The walker’s woes and joy

  

 

 

 

Gone are the day’s when the walkers had the luxury of a paved foot path to amble along. Slowly this space became a restricted area with hawkers and two wheelers claiming right of occupation. The walkers, undaunted, started using the kerb sides of the road to commute. 

Their joy was living on borrowed times as the automobile population increased many folds – now sedans, hatch backs, hunch backs, SUVs and varieties of other 4 wheelers stood parked like Nandi in front of the sanctum sanctorum of Lord Siva. Unless you have a darshan of the Nandi walking and shopping are out of question.

In annoyance, the automobiles spewed soot laden   smoke from adulterated fuel or to vent anger at the speeding Simpsons were driving them mad. To announce their presence and to add to the noise pollution, every vehicle on the road leaves a wake of stereo music. If you wonder how the driver will attune himself to the horns of the following vehicle – the answer is simple, he can hear the music from the other vehicle loud and clear! Who has time to honk the horn every now and then?

At T junctions or plus junctions or blind left-handers or right-handers, the highways have the convention of providing speed breakers/bumps to rein in enthusiastic drivers from causing accidents. But this bump obviously had ignited the imagination of the drivers – they migrate to the left and bypass the bumps with a heart surgeon’s skill. But not before scaring the day light out of the hapless walkers, staying on the correct side of the road as per road user’s convention.

 

The zebra crossings become hunting grounds, when habitual red-light jumpers take to the roads. The penalty for their hits and misses is paid by the pedestrians.

The harried walker gets a rare chance, to enjoy the predicament of one such uncaring driver, once in a while. As is his wont, the errant driver parks at a “no parking” zone – the shop is nearby or why to search for a parking zone or why not I park the vehicle as per my convenience?

But there are traffic cops who don’t look upon these acts kindly and do something about it. It will certainly be a pleasure to watch the ‘drive by rule’ type, in action. Waiting to book a traffic violation, he happily attaches a ‘bracelet tackle’ on to the front wheel, sticks a paper on the windscreen and again retreats to a corner tea shop, to ambush another violator, unawares.

The errant driver comes back, takes in the situation, searches for the ‘jailer’ of his immobilized vehicle, in frustration and looks at his watch once in a second. The cop makes his leisurely appearance, takes his own sweet-revenge time to check vehicle’s papers and the driver’s license. The emotive pleading and bargaining, that ensues, is vividly mirrored on the face of the ‘no zone’ parker.

At this point, the offender becomes oblivious to the surroundings and fails to notice the walker imbibe the drama, from across the road. In the first place he filed to look at the no-parking sign and how can one expect him to pay attention to the surroundings!

After a lengthy discussion, the traffic violator understands that the cop is not going to relent and pays up the fine. The necklace-free car comes to life and moves away.

The walker moves on with a satisfied smirk of a smile on his face, feeling happy that an honest cop had at least booked one “no-parking” case to uphold the respect, the rules of the road deserves.

The Drought,Tom and Muser

   

Introduction:

The out of sync actions of politicos enrage the suffering masses. What ever be the reason, they come out with a standard message as exciting and thought provoking as an obituary!  Though not directly facing the difficulties, some minds get ignited at the thoughtlessness and gets agitated.

When Tom showed a print out containing a few paragraphs, Muser was a little perplexed. After reading it once, Muser got the idea that some how Tom wanted to link the adage to the weather, to the multiple sources of information with his disillusionment over political happenings. One thing he was sure about was, Tom wanted a helping hand in finishing it.

Muser wanted to tell him not to begin a writing career on the footsteps of another struggling writer. But refrained, from saying it and hurt a willing inspiration. Instead, he asked,” What you want me to do?”

Tom said, “To complete the write up, using the ideas I have put in the paper. Will you?”
Muser said, “Yes, but give me an hour or two. Pray tell me, why?”

“To understand how you work!” said Tom with an eager face.

Muser had no “to do or not to do” dilemma and straight away went to work on the draft. Tom sat by his side and watched the process of extempore writing.

Sentences were framed, grouped in to paragraphs; grouped paragraphs were then dismantled and re-appropriated; a whole paragraph was mercilessly cut and removed. In between, a dictionary or a reference diary was consulted. After an hour and half, Tom got the full text, neatly dove-tailing with his initial paragraphs.

