I Can You Can

I started driving only from 2006 onwards.  So far, I haven’t driven more than 150,000 kms in the past 11 years of driving.  The longest single drive in terms of distance has been from Bengaluru to Hyderabad and in terms of time has been from Bengaluru to Udupi via Belur and Kudremukh.  All of this, therefore, constitute an anticipatory bail to the fact that I might not actually be the best judge to talk about driving.  Nevertheless, I would like to note down my thoughts on what changes I have made to my own driving and what each one of us can do to contribute towards easing Bangalore’s traffic woes.

The best way to reduce traffic in Bengaluru would be if we all take public transport.  Unfortunately, the geographical spread of the city, coupled with the perennial strain on any Indian city – population – makes it very difficult for a lot of us.  For example, I live near Kaggadasapura and work at HSR Layout.  The only public transport I can take (excluding taxis and autorickshaws here) is a BMTC bus.  For this, I will need to take a bus first to Indira Nagar, catch a bus to Silk Board, and then get from there to HSR Layout.  I could get a bus from Marathalli all the way to HSR Layout, but I would struggle to get a bus from my area to reach Marathalli, or even the Old Airport Road near the HAL Aerospace Museum.  I am not even going into how packed the buses are during peak traffic hours.

What we probably need is multi-level car/bike parking spaces spread across the city, near major bus stops where one could park their vehicle, or there should be shuttle service through residential areas to reach all the major roads of the city.  Apart from this, we need better coverage through Bengaluru’s metro rail services as well as local trains with shuttle bus services through each locality to the nearest metro/railway station.  Of course, all of this is going to take time as well as lots of investment, so it probably might not be the most practical solution for our current woes.

How do we solve the issues we face today, though? Following basic traffic rules could be a start.  We could start off by stopping our vehicles when the light turns red and starting only after the light turns green.  We could drive within the lanes marked on the roads.  We could drive as per the speed limit mentioned at the roadside (this would include not driving much slower than what is mentioned as well).  We could use indicators to alert others when we are turning.  We could cross the roads when the traffic stops, using the zebra crossing, or use the skywalks if they are available.  We could do all of these seemingly obvious things, but we mostly don’t.  I know, because I too didn’t do any of it for the first 6-7 years of driving.

The change started when I initially took the decision to not honk any longer.  At the time, it seemed a bit silly, but I had read some sticker on a car about driving without honking (can’t even remember exactly what was written) and decided to try that for a day.  It was quite tough navigating past vehicles, people, and one very naughty cow which decided to not give way.  Then, the challenge was to try it for another day followed by a week, a month, etc.  I have now driven upwards of 60,000 kms without using the horn.

Not using the horn meant that I had to be extra cautious when it came to turning at intersections or navigating past people walking on the road, vehicles cutting across lanes, etc.  This led me to drive at a slightly slower pace, respect my fellow drivers a bit more, be patient with pedestrians and cyclists (after all, it is a lot tougher for them with broken pavements and non-existent cycling lanes) and even animals.  I follow the lanes as much as possible these days, unless I have to overtake some slower moving vehicle in front of me or if there are vehicles parked into driving space.

There are people who’ve told me that it isn’t safe to be driving in India without honking.  I agree that it definitely is tougher to drive in India without using the horn, but I know now that it is not impossible.  I’ve been asked how I negotiate blind turns without honking, and I tell them that I respect a blind turn, slow the vehicle down, pause and then proceed.  Whether it be crawling through the Silk Board junction in Bangalore or zipping through the multiple-lane national highways in South India, I have realised that I have become a far better driver than I used to be.  My wife, while getting exasperated with me for not honking even occasionally, admits that she feels a lot better traveling with me now than when I used to honk.

