Retirement Benefits: -69-

Superannuation (or) retirement ensures some monetary benefits, encomia and a farewell party. The Star of the day feels sad as well as relieved. Sad: to start a new kind of life.  Relieved: from the hum drums of a long, mechanical life.

The euphoria of accomplishment lasts for a week. Then, one start’s the process of “coming down to earth”.

Here is how it happens:
Charity begins at home, which is the epicentre for this process.

The wife initiates the downgrading. As an office goer, the Retiree got first preference for news paper as well as breakfast. Priority over News paper remains untouched unlike that of breakfast.

The Retiree would not have felt belittled but for the way it was done. Wife says, “Can’t you wait for another 10 minutes; any how you are only at home?” First let me serve our son and daughter. They are getting late.

The Retiree wonders how in a week it is the son and daughter who are getting late. How was this being managed earlier!

Next, the son will come up and ask. “Pa, are you free?” with out waiting for a reply he will off load a list of things to be done. That list looks like a grocery bill of a five star hotel.

The Retiree feels hurt on being told indirectly that he is free and doing nothing. Thanks God that his son is yet to complete his studies. If the son is employed, it will feel like a double whammy.

In comes the daughter. She says, “Pa, I am in a hurry to finish this project; help with photocopying these references!” Daughter, you know, shows a little politeness. If she is an office goer the tone may have been different, who knows!!??

Don’t let out a sigh, there is still more to come in the way of the Retiree.

Months pass. Madame starts bossing over him on unfinished works. Yet, she goads him to take care of his health, which he has been neglecting that, under the pretext of important office work.

Requests increase from the son and daughter.  Slowly the daughter might start obliquely to refer to the Retiree’s free time (read you are idling)

Friends (who are yet to retire) also join, at this point of time to draw the attention of the Retiree, that he was enjoying life when they were still toiling.

Fellow Retirees form a different category. Morning walks or visit to parks would invariably centre on topics such as “That man is lucky, as he is happy in retirement”, “My family mistreats me and expect only the pension amount”, “my son and daughter emptied my bank account” or some such thing.

Back home, the treatment varies if the son is married and living with the Retiree. Now, two more hands join in the process bringing him down to earth more often.

This is how it goes:
Son gets the first chance and says, “Dad, will you switch off the TV now; your grandson (or grand daughter) has unfinished home work; help to finish it”

(or)

“Dad, will you let Varun (Vanitha) to watch cartoons now; you can see the re-telecast tomorrow morning” The Retiree wonders whether he will get the promised free time tomorrow!!

Not to be left out, the daughter in law also may give a helping hand.

“Dad, I will get you a cuppa (of hot steaming coffee), can you take these clothes to the launderer?” The pile of clothes needs a donkey to carry. The Retiree wonders whether he had become one!

Then, comes, the salvo from tiny tots. But you move up a level in the hierarchy of relationships.  “Grandpa, grandpa (affection & task is proportional to the repetitive title used) can you finish this simple sketch & colour it?”

The Retiree cannot understand this - if it is so simple why me to help? Then he understands that the sketch in mind needs the artistic talents of a Picasso (or) a Rembrandt.

The last straw on the camel’s back will be loaded by relatives. “In your free time, can you go to the Railway Station to pick up my daughter? I am little busy and she is coming with luggage”

Is he looking for a friendly but unpaid porter?” But the relative did not mind it and reminds the Retiree to be at the platform for so and so train & such and such time!

Not to be left alone, the general public also lends a hand. “Oh, old man, be careful on the road”. Auto wallah's, mobike wallah's, car wallah's, bus wallah's – for that matter any driver wallah will drive you mad by offering unsolicited advice.

What is the solace, then for a Retiree? There are some benefits like these.

• A Senior citizen’s tag.
• Concession on Rail Tickets.
• A separate cash counter, in the 1st week of the month, in some of the Nationalised Banks.
• Slightly higher interest rate on deposits (i.e. if the retirement benefit is still in his control).

I hear a murmur, from Madame Retirees. I leave it to one of you to narrate your story :)

The Sounding Board.

Sounding board technique is used to collect views from others who matter. The “sounder”, then fine tunes his/her thinking. Trusted persons and well wishers act as the Sounding Board.

On various occasions, the little typhoon has employed this technique on me, for altogether different purposes – mischievous acts.  I used to wonder where from she has picked up that wisdom or was she born with it!