Tom’s points:

“There is this saying “To look at the injury on the hand, you don’t need a mirror”. But there are a lot of people who would want to do the same thing. Such people are our lawmakers and even the several general elections have failed to alter this composition, of such people in representing the vox populi”

“In the historic times, chroniclers have recorded it. In the modern times Nobel laureates and old hands living in the villages have talked about it. The phenomenon, El Nino, itself has been whispering about the fall in rain fall – in to our deaf ears every now and then”.

“Print and electronic media vie with each other to bring out analyses that touch our every day life. With today’s connectivity and portability what all needs to be done is to sit calmly, mine the data, absorb and act on it- however small these steps might be – will it not be a ‘net’ gain?”

“There is no need to get a hands-on experience to put off a local fire – any one with a bucket on hand and willingness to do something about it, is the need of the hour. Tomes don’t bring about alleviation but people can! ”.

Muser’s draft for Tom:

But the elected representatives consider it inferior either to listen to themselves or to others. They only want to see with their very own eyes what it all means.
Some one must have told them a foreign tour helps limbering up, widens one’s vision. That must be the only time when the ear drums of these netas must have vibrated to another voice. Acting on this tip off, from day one, the netas plan for a ‘study tour’. The Names are drawn, erased and redrawn, keeping the purpose of the study tour in suspense till the nth day!

Like general elections, invariably falling in the summer months, the waving of the green flag for the ‘study tour’ coincides with drought conditions in that part of the state or in some parts of the country.
El Nino and La Nina are foreign to them and what other compelling reason could there for embarking on a ‘study tour’, which does not mean going back to school for the first time or for a refresher course.

The study tour gets hastily renamed as “drought management in other countries of the world”. Being a member of the Common wealth, NAM, BRIC etc. opens up the world, wide, for such a tour. For all the acumen they have in possession, their timing comes unstuck.

Suddenly, a murmur of protest starts and snowballs in to a controversy managing to cloud the ‘study’ tour. Even the netas are not spared the uncertainty of last minute cancellation, just like the monsoon clouds ditching the farmers.

Whatever be the case, they have a responsibility to the public, is it not? The consummate spin doctors command media space extolling the bleeding hearts of our netas for that supreme sacrifice, solely to express solidarity with the drought stricken people.

If the drought is wide spread and severe, even the spin doctors bleed, alongside the netas to add weight to the show of solidarity. Off the media glare, the spin doctors, along with the bleeding hearts retire to a hill station not to recuperate but to plan succour for the drought hit countrymen, secretly cursing the ‘foreign’ hands of “El Nino” & “La Nina”!

Undaunted, the netas plan to submit a resolution that:

(1) Elections can be either advanced or delayed to avoid the summer season.

(2) Planned study tours should see no last minute cancellation and

(3) In case of protest, a representative from the protesting group should be taken along, giving an equal opportunity.

Frustrated with these types of confabulations, over sumptuous lunch or dinner, the anger of the hungry stomachs swell to dare the netas-  to undertake a padayatra in the drought hit regions to meet with drought face to face and then plan for alleviation, from the poor dwellings of these farmers.

 Having gone through a practical demonstration on converting sentences into a draft, Tom took leave, with a mighty pleased look on his face, leaving a perplexed Muser wondering - “Why he is in a hurry raring to join the ranks of boiling Bystander?”

The Dynamics of inherited politics -This is what we have

Walkers or hawkers, the politician touch their every day life in many ways. They call for a bandh or go on a fast until next meal time. The drama of fast unto next meal is very interesting – it is done under police protection and an attending physician.

 They claim to understand the hunger of the poor but forget the fact  these BPL fellows stay hungry for days together, they do it with out the attending physician and none to offer a jar of fruit juice

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Bandh called by them is a mass entertainer –people to roam the streets, burn tyres and buses (state owned of course) and take care of the pollution content in the atmosphere. Government employees do not make it to the office and even if they do – nothing earth shattering will be accomplished except discussing the bandh.

Traders down the shutters, enjoy the holiday as most of them are retailers with cash on delivery or mostly 30 days payment terms. It is somebody else’s money that gets locked up!

The person or the party that called for the bandh goes around with supporters to enforce it on the public if possible, or quietly go out of station allowing the bandh to fizzle out. Before that happens, they make sure of the media coverage, for the first two or three minutes – the standard visuals being buses and trucks prevented from plying, collected tyres lit with a liberal dousing of kerosene and one or two buses set on fire.

If the state transport employees also join the strike, the politico, like the wise owl, operates his transport assets unhindered, after sunset. Bandh or no bandh, they sit pretty with their business interests well protected, leaving the hawkers and daily wage earners to face a mini economic crisis.