Initially, I used to trumpet it as a personal achievement, but these days I’m more evangelical about the whole thing, trying to get others to follow this.  While this might not be THE template, I can tell you what I do most of the times:

• ·         Never drink and drive
• ·         Drive not beyond 60 kmph in the main city roads and not beyond 40 kmph through residential areas (even if the roads are wide and there is no traffic)
• ·         Drive within the lane and put the appropriate indicator if I have to change lanes
• ·         Move to the corresponding lane well in advance if I have to turn either right or left
• ·         Make turns as indicated; if I miss a turn, I would move forward and take the next turn rather than make a U-turn where it is not allowed
• ·         Never park the car on the main road while blocking traffic
• ·         Turn on parking lights if I have parked on the roadside temporarily
• ·         Slow down to a stop as the lights turn orange, rather than picking up pace
• ·         Do not jump a red light at an intersection

Some of my pet peeves would be as follows:

• ·         Drivers/riders who do not use indicators
• ·         Drivers/riders who close up their outside rear-view mirrors
• ·         People who open doors without looking at who’s coming from behind
• ·         Drivers/riders who turn into the main road from a side lane without even pausing
• ·         Drivers/riders who try to muscle you out, overtaking you from the left, and then getting angry if they are not let through
• ·         Drivers/riders who incessantly honk, especially when idling at a traffic signal
• ·         Drivers not wearing seat belts and riders not wearing helmets
• ·         Using the pavements to ride the bike to get ahead of the traffic
• ·         Driving/riding on the wrong side of the road
• ·         Drivers/riders who consider themselves as Ayrton Senna or Valentino Rossi but who’re probably closer to Pastor Maldonado (only from driving style)
• ·         Pedestrians who cross roads wherever they feel like
• ·         Pedestrians not using the skywalk wherever it is available

Well, that list goes on.  Coming back, not honking has made me very aware of the fact that I am not just responsible for myself or the people traveling with me but also for all those who are on the roads – walking, riding, driving – along with me.  It should not have taken me so much time to be aware of something so basic, and I’m rather ashamed of it, but it is better late than never, I guess.  Regardless of how much I think I might be in control, it is my responsibility to ensure that the others also stay in control.  I cannot feel content of the fact that nothing happened to my passengers or my car while dashing through the traffic if my driving caused panic and accident of even one other person or vehicle.  Most of our traffic jams are caused by a few individuals who are in a hurry and want to circumvent the traffic rules.  While you might get through, have you ever wondered how much chaos you might be creating behind you?

We all love to complain about the traffic and driving in Bengaluru.  We all hate the incessant honking around us, even when the traffic is at a standstill.  Now, let us all get together to stop all of it.  Let each of us just look at ourselves and make changes to the way we drive.  If each of us decide to do the right thing, we will be able to ease the congestion to some extent.  We still will need wider roads, increased public transport and better infrastructure, but let us play our part in making Bengaluru a better place to drive in.  Reaching your destination slightly later is always preferable to not reaching your destination at all.  Remember also that we are responsible for many others too reaching their destination, even if they are not traveling in your vehicle.  Let us stop complaining and start acting.  Let us make Bengaluru the best city in India to drive/ride in!

Kolkata Trip 2013 - Tuesday, October 8th

Today, we were going to get an internet connection for my mother-in-law.  They earlier had a desktop computer with internet connection, but after electrical fluctuations caused a premature death for their modem while old age accounted for the desktop, they had not bothered to upgrade, i.e., until now.  Ranji had bought a tablet, a Viewsonic, from Singapore after getting inspired following a Skype session we had with my brother there.  She got him to buy one and send it through to India via my parents who had gone visiting to Singapore.  With the tablet in hand, we went to Tollygunge Phadi to take a Vodafone connection. Before starting from Behala, we went to see our first pandal of this year’s puja.  Sreesanga Club, which is very close to Ranji’s house, always has Nava Durga (nine forms of Durga) in their pandal.  While the pandal as such was not very attractive, the idols were very beautiful.

Being technologically challenged, we had assumed that the tablet would only require a wireless dongle.  Only upon reaching the Vodafone store did we realize that this particular tablet (or was it Android OS, I’m not sure) did not support a wireless dongle.  Getting this knowledge, in typical Kolkatan fashion, took a couple of hours and only after we had taken the connection.  Now, we had no option but to convert that to a phone connection to ensure it did not go to waste.  By the time we finished at the Vodafone store, it was past 3.  Hunger, in addition, to the crowd, was not helping in improving my mood.

While Ranji’s mom and I came back home, Ranji went to meet another of her school friends, Shibani.  We picked up a pot of mishti doi (sweet curd) on our way back home. I managed to clean up half of it in one sitting and could have gone on, but the shift of waist size from 30 to 32 was on the back of my mind.  A couple of hours later, when she was on her way back, Ranji called us and told that the crowds at Nutan Dal, an award-winning puja in the previous years, was relatively free and we could go visit the pandal.  My mother-in-law and I got ready, and once Ranji was back, the three of us were off again.  Nutan Dal was slightly disappointing, though.  It was the same old village-based theme at their pandal.  While the finished product was good, it was the lack of variety that was disappointing.