The little Typhoon always carried with her a bag of tricks – stuffed with odds & ends for the play in mind. Grapevine has it, that she has 20 such bags ready for use as the mood demanded.

Be it a tuition class or surgical session or scaremongering (or) starting a mini war – she was ready with an earmarked bag.

In her vernacular dictionary (Telugu), “us” means “me” after some time.

Does it appear a little perplexing? Let me explain. To start with she will say “let us do it” and the moment her doubts are cleared (or) a procedure has been partially  understood, she will drop the “us” like hot potatoes and start using “let me do it” This is temerity for you.

The varieties of play things available on the menu card, allowed her to cook up both the games (a la carte) & the rules of play (always in her favour). The sheer permutation & combinations she works out is truly amazing!

She almost takes it for granted that I will participate willingly (or) unwillingly! That particular day, she decided to play with balloons and make balls of different shapes. She has already tried it at home, but the filled air had leaked and balls shrunk to marble size.

She was unable to tie a thread, tightly at the neck of the inflated balloon. That was not acceptable and she did not know how to solve that technical problem. But any how she showed me the shrunken shapes as a fait accompli.

That was when she took me on board, with an “us” request to find a solution for that vexatious issue. I demonstrated the technique of filling air, holding the balloon’s neck in a “pinch”, stretching the neck and knot it to hold the air in.

She watched in rapt attention as my fingers coordinated in stretching & knotting the neck. Losing interest in this play (for a change “us” did not become “me”) and not willing to give credit to me, she abruptly changed the topic. She was obviously trying to cover up her de-fait accompli.

She wanted to know how a ship floats in water and how an airplane flies without flapping wings.

With the help of a bucket of water and a paper boat, laden with plastic objects, I introduced Mr. Archimedes to her. A paper airplane, actually a rudimentary one, did help her to understand some of the aerodynamic principles.

She was enthused by the demonstration with the paper objects – it might have appealed to her “origami” talents. Partial understanding of the mechanisms of floating & flying was sufficient.

She immediately dropped the “us” and started using “let me explain to you…..”  Then we took up playing the game of filling and bursting of polyethylene bags and paper covers – salvaged items from her house, kept naturally in a separate bag!

This game was played by “us”, as she had not yet mastered the art of crimping and holding the open end of the covers/bags, to retain filled air. Here she needed my help the most or otherwise there was no game at all to play!

Then, gingerly she took the crimped end from me, came behind and smashed the inflated cover on my back.
The bursting and the loud bang thrilled her and pained me. Who cares? Now, are you wondering about the connection between the title and the narration?

Let us (not the “us” mentioned till the balloon incident) read the first paragraph again, trace the metamorphosis of “us” to “me” , sounding me out with her doubts ,seeking clarification , sticking with “us” when the chips are down, reverting to “me” when the game was in her hands.

As a good will gesture, using my back to burst the air filled bags with “bangs”. Do you see the connection now? Now, reminisce such incidents you had and share them :) I’m pretty sure you have come across ‘Typhoon’s’ in your life.

Rat in the shoes. -67-

The Muser had two other friends (shift mates) in the Hostel. They were occupants of a room diagonally across and two such rooms away. They generally took part in extracurricular activities such as climbing, trekking and 3 show cinema stints.

Sreeni and Kumar always came together – the double antennae. They can ferret out buried information but they had no ulterior motive.

Satire and wit was their forte. This had an undesirable effect on some of the inmates. Wit & satire everybody liked but when used on someone else.

Needless to say the aggrieved person waited for his turn, in case he was not able to redirect one at them , his own brand of wit or satire then and there.

But for this minor infringement on personal sensitivity, they were gladly welcomed to be part of any group or activity. Though friendly, the hostelites did not visit the duo by going in to their rooms.

Somehow this culture had taken root and all the friendly discussions took place either in the mess hall or at the hostel entrance.

Friends gathered in a particular room if a music session (singing or listening) was on or for playing cards without stake. During festival times, the hostel wore a deserted look. The aftermath of festivals meant exchange of variety of homemade eatables.

After one such festival, Kumar came back with a pair of new shoes. It was a bit costly, on our salary (which in reality was a stipend). He displayed his shoes happily, must be due to the sheer joy of owning a pair of such shoes.