They never think of better ways like organizing blood donation camps, fasting quietly, on that day at home or undertaking a padayatra in their constituencies.

But the politico has aims & duties – to take care of the ‘people’ and subdue the opposition. Before going forward, some clear definitions/descriptions are required on what is meant by ‘taking care of people’ and ‘subduing the opposition’.

Here people referred are not from the electoral constituency but only from the genetic ranks. Subduing the opposition, a sort of cosmetic surgery and painful before completely healing - is mainly carried out with public money.

‘ Physical’ education , Tax raids, breathing life in to dead cases and excavating past misdeeds come in handy, but carefully omits such deeds in his previous ‘golden’ rule.

To earn a living, he follows the FLAWS (fire, land, air, water and space – the five natural elements) protocol to seize the opportunities to prosper. He leaves no enterprise untouched –All forms of transports, cinema, mines, exports, imports, dairies, farms, textiles, TV channels, Newspapers, infrastructure, automobiles and other ancillaries.

If time permits, he builds and operates educational institutions, and super specialty hospitals .At around midnight, he sits down to tally the day’s profit/loss account. No wonder a politician has little time left to visit the constituency, till next election that too at a great personal sacrifice - for that moment. 

Speaking about the public money, he has a lot more to offer to us on the expenditure side. Freebees are announced, as if he has pooled the funds out of his vast personal resources. If troubled by conscience, he conveniently remembers a deceased neta and name the scheme after him or her. Media advertisements - on full page or pull outs are published and some how the expenditure gets charged to the exchequer.

What ever be the party affiliation, the political class exhibits a rare camaraderie and bonhomie. They come together to award to each other with acres of prime land ,at throw away prices, to build plush party palaces, lush green gardens, memorial arches and a grand Samadhi rivalling the Taj.

They some how find a way to charge these expenses on vote on account or deficit account – who cares and questions?

They fully utilize the open door policy on media – in the interest of the common man. Humours them with print, electronic and multiplex – day to day mass entertainers!

Outlandish offers galore in an election manifesto - move earth to heaven to win the election. The mother of all promises awaits the BPL family – each family will be promised a ‘twinkle twinkle little star’, in the Milky Way galaxy, in exchange for their valuable votes.

At the current rate of hectic politics, a day is not far off when, all the planets and satellites, except Moon and Mars will be de-notified for occupation by the opponents. Moon and Mars have been already explored at public expense and the less habitable ones are reserved for the others opposing them, electorally.

The politician’s brain works faster than the fastest computer, which would be built some time in the future. A simple solution for to and fro travel to these heavenly objects is already in place – shift the governing centre there as a summer capital and winter capital

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Being down to earth people, the plan is to have the monsoon sessions on terra firma to mange the current assets till he settles down in the summer and winter capitals. He needs this time, to organise mining leases, agricultural farms, dairy farms, cement, paper and sugar mills, start publication and TV channels. What a master stroke! 

Failing to fulfil the promises in the elected term, they plead, literally bending on their backs, for another term – promising to fulfil them now, along with a fresh set of promises by invoking a departed leader’s soul as a prop. The departed leader, (himself might have been a casualty in an accident or breathed his last after an expensive treatment abroad) may or may not have had anything to do with the spate of freebees announced.

Worry not. What for they have established print & electronic media houses? A forgotten story, on a different context, will be brought to life and old clippings handing over some freebees will be looped and played till you switch off the TV. The pay off for the departed soul’s helping hand would be a swanky memorial in the home town of the deceased. Public memory is short and spending public money is fun.

How the politico manages to keep fit during all these public services to be rendered term after elected term. For this, show of strength, walk outs, dharnas, causing disruptions during debates are a few select games he plays. If the player is charged up and gets so involved, he rushes to the ‘well’ to stall the discussions.
With experience, the politico attains certain phenomenal strengths. In emotional debates, the fingers turn in to scissors and palms become the wooden gavel – tearing in to bills, amendments, agenda and motions printed and circulated, splitting the wooden desks in ayes and nays.

 If the same had been carried out by a student in the exam hall – debar and rustication would have followed him. By this analogy, it is not to be mistaken as a double standard.

In a democracy all are equal; but some are more equal than others and yet some are granted the most equal status  than the more equals – all in the interest of the common man. Is it clear to the student now, even though it is a bit confusing?

The presiding officer makes passionate pleas and when the situation gets out of hand, requests the Marshal to pacify the angry member.  Getting tired of these physical activities, the member airs his views to the media instead of the place where it should have been debated

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Think of the fate of a common man if he does so – of airing his views to the media on what has happened inside. Both of them may have to face the music for a breach of privilege. Live telecast of proceedings bares it all – the empty seats yearning for the return of the occupant.