After Nutan Dal, it was back to the same old shopping.  If Gariahat had seemed terrible yesterday, Behala was impossible today.  The crowd seemed to have increased with people hurrying to finish their puja shopping.  I quickly removed the cloak of civility as I too enthusiastically joined the pushing and shoving.  Not being well-versed in the art of shopping, my amateurish attempts were quickly overwhelmed by the more experienced Bangla babus and didibhais.  Soon, I begged Ranji and her mom to return back because I just about had enough of sweaty bodies pushing me in the four directions.  Taking pity at my condition, they decided to return back home.

Kolkata Trip 2013 - Monday, October 7th

Monday was the day we were going to embark on our shopping.  The morning was spent in packing Ranji’s dad off to his office.  After that, around 11, the remaining three of us got ready to go to Gariahat.  We got a taxi, gave him our destination, and assumed he would know the easiest route to get there.  I’d like to believe that he was ignorant about the best route because if he was attempting to milk us for some extra rupees, he did pay a price for it because we got caught in some terrible traffic snarls.  By the time we reached Gariahat, my mood was borderline irritable.

If the ride through vehicular traffic was irritating, the walk through human traffic was harrowing.  Street hawkers in Gariahat have occupied most of the footpath, making walking through them a challenge.  Add to that the throng of Puja shoppers and I was beginning to wonder if I made the right decision to accompany the ladies. Ranji was enjoying the pushing and shoving but she kept cribbing about the Kolkata heat.  I was happy to bear the heat and humidity only if the others in Gariahat would just stop banging into me.

After powering our way through the army of shoppers, we finally reached our destination – RMCA Basak.  Even I love coming to Basak because it has an old-world charm about it.  They haven’t expanded to a chain yet and treat their customers as special, not to mention having some of the best Bengal Cotton sarees I have seen.  We were there for almost a couple of hours, picking up 5-6 sarees.  We then moved on to Pantaloons to make use of a gift voucher my mother-in-law had.  After converting the gift voucher into a pair of trousers for me, we moved on.  This was also the first time I had moved on from a waist size of 30 to 32 (inches) in over a decade.  I have made a mental note to join a gym as soon as we are back in Bangalore.

Shopping done, we went to Bedouin Restaurant for our lunch.  Coming from Bangalore, one is surprised with the décor, or the lack of it, in most of the Kolkatan restaurants.  That, though, was made up by the quantity.  Between the three of us, we were able to only finish one bowl of fried rice.  We got them to parcel us the remaining food and rushed out, hoping to catch a taxi soon because it had begun drizzling.

Kolkata is not a very clean city.  It feels old, the buildings look grimy, the roadsides are dirty, the dustbins are overflowing, there is betel juice stains everywhere.  All of that becomes worse when it rains.  This time, I am getting to experience the Kolkata rains for the first time.  Despite it not being seasonal showers, the intensity is definitely there.  The rains reminded me of the Kerala rains I experienced during my childhood.  Here, though, the rain does not make the land look cleaner; it makes it look dirtier.

Once we reached Behala, we let Ranji’s mom go back home while we went to visit one of Ranji’s close friend, Monia.  Ranji and Monia have been friends from their school days, and the years and the distance has not really affected their friendship.  They constantly keep in touch and stay abreast of the happenings in each other’s lives.  We were seeing Monia’s kid, though, for the first time.  She took about 10 minutes to get used to the new faces but soon started playing with us.  When we left their house a couple of hours later, she seemed very sad to see us go.  We did set up yet another meeting with Monia because we hadn’t had enough of playing with her kid.

By the time we reached back, the only thing in our mind was bed.  Ranji’s mom, on the other hand,  is indefatigable.  After reaching her house and dumping our shopping, she had gone back to the market to get some fresh produce to cook delicious curries for her daughter and son-in-law.  It is a tragedy that neither her daughter nor her son-in-law is gastronomically inclined.  Despite that, Ranji’s mom never tires of cooking different items for both of us when we come visiting.  Tired in spirit and with a bloated stomach, we both went to sleep.