Days went by, and the hostel inmates smelled a malodour in the air. Many times in the past, such malodour had wafted through the hostel ambiance. More often, it turned out to be of chemical origin from nearby processing industries. The air clears after an hour or two.

But what perplexed the inmates, in the first floor rooms, was that the odour was persistent and gaining strength day by day. The odour cleared off in a week’s time, bringing relief to the inmates.

After ten days, that mysterious odour stared to waft again through the corridors like a “ghost who walks”. Within a week the odour was categorised as ‘mild to severe’. Finally, one of the inmates hailing from an agricultural family sniffed and identified the cause of odour – a dead rat.

This sniffing posed another puzzle instead of answering the earlier one. The questions that remained to be answered were ‘Where from the rat had come and where it breathed its last?, Why it should come here to die? Where exactly its demise had occurred? Why at a periodical interval?.

Among the hostlers, a few were inquisitive.  They took upon the task of finding the origin of odour as the sniffer’s theories had gaps in it. This inquisitive nature led me to think about the adage “Curiosity killed the Cat”.

The investigation started off by forming a search team. No corner was left out in search of the rat, in the ground floor. This was based on the assumption that the rat also could have lived in ground floor or in a hole in the ground around the perimeter of the hostel. At that time they did not suspect a dead rat in any one of the 20 odd rooms spanning across two floors.

One member of the search team, made an accidental discovery. The smell appeared to emanate from one of the rooms in the first floor. His nostrils picked up the odour as he was crossing over the corridor/aisle. He had a strong suspicion on the left hand side row of rooms.
He could not pin point the source 3 doors of the 5 rooms were ajar. He convened an emergency meeting with the search team to disclose his findings.
The team had some firebrands, who did not stand on courtesies when it came to business. The “sniffer” in tow, they knocked on all the doors and entered inside for a field study – like contestants canvassing for votes.
The first and second doors they knocked upon were clean. The team entered the third room (remember the earlier adage about cat getting killed), fought the stench and came out gasping for fresh air. They were in no condition to continue the search there after, hence abandoned it.

The real culprit for the putrid stench was the unwashed nylon socks soaked in excessive sweating of feet.
The search team was very happy on two counts - mission completed and the culprits (the satire duo) were nailed.

Next day, the Team cornered the duo (wit & satire) and sarcastically said “Having given a demonstration of what your wit & satire could do to a field rat, why not market this technique?”

The Investigation team presented them with a rat trap and a packet of rat poison. Wit and sarcasm had been paid back in their own coin.

Needless to say that Sreeni & Kumar vanished like a rat chased by a cat. The hostelites coined a new adage “curiosity killed the rat too!”

Snake on the Ladder.

This private company is nestled between national highways, railway station and lush green agricultural lands.

The entrance gate is built over a drain water canal. Encroachment of over grown weeds in the stagnated water gives the look of a medieval fort surrounded by water ways. Only a full fledged moat and draw bridge is missing; otherwise it would be a picture perfect setting.

The company MD is a naturalist – allows weeds and shrubs to grow at their own will or pace.

He has such a strong faith in nature - depends on sunlight for illumination and the depressions in the bay for ventilation.

He let nature to provide these every day and magnanimously allowed his employees to avail the same at the work place.

The cabling work for the installed machines rivals a spider’s web.

For all these miserliness, he possesses a brilliant brain – thinking ahead of others in the field, doing the impossible with unskilled employees and to capture the imagination of probable customers.

Over a period of time, he positioned himself as a designer, developer and producer of critical components for space related activities. He used to proudly say that, all the prototypes that were manufactured by him performed well.

He even started to design and develop special purpose equipments and then got them fabricated from vendors of questionable capabilities. Some miserably failed. A list of such useless items would easily fill 2 pages of an inventory book.

Being a born fighter, the failures never bothered him. He has a proud motto “Design, Build and Operate”.

This story is about one such equipment, fortunately functional but suffering unwanted handicaps. This twin tower was 6 meters tall and some of the moving parts were placed at the top. In his cost pruning exercise, he did not provide a ladder.

He will close his ears whenever such inexpensive items like a proper ladder, a plastic bucket or a torch light are mentioned. This psychology, even now remains a puzzle to Muser.

This heating & drying tower is to be used, in a first of his kind venture, to produce resin coated organic and inorganic filament bundles of various types and strengths.