A more serious game of numbers is played to gain power or to topple the present ruling party. To make it interesting for the players, this game is played in different locations of the state or in the country – for engineering defection and comforting the disgruntled on a, all cost paid, Bharath Darshan.

Some of the active members also hop on to the tour to stretch their legs and to get some fresh air in the select hill stations. If all is peaceful at home, it is time to plan for a travel to visit other elected democracies, for a first hand study, of their governing methods. Some times, many such visits are needed for a thorough understanding.

If by chance, the common man starts wondering when the study will be put to good use, then the answer might be – after some more study tours.

Politics is a strange and an all inclusive social enterprise – social engineering, genetic sciences, inclusion and exclusion principles, dynamics of dynastical influence, economics, commerce, greed and sycophancy. Men close ranks to keep women from the political mechanism but appear in public with wife in tow.

They are quick to calculate and show that the 5 to 10% of women representatives getting in to the system are equal to 50% in gender representation in law making (or is it in-law making?). All these things they do only for the sake of taking care of people belonging to their genetic tree or forest whatever.

At times, they exhibit a rare sense of humour, even under extraordinary times of distress (natural calamity or a war effort). To set an example to the general public, they come forward and donate liberally to the relief fund - a month’s salary. What would be a way to prove that all are equal in a democracy!

The humour part is this – the word ‘salary’,  merely a drop in the bucket when compared with  their daily earnings. Their lockers and bank accounts remain frozen till the calamity is overcome or forgotten.

By the skin of his teeth, if he manages to survive two elections –the voters who elected him did so , not because of his credentials but the promises held out each time looked more promising – in an otherwise non-existing  existence, they queued up and stamped their anger on the ballot papers  like  karma yogis.

He then starts eyeing a governing position. The politician has a vote-bound duty for the constituency and for that service he draws a meagre monthly salary, minimal perks and lives in government quarters. But there is a tragedy in this arrangement, like the ZZ security cover, once allotted they rarely relinquish them voluntarily.

But this is a meagre compensation not commensurate with the efforts. Think of the curriculum he has to undergo – “0” hour, question hour, cut motions and divisions to earn a master, honours or a doctorate.

He may suffer temporary amnesia on promises. But is a walking encyclopaedia with a photographic memory. Instantly recalls episodes from history and acts of commissions & omissions of the previous government – to deflect attention from the mess he is in.

If all these tricks in the book fail, the politico is also capable of playing other games. Lord takes the avatar route to save humanity from the clutches of adharma and takes a pretty long time to decide about the timing.

An elected representative has to accomplish this with in short span of, may be five years. He has to quietly decide on the number of avatars (2 or 3) needed, to change allegiance to get elected. These manifestations are called poll-eve vaulting (for his better future).

If tainted, submerges and resurfaces with a never say die attitude. Reads out statements such as ‘am humble servant of the people and party’ and declares “am never in the race for a position in the party or the government’, goes on to add that ‘the state or nation comes first.

These time tested pearls of wisdom needs only a medium to deliver them- which is always there to give a helping hand.  This act of re-appearing as a mortal is known as fence sitting (trying to make hay after sun set).

It is not easy to play these games where judging the time is very crucial – like the trapeze artist. A missed grasp here, both might become histories. If loyalty is the yard stick, the longest stick will ,surely be found in politics!

The Community Service – a Bystander reverie

Introduction:

The Justice system often comes out with a community service verdict, in place of a suspended jail term. The causative infringement might be a drunken driving, tax fraud or drug abuse. The natural doubt that arises in these cases is, whether this ‘serve the community’ sentence is reserved for only the celebrities or has universal applicability! Let us for the moment leave it to those Judges who deliver such sentences, hoping that overcrowding in  jails and avoiding financial burden to the state is their considerations.

A commune might have been an isolated human settlement, in the hoary past. Over a period of time, it must have become a community to mean any commune living in unity – for a purpose.

In this unified commune, every one contributed and did everything together with out drawing any distinction on the basis of skill sets or utility value. The main purpose, in those times and minds of people, was to ward of external challenges. This challenge came in the form of evil designs of expansion or suppression, from the neighbouring communes.

The prefix good or bad got slowly attached to the communes or communities like worms in an apple. The worm did its part to eat away at the apple, steadily. A separate kind of unity started raising its ugly head, amongst the bad communes, by discriminating on the basis of skill sets and utility quotient.

