’. All these good qualities (self-assessment!) often land me in hot soup, with my family members. They ‘cashout’ every opportunity, to taste exotic cuisines and insist that I too tag along. There is a reason, which will reveal itself later.

 Being the odd man in, I get frowned upon, in equal measures, both by my family members and the staff, in any food court. To the staff, probably thought of me as a creature out of the cave, before serving the out of syllabus menu item. Then the bill comes, sticking out a like tongue from inside the folded menu, along with a dour face  hoping for a considerable tip. In an instant, the dour face gets transplanted on to my face, as I have to settle it with swiping or out of a weeping wallet.

 Now, you know why I am forced to tag along! The episode does not end there. Back home, the family members gang up and serve me with a 'spoon by fork' description to anyone over phone or just dropped in.  To make matters worse, they challenge me, like a matador waving a rag - cook a meal or swallow the anti- gastronomic thoughts. I refuse to enter the bullfight, to avoid getting gored or trampled under hoofs to standby my epicurean rights to be a food critique! 

 When it comes to shopping, it is a no-hold-barred celebration involving window shopping and hopping from one section to another, in any shop they step in. This is the game for keeping the staff guessing and me fretting, in the side lines.  They curtly inform the staff, to keep the selected clothes separately, and nonchalantly walk out to another shop and repeat the same cycle, once again. I wonder, not so loud, that maybe they are trying to become brand influencers or tool kit gangsters, like the ones we hear about, everything every day! Suddenly, a friend’s recommendations strike, in their not so dull memory, like a bolt of lightning. They drag me along, through a jostling mass of shoppers and bylanes, to another shop, hard to find, in a cul-de-sac to complete the purchases there.

 Tired of tagging along, feeling like a fly in the oil, I point out in my sotto voce, what they have done is embarrassing. Their reply took the wind out of my sails. “Do you know, the more shops we visit, we add to the count of customers visiting that shop, at a given time. Is it not a free ad for the shop?”

 Undeterred, I asked, if you had no intention of buying them, why select and set aside some clothes, in those shops? They smugly replied, it was to perk up the interest of fellow shoppers, to buy the same selection or similar designs. It helps the shop to sell more. Flabbergasted, I asked, “then why did you buy in this not-so-easy-to-find shop?”

 “The visit to the other shops was to study the trending fashion.   Enough, are you paying with card or by cash, now? If it is by cash, there is a discount and some points. These points can be redeemed on future purchases!” Their reply blew a cyclone on the already tattered sails.

The throbbing aches of the last shopping tour was still afresh in my memory. I started looking for a chance, to tease them a little but not exceeding the threshold limit.  I decided to take them along on my own shopping trip sans the aches and jostles and crowded pathways. Destination -   a cloth store and a restaurant, both of my choice. Selling this idea, and getting them to relent, needed Atlas -like heavy lifting. Serious thinking opened up a possibility which, if handled properly, would be the leverage. I mentally thanked Mr. Archimedes for his timely mathematical proof on the of advantage of using a lever. I did not dwell, much on the proof, preferring to use the principle in a practical situation. To shift the collective weight of their decision in my favour.

Putting the plan into action, I started to complain about my wardrobe, filled with apparels that have weathered many seasons. I griped, at length, that some clothes did not even fit well. Sensing the potential trap that I would be walking into, I just omitted mentioning that the clothes are out of fashion too. These statements did not evoke the expected enthusiasm. They exclaimed and said, " Pants and shirts and inner wears! You are as imaginative as a plain paper - unchanging conservative colour, choice and texture and preferably from the same textile mill! You will not even look at something different, fashionable with checks or designs. What fun will be there for us to come for shopping with you, an ISO certified, one-shop, one counter -customer?" I felt like a lawyer getting the case thrown out at the admission stage itself.

Hitting a solid wall there, I immediately shifted gears and changed to another lane, where I hoped the going will be smooth. With feigned disinterest, I mentioned, about the new restraint my friend had visited about which his wife’s friends have given an excellent revie. This ruse - their opinion of my friendship, his views, and the fact that my friend’s wife’s friends have given that review.  They could not simply ignore this promising bait with a luscious lure! Tick-tock, the pendulum of curiosity started to make that oscillatory motion in their minds, urged by their taste buds. I was damned sure that a hectic debate, whether to accept the review by a third party or not, would certainly rage on for some time. To facilitate this opportune moment, I quietly withdrew, to show that I had no further interest to go out for shopping.