The main reason for this attempt is to overcome the non-availability or market volatility for such coated products. As is his wont, the Top Man has already lined up buyers for this yet to be made product.

He has an uncanny ability in gathering needed information and technique, from internet & his extensive personal network. He requested Muser to handle the project.

At the appropriate time, he sounded the alarm on the anticipated shortage of people who took decisions. From that point on, the interested officials kept themselves abreast of even a minor advancement in the developmental project. Yet none asked for a solid proof and therefore, none was given.

He chose an opportune moment to propose the use of in-house made product in the production of pressure vessels.  This situation placed Muser in a tight corner.

Whenever highly placed officials paid a visit, The MD made it a point to introduce Muser and exaggerate the pace at which the work was being carried out. Muser was put in a Shakespearian– to say the truth  or  not.

All these added to the pressure, to come up with a good result. And the very look and layout of the equipment, meant for continuous operation was disgusting.

Determined to see through the Project, Muser began organising the required round the clock operation. The shift personnel managed to locate a dilapidated bamboo ladder left by a civil contractor. It was left behind due to the cost of transportation.

This ladder had very special qualities.  Auto-ambulation (Who ever needed it took it and left it somewhere else), Unique appearance (the missing rungs were strung with coir ropes of a blackish hue and were sticky due to semi-cured resinous mass). The same ropes were also wound on the vertical bars of ladder to increase hand “grip”.

We hit a road block right from the start of the maiden operation involving the heating tower and processing filament bundle to semi-dry state.

The operating personnel went up and down the heating tower using the shaky ladder - every five or ten minutes, to set things ready for a restart.

Finally, the plant stabilised to a normal run and a heavy down pour began – as though to cool the frayed tempers. There was no let up in the rain and also the need to continue production. By around 6 “O” clock in the evening, the rain stopped.

The change team took over and they started experiencing another set of interruptions – power failure, system malfunction and semi-dried filament bundle getting stuck in moving parts.

Finally nature relented and everything became normal and the plant was up and running. The operators dispersed for dinner to a nearby location. When the team returned to their respective operating stations, the power was out.

The work area was pitch black – no emergency light or even a torch light. The power failure lasted a good half an hour. The tower temperature plummeted to near ambient. But the filament bundle inside the tower became hard and rod like, due to the residual heat.

This filament bundle had to be gently moved down ward, manually, till the dried ends came out of the tower. One of the operators climbed the ladder, reached the top, opened the cover plate, and rotated the rollers to pay out the hardened filament bundle.

When he started coming down the rungs of the ladder and at mid-way, his hand felt something clammy and sending a chill feeling rushing through his spinal cord.

Who will not feel chills, in their spine, under this circumstance? He was actually holding a well grown snake, just below its head. The straining snake was trying to fight back and stuck out its forked tongue, which accidentally touched the wrist of the operator.

That broke his nerve. He let out an incoherent shout, started shivering head to foot and finally stood paralysed. The fear response made him to tighten his grip and sweat profusely.

The other personnel rushed near the ladder and did not comprehend the situation, though the man stuck in the ladder was gesticulating to direct their attention to the snake. After a few moments they all understood what the commotion was about.

Someone brought an empty drum and climbed on to it and emptied a can of a chlorinated solvent, available nearby. The solvent stung the stinger with such an effect, the snake simply became limp and stopped wagging its tongue.

It had an anaesthetising effect as it was directly poured over the eyes, on the head and in to the partially open mouth. The two meter long cobra’s last thought, before fainting, might have been - oh my GOD what a sting!

The rest of “Operation over kill” was neatly executed, after a snake specialist identified the snake as King Cobra. He also ventured to reason out why that snake had come this far, to die.

Due to the rains, its homestead must have been inundated. While shifting to a dry location it might have met a similarly displaced field rat and decided to finish the dinner then and there.

With the yet to be digested rat, it might have entered the factory premise and sought a warm and dry place for a night’s stay. When the operating personnel were taking their dinner, the snake climbed up the ladder and coiled itself on the vertical bar.It must have sneaked just before the power failure! The heavy meal and the warmth must have given it a false sense of security and drowsiness.

Next day, an exhibition of the dead snake was organised and among others the MD had been cordially invited to inaugurate the exhibition. Being an astute person, he understood their message.