The earlier communes thus caused the initial damage – lacking the urge to exploit beyond a limited domain and focusing only on survival of the commune. Thank God! Lacking foresight, the compulsions of an electoral battle was not on their radars.

The communes that succeeded the earlier ones progressively developed ‘communities’ - a dogma based on greater deviousness in the art of exploitation and aggression. The stragglers – the remaining good communes, followed suit, albeit reluctantly, to defend their sovereignty and tried to close the gap between the good and the bad communes. The obvious reason – to void increased enmity and check the widening social chasm.

Thus one bad apple in the barrel managed to spoil the lot and in the bargain gave birth to a plethora of social problems – defying logic of mathematics - multiplication leading to division!

One would easily get inspired about this community service system, hearing about routine judgments handed down by presiding officers, in most of the western countries. I can empathise with your feelings, when western culture is easily adapted why not this kind of justice?

Have you forgotten the deep rooted VIP culture? If at all such a system is employed, you know who will benefit most!

Wait! Wait! I could hear your murmur- prison sans VIP will be devoid of glamour. It is unfair to award this community service sentence to those who are already doing ‘community service’ and is it not a double taxation? And how, tax evaders be awarded a community service sentence?

But, my friend don’t you have this dream  - fast track courts try scams, wilful loan defaults and quid pro quos. Yet, you have this fear of seeing such personalities sanitizing the hospital corridors, regulating traffic, spending time among hutment dwellers -- along with those others who aided and abetted in these crimes!

You are in a dilemma, is it not! You want their mischievous deeds to come out in the open and yet don’t want them to be seen in public under the garb of a community service sentence.

Now I can hear clicks and whirs out of your mind, loudly saying “I am right now confused and want to think about it little cautiously”

Saying “Let me know, when you come to conclusion” Bystander folded the Newspaper, came out of his reverie.

The Strained Fabric

Life itself is a versatile writer. The way thrills and surprises are thrown at us is unbelievable. Our TV serials soaked mind looks for hidden meanings among non-descript happenings. Finding none, we shut down our antennae. Then comes the surprise or thrill with a big bang! The experience need not be always pleasant, but the unexpectedness of the experience is the thrill or surprise.

Grown up child, a son or a daughter has the potential to add new equations in the family emotions. All along it has been a threesome emotional equilibrium, which under goes changes by the arrival of a daughter in law or son in law in to the family fold. This new relationship also brings in add-ons like her or his family circle to enlarge the emotional canvas.

When a family has a daughter and son, the efforts become two fold and in diverse directions. Diametrically opposite natures, emotional demands and inflicted self-rating exercises disturb the tranquillity of feelings and thoughts – once the son and daughter get married.

The daughter, owing to her biological moorings, might take it for granted that certain rights are vested with her. The moment a transgression is noticed she responds like a touch screen of a smart phone. The daughter in law, on the other hand might feel presumed or actual disadvantage in such a new set up. Unable to make the necessary adjustments, she starts to exhibit the mimosa pudica behaviour (touch-me-not syndrome).

It is possible that the daughter of the house might feel at a disadvantage after the arrival of a daughter in law – the symptom of elders going the extra mile to facilitate their daughter in law to find her feet. The daughter, feeling envy that her parents are siding with the daughter in law over simple issues, almost replicates the touch-me-not behaviour of the daughter in law.

Instead of analysing, the individual starts building a wall, to hem in the contradictory emotions or try to hide it under a table.

Tuning one’s mind to suit the present is easier said than done and yet this simple thought might come to the mind , after much water has flown over the bridge. In rare cases, it strikes the mind, when a fire engine is about to be called for saving the burning bridge of relationship.

 Individuals clinging on to past or have developed self-righteousness contribute to the simmering disharmony, brought to the fore by marital status. 

The solution for this impasse is very simple –  the concerned individuals taking  it up on themselves to  weed out the misgivings, and misconceptions to let the tree of affection to grow.

Most parents graciously let go and share the emotional space to maintain the dynamics in harmony. Unknowingly, some parents still try to hold on to their ‘stamp collection’. When this happens in a family, where a daughter or a daughter in law is in the throes of emotional deficit and struggling with the ‘ghost from the past’ – the family fabric gets stressed and stays stretched for long.

The least discernible standoff will be from parents but it does happen, once in a while. A choice word used by the son will set in a feeling of distraught in one of the parent’s mind. A well-meant opinion from the daughter in law might force them to rise in defence of their son. A similar attempt will be made when the daughter in law utters a seemingly innocuous remark regarding the daughter.