Kolkata Trip 2013 - Sunday, October 6th

Sunday morning started with a lively debate. Ravi Uncle, who had come to the house early in the morning, and Ranji’s dad got into a discussion about the different Malayalee forums in Kolkata.  As is the case with Malayalees, the need to form federations or forums  of like-minded individuals was only second to their need to split the federations or forums further based on the complex regional and religious fabric of Kerala.  The fact that they are so far away from Kerala, in a place where no one really understands the complexities of Malayalee way of living seem to not deter them.  The discussion was surrounding which forum had better funds and who were better at managing their resources.  However the funds were managed, it was up to my mother-in-law to always do the lion’s share of the work.  This time, she had to prepare Uzhunnu Vada for at least 150 people.  I’ve always felt that these Malayalees formed such forums to get some poor souls to cook good food so that they could all gorge on it and then criticize everything under the sun, including the cook and the food they so very enthusiastically gobbled up.  Like most discussions between us Malayalees, even this ended in an honorable draw without any particular conclusion, but it seemed to make all parties happy.

It was around 10 in the morning when I saw the dreaded Jyothi Uncle for the first time.  He was something of a terror among the Kolkata Malayalee community for arriving at people’s houses during the weekends and planting himself there for the entire weekend. He made it a point to feign ignorance towards subtle hints or direct suggestions that he had overstayed his welcome. Rumour has it that the richer among the Malayalees employ bouncers just to keep him away from entering their homes.

While Ranji’s parents had no chance of escaping the ordeal, we certainly could and did by being out of the house in another hour and a half.  We were going to ITC Sonar to meet Vineet, Tanu and their son Tejas.  We went to Baby Land at Behala market, bought a T-shirt and pants for the child, and went in search of a taxi.  By this time, my dismay at not seeing the Ambassadors was replaced by a joy at seeing so many Ambassadors together.

While the Ambassadors have been known for their sturdy and stable performance on Indian roads, what make them distinct, especially in Kolkata, are its drivers.  We managed to get a rather colourful specimen of this species. Unlike most Kolkatan cab drivers, he chose to drive the car as slowly as possible.  Cycle rickshaws screamed past us and even hand-drawn rickshaws managed to overtake us at some point.  The fact that our driver was constantly wiping sweat from waist up without really removing his shirt and then squeezing out his towel on to the floor of the car was probably one reason why he didn’t want to go any faster. Ranji and I weren’t sure whether to pray for a faster drive or for the sweaty puddle to remain in the front. We somehow did manage to reach ITC Sonar before the end of day.

Vineet and Tanu reached soon after us, and we met Baby Tejas for the first time. He made it clear that he wanted only to be carried by his dad, but he did not mind playing with either Ranji or me as long as we did not attempt to carry him.  From ITC Sonar, we went over to Mani Square Mall to relax and chat. While Vineet, Tanu, and Ranjita chatted, I alternated between conversing with them and playing with Tejas.  After an hour or so, we moved over to the food court to have our lunch.  I realized that the food prices in a mall are more or less the same, be it Kolkata or Bangalore.

After lunch, we waved goodbye to Tejas, Tanu, and Vineet.  We caught a taxi back to Behala.  This guy, though, turned out to be the opposite of the driver we had in the morning.  He either did not have brakes or did not believe in using it, because we just hurtled at breakneck speed through Kolkata roads, narrowly missing mowing down people or crashing on to other vehicles.

The only place we were forced to stop was at an intersection where there was a policeman.  The policeman, though, was busy buying some towels from a pushcart vendor.  When the light turned green while the purchase was going on, he even turned it back to red so that he could complete his transaction in peace!  We reached back home alive and without any further interesting incidents.

Kolkata Trip 2013 - Saturday, October 5th

It was Ranji’s suggestion that I revive my writing by documenting our fortnight-long trip to Kolkata. I love going to Kolkata during the Durga Puja as I feel that is the only time the city has some life and energy, the only time it feels like people are busy and purposeful.  It is almost as if the people try to make up for the city’s various shortcomings by preparing beautiful pandals and attractive idols within them. Walking around seeing the sights while gorging on the numerous food items prepared in the roadside stalls using oil rich in trans-fat and conditions far from hygienic seem to give a high like most illicit pleasures. For once, so, I have decided to not just listen to Ranji but also act upon her suggestion.