Now, if you happen to revisit the factory, you will surely get the feeling of entering a well maintained medieval fortress – illumination, ventilation etc; etc;

Thanks to the Cobra, we have a better work environment :)

Newspaper Nuisance.

Reading a fresh print-news paper is a pleasure.

The smell, crisp paper between fingers, perfect fold between sheets, turning to the subsequent pages, in sequence, is a blessing in itself. But the blessing comes with a rider, if you travel by train (or) a long distance bus.

Straightening the edges and folding the paper to that page is an art. This type of a reader is a paper folding (or) origami expert. 

Wait... Wait; there is another type of an expert who can fold the paper column wise even when a gale is blowing around him. 

Yes you guessed right, both the types never travel, even for a short distance, without the news paper!

There are others (Ying balanced by Yang), who take immense pleasure in reading the news paper brought by someone else. Not that this type of reader can ill afford to buy his own, but has belief that someone else will always bring one. 

This way he gets to enjoy more than one daily paper. In the bargain he also saves a little change.

You will certainly meet such characters in any air-conditioned chair car of any inter-city train. A careful observation, will reveal that “you buy I read” type is restricted to the He-man category of passengers only. 

Our womankind does not indulge (or) entertain this habit. A noble principle, the other gender can emulate!

Having watched this “You buy I read types” (YBIR) from close quarters, you may have come to the following conclusions, in general. 

They will, walk any distance to go to, a salon (or) a consulting room (or) a tea stall if they subscriber to news papers and magazines. 

Alternatively, this could be the reason why the above places buy news papers and magazines, to hold on to the clientele or may be to compile statistics and pass on to the circulation mangers to reduce the number of copies printed.

Imagine such a type of passenger occupying the next seat next to you - you have a guaranteed, memorable journey in store. In addition, if, you are an origami expert, then experience a cultural shock and surging blood pressure.

The modus operandi begins like this: You open the Newspaper, he gets interested in it. When you turn to the second page, he will just show a mild displeasure. 

When you turn to the 3rd page, becomes restless as he is yet to complete the 2nd page.  At this point, he will turn towards you and give you a look and mildly snort like an impatient Bull – implying what is the hurry?  

You fold the news paper to read the centre page, he starts to fidget, pulls up his collar, flexes his fingers with loud crackling sounds and snorts like an aggressive bull. 

This body language resembles that of an aggressive batsman, in a T-20 match, taking guard to tackle fast bowlers!

If you can borrow Lord Shiva’s 3rd eye for a moment, you can actually see a pair of horns rising from the sides of his head. 

If lucky, you might even get a glimpse of pawing, with his non-existent hoofs, the floor of the compartment -indicating a bull readying for a showdown. 

On the other hand if he beats you to it, you will vaporise on the spot!

Beware! He is passing down a message “you can as well give me some pages, and try to manage with the rest”.  

A Hobson’s choice (or) a Shakespearean dilemma.  “To be or not to be” (to be patient or impatient)! A point of no return is now reached. A weak matador (you) surrenders and parts with his newspaper - in part or full.

A strong matador confronts the Bull with a scorching look and continues with his reading. A clever and strong matador has his own doosras and theesras to let stump the Bull – he simply reads his paper upside down! 

The miffed Bull hesitates, retreats and withdraws from the engagement. He wearily, eyes another greener pasture. Here the law of averages caught on with him.

Spotting a vacant seat and a gentleman with a folded newspaper, he decided to migrate to the greener pasture. Nonchalantly, dangling his arms by his sides, he started walking in the aisle way.

For unknown reasons, the speeding train came to a screeching halt. The forward momentum made the bull to lurch and stumble. Loosing balance, his fore head hit the edge of an aisle seat.

Co-passengers helped him to regain balance. YBIR man was in intense pain and gingerly ran his fingers over his forehead, to feel the cause of the throbbing pain 

When he turned around, the passengers had a darshan of Shiva’s third eye – albeit a sightless one! A marble sized bump had neatly formed, at the centre of his fore head – sans the eye lids and iris.

If you are not geared up for this sort of experience, better read the news paper at home (or) practise reading it upside down. 

This will insulate you and keep your blood pressure within limits.

A stray thought just occurred in the mind of Bystander:

Railways can ask the newspaper publishers to distribute complimentary copies to Chair car passengers at every station. 