In the visible world, a light source makes shadows. In the invisible world, of the mind, it is the misunderstandings that cast shadows. Maturity in thinking, according to the situation, might have arrested these developing emotional disturbances.

The stress in this emotional dynamics is mutual and inclusive. In effect, two sets of families and their relations have to adjust and assess to relieve the stress to the family fabric.

Elders and youngsters have to exercise great care and refrain from spilling the beans in the open- showing a rare restraint to leave the strained relationship to heal itself. If not, even the passage of time may fail to remedy the situation.

At this point, the elders have to step in and facilitate an open minded introspection. A few tear drops rolling down the cheeks and a few goose pimples raising heckles will settle all the differences. The togetherness, over a course of a sumptuous meal would be a better palliative.

After the meal, warm hugs, handshakes and banter will cement the deal. The calmed nerves will then help in closing the emotional gap. Every thing has to come to an end on one day or the other; then why not to day than some other day in the future?

Relations are part of life. More often, we tend to travel by non-existent paths. In the process we try to shape and admire the beauty of an, un-cut gem, forgetting that this gem is a gem even in its natural state. Value addition or evaluation only creates conflicts– in gems or in our associated relationships. It is better to keep the family fabric unstressed by sacrificing the caprice.

Messing in the kitchen not maketh a chef! -124-

My wife with a ear to ear grin, daughter & daughter in law ,in tow, with smug faces followed by my son sporting a half-grin, trooped in front of me. The moment I saw them, I sensed trouble. As I finished my coffee, they announced in unison that I have to cook the meal on that Sunday. 

Fearing that I would somehow wriggle out of the assignment, they had secretly planned to go visiting with relatives and come back in time, for lunch.

Before leaving, my wife said, “You have managed earlier with the children and I know it will be a child’s play now.” Instead of boosting up my ego, this statement tersely held out an admonition “do or else! I mentally cursed the relatives for not hosting lunch for the visitors. I did not understand how my son became a party to the plan.

I had a sinking feeling that my wife of 30 + years had finally succeeded in cornering me into the confined space of our kitchen. Except the water tap, sugar and Instant coffee powder, the kitchen shelves were unfamiliar terrain like Alaska or Siberia – Cold and forbidding. I could vaguely recollect the vegetable tray and the storage area for milk and curd, in the fridge.

I started to recriminate, for having brought this culinary mess (test) up on myself. Had I kept my tongue and taste buds in check, it would have been fine – a realisation after 30+years. To bolster my shaking confidence, I reminisced about the times my wife had to go out of station leaving the children and how I tried my hands in preparing break fast, lunch and dinner. 

To endear myself to the taste buds of the children, I dreamed up exotic breakfast items like Ariel -Mixed vegetable upproma, King Lear -Tidly, Lady Macbeth – steamed vermicelli and Caesar –sandwchadai.

It turned out at the end, that I exhibited more Shakespearian leaning than culinary skills. Not to be out done they chose Bernard Shaw type barbs   - an apron does not maketh  a chef;  taste buds  are not test buds; burnt up sponge and shells are not veggie breakfast.

Stung by their barbs, I stuck to the beaten path for L & D - cooking plain rice, making onion-potato curry and preparing ‘dal’ and tomato rasam. The hand- on experience in the kitchen proved disastrous and difficult, by the hour. The cooked rice was either in solidified form or free flowing or rice grains standing alone from each other.

After seeing the cooked rice my son and daughter nicely summed it up, “Pa, we have never heard of any one cooking varieties in plain rice!” Thank god they forgot to include the ‘dal’ also in their summing up which also suffered the same fate at my hands. Regarding the onion-potato curry, the duo said, “What a killer combination?”.

The curry was either too ‘hot’ or salty. The rasam I prepared was so non-descript, it failed to earn any sobriquet. It merely mimicked the potato-onion curry and with varying taste. At this point, running out of phrases the duo kept mum, silently praying for their mother’s return.

Even this variety preparation needed a wake-up alarm, children’s assistance and the best part of two to three hours. I never estimated that it will take so long for these non-palatable dishes to be made. My wife did everything under 30 to 40 minutes and at the end of meal, the preparations were totally consumed. My preparations, on the other hand, were replenishing themselves like from an akshaya patra. 

To make them to gobble up the unappetizing food, I employed a few tricks. The first of the tricks was to constantly drill in to their conscious and subconscious mind that simple food is a healthy food- including my varieties in plain rice. The second was to force feed them. To divert their attention from the culinary disaster on the plate, I regaled them with imaginary stories mixing myth and science. 