SATURDAY, October 5^th

It was around 4:30 a.m. when I woke up first, but it wasn’t until 5:55 a.m. that I decided there was no point in me twisting and turning, trying to wake Ranji up. I prepared a pot of spiced tea and was enjoying it at a leisurely pace before the realization that I hadn’t packed a single item of clothing propelled Ranji out of the bed. With her up, it wasn’t long before my position in front of the TV was changed to in front of an empty suitcase.

Ranji had packed a suitcase with her clothes on October 2^nd, including some old clothes she wanted to give to the maid at my in-laws’ house. One look with my expert eyes was enough for me to unpack everything and repack them in my own manner.  It satisfied me but I don’t think it made any serious difference to the final outcome.

My own suitcase was done within minutes. I zeroed in on the clothes I was carrying without much of a difficulty. The only item needing some deliberation was a T-Shirt with “I’ve graduated from Bar Code to Beer Code” printed on it because of how Ranji’s parents looked at alcohol consumption (but we decided to chance it).

Some of other items, though, was a challenge.  We were carrying a rolling pin and base made of marble as well as few bottles of pickle.  We weren’t very sure whether the threat of them breaking was higher than that of the oil spilling on to our clothes. Either way, the expectation was for us to get the stuff across, and it was always going to be better for all if we got those across, even in broken and/or spilled condition than to leave them behind.  We were to regret our decision later, in a way we did not exactly expect.

Transport to the airport was not a worry because Praveen volunteered to chauffer us. He came on time, along with Namrata and Shlokaa, and we started off from Vignan Nagar at 4:00 p.m.  It was 5:30 by the time we reached the airport, later than we expected.  The delay made us scrap my initial idea of having some snacks and coffee at Café Coffee Day outside the airport.

For once, there was no queue either to enter the airport or at the IndiGo counter. The lady at the counter was not harried, had a pleasant smile, and even seemed happy we chose IndiGo. Ranji and I felt so happy, but it was too good to last. Ignorance hurts all of us at some point, and ours regarding the reduction in maximum weight of check-in luggage from 20 kilos to 15 per person was to hurt us then - we exceeded the check-in luggage weight by 10 kilos and cabin luggage by 4!  She continued to sport a smile when she told us that there could be no compromise in the cabin luggage but told us she would try and be sympathetic towards the plight of our check-in luggage.

Ranji suggested chucking some of the clothes in the dust-bin; instead, I chucked her suggestion into it. By this time, in addition to the shame I was feeling in displaying the intimate and fairly plain secrets of my wardrobe to the entire population inside the airport, Ranji’s plaintive tones was beginning to get on to my nerves. Of course, the irritation was mainly towards myself for not remembering the reduction in maximum limit for luggage, and each time she complained, it seemed to make it worse. Another thing that hurt was the fact that I had laughed at my cousin 12-13 years back when he faced the same predicament for trying to carry an entire grocery store while flying to China, and history was repeating itself with me in the tragic lead role. In the end, we managed to shift some more clothes to the check-in luggage from the cabin luggage and got one of the elephants that came for the Dusshera celebrations to the stand on top of the bag while the two of us closed it.  While we could not avoid the check-in luggage exceeding the limit, we ensured the cabin luggage remained within, checked everything in (after paying an additional Rs. 3000) and collected our boarding passes.

The additional expense seemingly killed Ranji’s appetite, but I insisted on having some snacks.  She would thank me later once we were aboard the IndiGo flight.  In an attempt to make profits without hiking the fares too much, IndiGo seems to be charging even for drinking water! They surely must have made a decent profit from the poor guy who was sitting in front of Ranji. I wasn’t sure about his grasp of English, but the air hostess was pretty with a sweet smile, and she made quite a sale by getting the guy to buy Coke and Chicken Sandwich!

Speaking about the crew, they were one of the most interesting ones I’ve ever seen.  They differed in their size, their age (at least from the looks of it), and made it a point to make every announcement as unclear as possible. Of course, the Captain was very clear, but he only used the system each time he had to cough. At least, he flew the plane better, and we landed at the Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose International Airport on time.