In turn, the newspaper publishers can request Railways to share the cost fifty-fifty!

Bystander wondered whether the Bull will collect all the free issues and sell them to make a little on the side lines, as travelling allowance!

Ails of Aisle seat.

Even with fewer luggages, the rail journey, in a chair car, will not be a comfortable one. Co-passengers may not be aware of this age old adage of the Railways and board the train thinking it as the last “Ark of Noah”.

Unfortunately, the Railways have not come up with any restriction on the size & weight of the luggage accompanying a passenger. Even if, some restriction is enforced, the intelligent passenger will co-opt other passengers to beat the weight rule.

This leaves out the size of the luggage, as the Railways being a Terra fir-ma transport, has not contemplated regulations in lines with air travel – volumetric & weight specifications for cabin & “hold” luggage. We are aware that the air lines charge excess baggage, as a deterrent!

The absence of such a regulation results in ….  Please read further.

The luggage pieces brought in by the passenger, sport an airline’s stickers to proudly announce their just landed status. May be they are glad to breathe air-conditioned air, a relief from the stifling transcontinental flight, in the aircraft's’ belly.

The passenger bringing in such a luggage himself gets carried away by the feeling that he has just flown in. How many actually hold on to the security tag, for a false sense of superiority, is something that we would not ponder about today

The struggle to maneuver the pieces through the narrow door, drag it in the aisle way and stow it on the over head rack, if successful, is tougher than a ballet dance (or) an Olympic gymnastic event. All through these exercises, the owner of the luggage gives a damn for the inconveniences caused to fellow travellers.

At the door he will hold other travellers from getting inside, while trying to squeeze the tightly packed luggage, broad side. It never will occur to him to take the piece sideways – a logical move!

Once inside the compartment, he will start a visual survey to find a suitable spot for setting down his precious luggage. Passengers who managed to get in will stay blocked as long as this gentleman is satisfied with the luggage placing arrangement.

On the way, he will target the body parts of the aisle seat occupants. Eye glasses get dislodged, noses are smashed, shoulders are crushed and toes are scrapped.

The inconvenience caused by this sort of out-sized luggage pieces, on the aisle seated, is to be experienced to be believed. It increases as the train stops at intermediate stations, taking in more passengers & more heavy luggage’s. Absence of the tell tale stickers makes one wonder if the man and his baggage are in a “ready to fly” status.

These aisle passengers get a firsthand experience on force, weight and impact – a physics class on wheels!

The aggravation increases if the maneuvers are carried out when the train is on the move and the lugger shoulders a free–to- dangle bag. He exempts none of the aisle seaters.

After these exercises - if he does not find a suitable place (or) the luggage does not fit in to the rack – he simply leaves it in the aisle. All the time, it will be left a little away from his seat such that he can maintain a visual contact with it throughout the journey.

By the time he settles down, the train will reach another stop and one more passenger will enact the episode one more time (or is it an encore?).

You pray that the coach gets filled only with point to point travellers. If inevitable at least let it get filled with in two or three scheduled stops.

Wait. This is not the happy end. There are others to torment the aisle seaters – passengers using the aisle as thoroughfare to move from one compartment to another, the interminable procession of catering staffs from pantry car, the unauthorised vendors en-training /de-training at will.

The catering staffs deserve a special mention over the unauthorised ones. The catering staff will rest the plastic tray of eatable on the back rest of the nearest aisle seat. He does not ask for permission nor can be told to set the tray elsewhere.

In dispensing eatables, with chutney or sauce, some liquid may spill on your shirt and pant. He tenders an apology and a paper towel. The picture that flashes in your mind will be one when you ducked bird droppings from heaven – being alert and taking the best evasive action possible is the only solution.

You are right in concluding that the inventor of the vestibule is the root cause of all these troubles – aisle being used as thoroughfare and pantry car becoming part of the vestibule train.

Being observant, nothing of this sort escapes Bystander’s attention. He already carries a grudge on the Railways and its’ passengers. On the spur of that moment, his agitated mind framed the following suggestions for the Railway Authorities. .

The Railways should come up with standard size for the luggage – (1) Aisle width- 3” (or) (2) door width-3” with a conditional clause “whichever is less”. Alternatively change the size of the over head rack and ban keeping luggage's in the Aisle. To take matter in hand, the Railways can attach a mini luggage van for each Chair Car and on chargeable basis. This will add to the revenue too!