Once I tried to include some morals in the story and they promptly clammed their mouths shut. I reverted to myth and science to keep the mouths moving. I had to treble my efforts- cooking, inventing stories and force feeding them to keep the show going. I too started to pray for the early return of my wife!

This down the memory lane reminiscing    was of no help now and I resolved to get going, shuddering at the unfamiliar work and afraid to look at the clock face . Gathering up whatever courage I could gather, I decided on two things – free-style (my style) cooking and to surprise their taste buds even if it involved moving heaven and earth. If one has to fall from a height, better inform your fragile bones in advance – is my adage! 

I earnestly started drafting an exotic (outlandish) menu in my mind and set in motion the culminating activities one by one. I even had a moment to burst out laughing and imagined the stunned look, I hoped to see on the faces of my clan.

Enthusiastically, I filled the cooker with enough water to float a super tanker. Washed rice, potato in their jackets and toor dal went in- in separate containers. The first surprise I got was the cooker – it spewed steam and water from the sides, under the lid. A wrong sized rubber gasket and my forgetfulness causing a near mishap. The three-whistle signal came after an enormous time delay – the gas cylinder was working over time to convert an ocean of water in to steam!

Lucky, it did not give up on me and Robert Stephenson was not alive to file a patent infringement suit for copying his steam machine.

After readying the ingredients for my sure-shot ‘rasam’, I focused my attention towards the ‘special’ kheer I had fashioned with cereals, rava, veggies, sugar and milk – a navaras kheer ( a piece de résistance). To add flavour and appeal, I included dried saffron in to the kheer, at the end. Satisfied with the aroma and look, I transferred the kheer and sent it inside the cooler to get acclimatized.  

I paused, briefly to enjoy a cup of coffee to keep me going the last miles towards culinary glory. The ingredients for my sure-shot rasam, toor dal, pepper, jeera, tamarind syrup, mustard seeds and ingua were eagerly awaiting their turn. As mid course correction, added a little chilli powder, a few red chillies and generous helping of curry leaves to garnish and confuse.

The product smelled good, inflating my self confidence to take up the potato-onion combine as the next item on the menu. 

Just as I was peeling the potatoes, the house wife from next door dropped in. Coming to know that my wife had gone out, she left saying, “Hmmm. heavenly aroma from the kitchen. What are you cooking? At that moment I felt like climbing the snow capped Himalayas on one leg.

With euphoria playing in the mind, I was liberal in adding oil, ingua powder and mustard seeds. It just happened unintentionally. To cover up the mistake, I did quite a repairing work (quick fix solutions) with a sprinkling of rice powder, adjusting the quantity of chilli powder etc. . In this confusion the onions joined the potatoes in the frying pan a little too late.

A little unnerved by this quick -fix episode, I started to make chutney with warmed Bengal gram dal, soaked toor dal, red chilli, and a ball of tamarind, deciding to add the salt at an appropriate time. The granite stone slab and its cylindrical companion were as nervous as me – they kept on shifting positions making it difficult for me to get the rhythm of ‘wet grinding’ the chutney to  the right consistency. Cajoling and coaxing them for cooperation, somehow managed to finish the chutney.

It looked alright (consistency) but not that alright (appearance). But anyway it was a done deal. 

To cover up the commissions & omissions, I placed a handmade menu card on the dining table .My daughter was the first to notice it – she has an eye for anything that is out of sync

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The clan walked in at around 1230 pm looking famished. I led them, like a maître de hotel, straight away to the dining table. I had opted to be the chef and server for the simple reason that our dining table seats only four. Serving the unique courses, I expectantly waited for someone to ask for another helping. It was not to be and the lunch was completed in total silence, without any tell tale signs on their faces. I started to scratch my head, through the hastily fashioned paper chef cap, thinking what might have gone wrong. It took a long time before the results (like our election commission) were announced – 

“From the top, middle and bottom the rasam had different tastes. How you managed it - a three in one!

“The chutney reminded me of a cattle munching cud!”

“The onion-potato curry, though looked like a jelly, is fit for use in place of glycerine in cinemas!”

“The kheer was excellent, but tasted like a 50:50 mix of vegetable soup and kheer”

I am not revealing the identity of the persons who made these forgettable quotes.

Low down in spirits, I slept off the whole afternoon. Little did I expect to see the same troop standing in front of me once again! They gave me just 15 minutes to get dressed up. Wondering what was going to befall me now at 7 ‘ 0’ clock in the evening, I got ready without even looking at the mirror – had no guts  to see my own failure blackened face. Curiosity getting the better of me, I asked where we are going?