Deplaning, we both were in for a pleasant shock.  In fact, it seemed as if we had gotten down at a different airport.  I mean, this looked like an airport, not like a bus-stand where airplanes landed.  There was no familiar pan- or ghutka-powered spit marks or the constant smell of urine.  It wasn’t until we had collected our baggage that we knew for sure we had indeed landed in Kolkata.

Ranji had gone to the restroom, and she came out from there in fits of giggles.  Apparently, one member of the cleaning staff inside the restroom was cursing a lady who had used the restroom earlier.  Despite she telling the lady to not squat on the floor, she was claiming that the lady did squat on the floor and then had the audacity to refuse that she did anything like that!  She even wondered aloud how someone who couldn’t use the western-style toilet could be flying in an airplane. Ranji and I were happy the lady did not attempt the same when we were flying.

After the initial surprise of seeing a proper airport in Kolkata, we were in for yet another one once we stepped out. The taxi that we had booked to ferry us to Ranji’s parents’ house in Behala was not Kolkata’s signature Ambassador; it was a brand-new Volkwagen Vento! Ranji and I exchanged glances, obviously impressed.  I even wondered aloud if Kolkata was indeed changing and felt a touch of sadness for the disappearing old-world charm. I realized that my sadness was misplaced but it wasn’t until the next day morning.

Halabelu Hooligans

Of all the outrageous ideas that we came up in school, the idea of starting a rock band would take the cake. While we were known to come up with quite a few outlandish ideas and schemes on what to do with our lives after school, nothing ever came close to this one. The very fact that yours truly was considered for this band is evidence enough that it was crazy.

It all started when we were in our 11th standard. The school had a cultural competition amongst the various classes in the primary, high school, and pre-university sections. Competing in the pre-university section had its advantages. You were assured of at least the second prize; after all, you had only 11th and 12th competing. Of course, things changed if there were multiple contestants from either class, but generally that was for individual events and not for the group ones. Being blessed with a talented lot in our class, we were dominating the events quite easily. One event in which we really did well was the group song section. A group of musically inclined got together and decided on "Rhythm of the Rain" by The Cascades and the qawwali "Tu badi maasha allah" from the Malayalam movie, "His Highness Abdullah." Needless to say, we won the group song contest quite easily.

An interesting aside to this was the fact that there was this girl who had joined our school that year in our class. In the only class devoid of feminine charms, she was bound to grab lots of attention. But then, it was just too good to last. She announced couple of months later that she managed to secure a scholarship in an outside university and would be leaving our school around the Christmas vacations. "Rhythm of the Rain" became a tribute of sorts by all the boys in our class to her. The guys who chose the song insisted that the choice of song had nothing to do with her, but there was always some who never believed that. The success of the group song motivated the lead singer to try his hand even at the solo event. This time, it was another romantic song, "Sealed with a Kiss" by Brian Hyland, and he managed to secure a third spot.

All of this singing success really got into our head. While we saw it as a victory of 11th over 12th at the school level, within the class it was a sign of superiority over the girls. The fact that we had the only class in the entire school where girls struggled even to compete on Indian classical dance made it rather a hollow victory, but we really didn't mind that. Basking in the glory of this victory within the victory, on a balmy Friday evening, with the weekend fast approaching, we decided to exercise our vocal chords. Taking the opportunity of a teacher's absence, we decided to sing the song "Karakaanakadalala mele" from "Naadodikkaattu." With the wooden desks providing the only accompaniment to the singers of varying degrees of musical ability, we later realized we must have been creating quite a ruckus. This realization dawned on us when a shadow fell over the window and the one sitting right next to it fell silent with his enthusiastic, but totally offkey, drumming. One by one, we all saw the school principal standing outside the window, seeing what was going on. This, though, wasn't enough to stop the lead singer, who was into the song in a big way, closing his eyes and trying to reach the highest pitch possible. It was only at the peak of the pitch that he suddenly realized that the rest of the room had fallen silent. Incredibly, he managed to stop the song at that point. Quite a feat, any seasoned singer would say, to stop a song while at its highest pitch. Unfortunately, his greatest achievement as a singer would thus be forgotten as the principal came in and warned us that one more sound from our class for the remainder of the year and he would suspend the entire class and left.