I was not surprised, when an emissary came up with the green signal for the restaurant visit with a rider that they may accompany me to the cloth shop, depending on how the restraint fares in their opinion. I dug me heels firmly and made it clear that the sequence would be as I have planned - cloth shop followed by the restaurant visit or not at all. After another confabulation, they relented – the lure and bait bending the will!

Once in a while, unboxing a surprise adds a twist to the expectations. With foresight, I had selected a shop with 7 or 8 floors. I made it a point to visit every floor and every counter, in the cloth shop, looking over choices in dress materials and branded apparels. At each floor, I took my sweet time to riffle through the collections, enquire with the sales persons on the finer points of displayed goods. 

At some counters, I even chatted about the manufacturing process of dyeing, weaving of fabrics and stitching practices. The employees in the shop as well as my retinue were flabbergasted and confused. I left them to wonder in silence, to discuss and draw their own conclusions about my off-the-rails, strange behaviour!

Finally, I dragged my befuddled family members to my usual corner and in no time selected dress materials for pants and shirts. You guessed it! In my usual shades and fabrics of comfort, of course. At the bill counter, I could sense pairs of eyes boring into my back. They asked, "Why all the drama, for this great selection? What made you to lecture him on texture, weave, weft, drape, count of thread and packaging of ready-mades?”

I retorted, “Was it alright, when all of you questioned about bleeding and fading of colour, and guarantee for durability? The poor salesman, simply repeated whatever, he had been coached and not from his personal experience.” Without further upsetting their apple cart, I gently pointed out that I was only trying to further the technical understanding of the clothes the salesmen were handling. Now, all of you have learnt some more finer points, to ask a hapless salesperson, next time! At this point, a sneaking doubt, must have raised in their minds, whether the promised restaurant visit would turn out to be another damp squib?

The restaurant bore the name “the Trreaat" for some reason best known to the management. We were ushered to a table and silently a menu card was placed in front of us. It had only one printed caption "the Plate." And underneath it, numerous pictures filled the paperscape. Pretty and long faces giving me company, I identify over half a dozen, table spoon sized, breakfast delicacies nestled under the caption. A little doubt crossed in all our minds- real or photoshopped sizes. An inset card proclaimed, “whichever delicacy you finish, another will take its place.”

It was delightful to watch the pretty and long faces becoming normal and then beaming with anticipation. When we finished our course, silently a bill was placed on the table and the staff vanished without a second look. Till the end, there was no table talk by us or by the staff. This landed me in a dilemma - to leave a tip or not! Another thought also flashed through my mind. Why don’t they add this – “We serve silence too’ alongside the caption.?”

 At the cash counter, I asked, “Don’t you serve lunch and dinner?"

"No. This is an out and out breakfast type establishment. Though it sounds ordinary, the menu offers a change to lunch and dinner clientele. It offers novelty to the die-hard breakfasters. Our only menu is "the Plate", small servings with replenishment, aplenty."

The journey back home was in total, deep space like silence. I felt happy and surprised that today's twin experience has already started to occupy their thoughts. Knowing them well enough, I anticipated some changes, soon in their mindset. I applauded myself for having given them this experience. Not one to let go off an experience and with enough material on hand for a narrative, I promptly sat down to write it down.  

The morning of next day, was an unimaginable experience, transporting me to another dimension. Our dining table looked like a crowded platform. Thermo-wares of different shapes and ceramic plates jostled for standing space. Raising above this melee, a hand-crafted placard proudly announced "Per favore" Then the chefs, proceeded to dazzle me, by serving microscopic, delicious items. Mid-course, another placard appeared displaying, "more on the way”.  I once again landed in a dilemma- to announce a generous tip and get beaten blue and black or to promise them another restaurant visit. To be diplomatic, I hastily scribbled on a napkin and showed it to them -'merci, ありがとう (Arigatō), with a beaming smiley .... My daughter, a literary buff, identified the foreign lingo, tipped her imaginary hat at me and blurted out Cui bono - who benefits?

 

You guessed right, and hit the jackpot! Cell towers started humming with flash news from the kitchen. Now and then, I looked through the window to spot arrivals for a kitchen-table conference. Having spread my appreciation all around, I hastened to include this last paragraph, to the narrative in progress.