He suddenly remembered his school teacher saying that “every theorem has a rider” This put the fear of the Railway authorities in him.

What if..What if?  He shuddered to think what will happen if, in their over reach, the said Authorities decide to levy a “comfort surcharge” exclusively on aisle seat passengers?

Bystander started to think about alternate strategies. If you have any, please contact him.

The Onion strikes back !

The bulb makes you to lachrymate, in all seasons, for various reasons. Dressing it up for cooking or bringing it up from the market – you cry.

Conditioned taste buds demand seasoning of food with onions, as otherwise the taste is ‘woody’. To satisfy these taste buds, someone has to peel, snip the tuft on top and hive off the dried roots on the rounded bottom of the onion bulb.

The onion bulb comes in many shapes and may have a single or multiple bulb lets. It is a class apart – asexual in vegetative propagation, ardhanareeswar in veggies kingdom.

That is why; it does not show a gender bias. It has to be brought to the market in well ventilated, jute suits.

If not handled carefully, onions go bad and you have a hell of a task on hand in segregating them from the ones that might go bad! At this point it is the trader who cries.

Take heart! The onion’s wrath is not selective, as neither chef nor farmer is spared. The former cries on a bumper crop or over an inundated field, at harvest time. The latter, chopping it for dressing or cooking.

The process of cutting onions for use is done with a surgeon’s precision and a knife as sharp as his scalpel. Too shallow, the malady survives and too deep the patient suffers – therefore you got to be careful with your dear onions.

After conveniently positioning it on the cutting board, the vivisection starts – parting and chopping. All the while, the onion is not taking it lying down – it rebels.

Lachrymal and nasal glands are sympathetically excited to produce tears and a running nose – as if to mark its demise.

This twin attack might remind you of a soldier facing gun shots from two different directions. They rest not before extracting their obituaries, in instalments!

Finally, it is time for you to wreak your revenge – by boiling or deep frying the chopped onions, a fitting and tearful farewell.

The ordeals undergone & obituaries to be written are electives. The first choice falls on the home maker or on the willing assistants.

In the worst case, there is no option given here, the owner of the craving taste buds gets the mantle – to peel, snip, cut and chop with or without crying & sneezing!

The onion is a contended species, willing to spare the limelight space with heavy weight s like gold and feather weights like tomato.

Media and agitated parliamentarians discuss the onion crisis – stagnation, shortage and soaring commodity prices.

Though tomato might get to share the limelight with onion – the onion has the last laugh. It is the only vegetable that is capable of making you cry while buying as well as just before use in the kitchen! Telemarketers will not help.

 If allowed to go unchecked, this crisis has the potential to vote-out an incumbent government or at least to manage and find space in election manifesto.

It does not even spare men, who work away from their houses, depending on hotel-wallahs for food. These men shed more tears for onions, than while chopping them in the kitchen.

Onion containing dishes cost more or the men are advised to bring the needed onions, by themselves – a “you -bring-I-cook” syndrome.

The pity is that nobody has come up with a dried and ready to use onion powder like the 2-minute noodles. Are our botanists, not contemplating to genetically modify the onions?

They can solve two problems:
Avoid the tearful ceremonies in the kitchens. Make the shoots to grow drooping towards the ground or parallel to the ground. This may bring down the artificial & seasonal fluctuations in onion’s price.

A Nobel thought:  Only the biologists can help to wipe off the onion tears. Genetically modify it - to yield crop in 100 days, to survive even under submerged conditions with out going bad, to make it grow in all types of soils and if possible to remove the tear causing chemical substance from the onions.

Even if this mega GE project achieves only a partial success, at least the tear part would be removed from the eyes of the users!

The onion has immortalized itself in life and death - many dishes like French fired onions, French onion soup, Indian raita, onion vada, onion dosa etc;

In addition it has a great but a simple philosophy to teach.

Keep on peeling the layered skin; you are left with nothing (regional languages have such flavoured sayings).
 
If you cause suffering to some one, you will either be boiled or fried.
 
If you let your taste buds rule, you will end up crying and sneezing.
 
Governments are elected basis onion prices. (Isn’t this true for Delhi elections?)

Tears or no tears, tear into the succulent onion – my fellow brave hearts!