While the school principal's age ensured that he forgot all about his threat, we did sober up after that. We decided that the rest of the school was envious of us and our singing abilities, even though there were quite loud murmurs of the nuisance our singing was creating. All was forgotten and forgiven when we were chosen to sing our prize-winning qawwali for the school's annual day function. With a few of the guys from the original group backing out, we needed replacements, and I was one of the guys drafted in. While I was a regular in the drama group, singing was a totally new territory for me. Apart from being tone deaf, my singing skills left a lot to be desired. The group, though, felt that they could drown out my voice in the chorus section. I had decided even earlier that I would just lip sync, though I kept this information to myself. With this wonderful exhibition of teamwork, we managed to complete the song reasonably well, even though the audience wondered why it was being sung at a higher pitch than was needed.

By the time we reached 12th, we realized that this would be the last time we would have a chance to compete together as a team before we left our different ways. This thought made quite a few of us do stuff we otherwise wouldn't have. One guy decided to enter the classical singing competition without having learnt it. He listened to "Omkaara naatha" from "Shankarabharanam" and tried the same on stage. For the first time in our school's history, a classical song was being accompanied like a hard rock metal. One curious class member later found the marks sheet for his performance and found zeroes marked in all column with a "DISGRACE" left in the comments section.

For the group song, we decided to give a chance to all of us in the class to get on stage. With a better sense they seem to have, the girls refused to get on stage, but all of us boys promptly went up. This time, there was no holding back any of us, and all of us gave it the worst we had. Amazingly, our juniors managed to outdo us. The judges said that we both were so pathetic that they refused to give anyone the first prize. We were given second, while our juniors ended up getting third. The song we had chosen was "California Dreamin" by Mamas and Papas and "Ramayanakkaatte" from "Abhimanyu."

The fact that we pulled off "California Dreamin," albeit in quite an ordinary fashion, was the fuel for our rockband dreams. During our daily commute to the school, with our minds fresh early in the morning, we would let our imagination run wild. That particular week, though, it went bonkers. About 7 of us decided to form this group and toyed with a few names for the band. While we tossed around quite a few names, the one that still remains in my mind is Halabelu Hooligans. Why we came up with something as crazy or meaningless as that, I don't remember. For someone as removed from rock music as I was, any name was good enough. The very fact that I was being considered was good enough for me. Even then, though, I had made the note to remain in the background and concentrate more on anything other than related to music. For all my flights of fancy, picturing myself as a singer wasn't one of them. This, though, I kept to myself.

How we finally moved to our next plan, I don't remember. I do remember, though, that this was one project which we very keenly discussed. Now, apart from me in Bangalore and another guy in San Jose, I am not sure where exactly the others are. I don't think they are doing much of singing nowadays, and this dream of starting a band probably isn't even a happy memory in their thoughts. In fact, I wonder if they even remember these things. But it is all these things that made school life oh-so-colorful and some of the most exciting times of my life. For all those from that batch who might read this, I just wanted to say that Halabelu Hooligans still stays alive in my mind.

It's A Dog's Life

Just the other day, I was at my usual hangout, the neighbourhood bakery shop, when I heard a couple of guys talking. It seemed they were part of some writers' club and they had an assignment to write on Bangalore in the past decade. That must be something, I thought, since a lot had happened in the city in the past decade. But they seemed to have some difficulty in writing about it since they both were new to the city and would have to conjure much from their imagination. I felt like helping them and moved closer and opened my mouth to say something before they shooed me away. They didn't know I could help them out with their assignment. In fact, they probably didn't understand I even understood what they were saying. Quite possible that they didn't even notice me standing there, the shooing more like a reflex action. You see, I am a stray dog!

On the New Year's Eve at the turn of the millenium, the celebrations were quite exaggerated, probably because the much-dreaded armageddon never happened while Y2K turned out to be only something that helped propel India on to software limelight. My parents, on the other hand, were oblivious to all this. How do I know this? Because I was a product of their personal celebrations that night. Despite that, I was hardly welcomed to this world. To my father, my mother was just another notch on his tail. To my mother, it was a momentary indiscretion she'd rather forget. To me, it meant a tough initiation, as was it for my 3 siblings born with me. I have a vague memory of our mother feeding us for a week or so, but we were soon left to fend for ourselves.