The stunning reply I got was ‘to a decent hotel for dinner’. My wife added “You will pay for it”

The Number Game

From admission to application, Travel to telecommunication, banking to business, deficit to defence, mathematics to materials, ration to registration, and population to politics, this one thing is inevitable.
It is like the soul - invisible but powerful. It had even recently appeared in a news item along side the soul, when a poet compared the square root of minus one to a soul.

The name of the soul, if one is permitted to name it, is number. Even then it is not so simple – whether it is odd, even, prime, and real or imaginary number has to be taken into account , before venturing to invite relatives & friends for the christening ceremony!

Truly the number has spread its wings wide and farther – shrinking, in numerical value to the size of an electron and growing to the size of the universe! It is as fascinating to the number crunchers (mathematicians) as the heaven is to the star gazers (astronomers). One is searching for the largest prime number and the other is focused on the farthest point of light & life

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 It has not left even the statisticians and psephologists from its influence. They have a field at the 24X7 TV stations, during worse economic times and during elections, though both may predict nightmares but use numbers as their props.

The number is not afraid of the endless human manipulation it suffers - square, cube and up to nth roots - a tortuous path in division and subdivision. On the other side, square, cube and up to nth power - it explodes like a bomb!

It takes to square roots   or  squares to spreads wings with equanimity, never grumbling and not getting carried away at the claim of some one finding the largest prime number or weary of accommodating the possibility of some one coming with an infinite number  and immediately another disputing it with a  infinity+, a never ending game!

In its mind it is very clear that an attribute to a positive number applies equally to a negative number- real or imaginary.

It is not afraid of unknowns and knows fully well that they too will get resolved in to mere numbers. Meter long equations do not bother it: knows the out put will again result only in numbers!

Let us count the numbers we come up with. But before that we shall meet a special one – the fancy number. Like vastu, numerology and Feng Shui, the fancy number commands a premium and goes to the highest bidder.

 Every citizen’s life is touched by the number- literally from cradle to grave. DOB and DOD are the foundation and capstone in the human life. Like pre-natal care, the number takes hold of a human life as a serial number, ward number, student roll no, exam hall ticket number and finally as the marks scored.

As life continues, the number still follows – number of digit in the salary, savings & taxes,  ticket number, seat number,  route number,  PNR number and flight number. Bank account numbers, token number, debit/credit card number, phone number, passport number…. The Neanderthal humans were blessed ones - a million times!

In the form of figures, they play an important role in  Nation’s economy - GDP, CAD and inflation index. Numbers are plain speaking and do not fit when a little attraction or distraction is needed. Frightening numbers are reduced to percentiles and presented as lines & curves in graphs – numbers taking the avatar as figures!

 It leaves an indelible mark in the population and electoral front too. State or central government cannot be formed with out its help – a magical number or a simple majority in the House. In serious law making, it plays a vital role in the form of statutory strength of a 2/3rd majority. Here the number is used as mighty tool!

Even the .net domain is not free of its influence – bit, byte and so on. The surfers have taken a fancy to use the number as part of user name or the pass word! Numerology plays the number game to the hilt, by adding & subtracting alphabets from one’s given name, assuring a positive direction in life.

They have gained influence of astronomical proportions. Evolving from the human minds, it had reached the very origin of this universe-counting & numbering the galaxies on the way, for good measure!

The politicians who are not afraid of anything get scared at the hustings. Counting, recounting, wafer thin margin – all boils down to the number!

The sports persons are not far behind – the number of moves, runs, winning by a whisker, photo finish – all result in only numbers.

Whatever be the method of calculation, it remains unwavering in its direction & magnitude – a figure you can’t argue with. If imaginary numbers are made up to bury the truth, the real number will haunt every second of the rest of life.

It is very attractive in the good times or the opposite in bad times – a Jekyll & Hyde in numbers.
The number is so unique – it precedes, stays or succeeds you with an equal ease. Digs up the past and displays it as history.

In the present it leaves the majority puzzled, pleased or downright distraught - the modus operandi is by presenting problems, delivering a rosy economic picture or by ushering in an economic melt-down.

Not to leave the future untouched, it paves the road you have to take, dangling the dream of the future!

Finally as the day of departure comes, age of the deceased is counted and DOD is remembered, again as numbers! The spirit of the numbers cannot be contained.

Dear number is Nemesis thy name!