Bangalore was good for a young pup in those days. For starters, we weren't overpopulated. There was enough space for each of us in this city. The food was not abundant, but it was healthier. We didn't have to sift through so much of plastic to find food. Nowadays, I see so many of the young ones gobble up those plastic stuff and getting sick terribly for days together. Of course, we have had a population explosion which hasn't made things any easier. With the city growing, we've had dogs from all around moving over to the city in hopes of better living. Some even hope to be adopted into a human household which would ensure lesser freedom but better lifestyle.

In those earlier days, life was simpler if I compare it to today. We had wider areas for each of our gangs. Even though the city was growing, there were still plenty of trees to pee on to mark out our areas. Occasionally we left our mark on the vehicles parked on the roadside, but that was more for fun than for any real territory marking. Over time, I've seen trees being butchered mercilessly in the name of development. A city that once boasted of its green cover now seems to only have a grey cover of pollution over it. Well, we need to move with time, and move we did. Instead of trees, we started using compound walls for our daily needs. While it wasn't the most comfortable or safest of places, we moved on to the roads to pass out our colonic effluents.

Over the past decade, movement in our territory has become extremely dangerous. Earlier, we could stroll across most roads in the city. Today, that isn't the case. During the morning and evening hours, when these humans go to what they call their offices and come back home respectively, the roads are so packed that we don't have much of a space to walk across. At other times, we have what they call "call-center cabs" who screech through the streets, putting our lives at great risk. Also, due to the pressure of increasing traffic, roads have been widened in some areas. These are equally dangerous because we now have a wider area to cross, if need be. To top it all, isn't the instruction given to every driver not to stop at the sight of a crossing canine because they would swerve out of the way anyway? The number of dead canine bodies seen around the city roads should be disproving this theory, but these humans are funny - they think life is precious, and life for them is only that of a human.

Bangalorean humans consider us as dangerous. Little do they realize that we're frightened at the mere sight of them. Given a chance, I'd stay away from a human, unless he or she is offering me something. Mostly, they just swing their bags or pelt stones at us. They couldn't care one bit whether it hurts us or not. If, for some reason, we do manage to retaliate, mostly at small kids who take perverse pleasure in stoning us, the whole city is up in arms. Humans then begin to increase their hostilities against us, despite both of us being Bangaloreans, and we being the sufferers all along. Judgment is passed on the whole canine population for a stray (pun unintended) dog or two losing their patience and retaliating. They arrange for sending us to concentration camps under the pretext of neutering us.

The city has grown enormously over the past decade. Our population in the city also has increased. The pressure is being felt as each of our gangs have increased while our territories have decreased. As more areas in the city gets richer, the more unwelcome we become. Our presence in such areas is either discreetly frowned upon or openly disapproved. With humans increasing in the city, this past decade has seen a decrease in humanity. I don't have too many years left to live now, and I'm happy my time is nearing. I don't think I would have been able to survive in the next decade, the way things are going. As I look back at a whole decade in this city, I just feel it's been a dog's life!

Budget Blues

Very recently, we had both the railway as well as the union budget of India being presented. While I can't really tell you much about what the budget really contained, I do know a few things. As per the ruling party, the budget is always excellent, very pro-poor, helps agriculture and even manufacturing, and is ideal to take our nation forward. There would be many indicators as to how foreign investments should be attracted and how our PSU behemoths should be disinvested. As per our opposition, the budget is always bad, not good at all to the poor, without consideration to poor farmers, and only an attempt by the government to suck up to the developed countries. In the case of tje railway budget, there would be announcements of various new trains, especially in routes where there isn't much need for one. Needless to say, in either case, the person who presents the budget aids their home constituency or state with an eye on one of the numerous upcoming elections that happen, which will invariably invite the wrath of everyone else.

It is interesting to note that the ads screaming about pre-budget prices for consumer durables, automobiles, etc., start appearing about a month before the budget. Whether any of these ads boost their sales during this time is not known to me, but I have never seen any news about a company doing roaring business because of the pre-budget prices. In my office, we realize it is budget time when we get into tighter deadlines because most people would be busy following budget predictions in the various discussion forums.

On budget day, I generally avoid watching TV. For one, all news channels would be having discussions on the budget, which I never seem to understand. Entertainment channels will keep things low-key because they are wary of falling TRPs on this day. I have stopped watching cartoons because I don't seem to understand any of these new ones. Heck, whatever happened to Tom and Jerry and Fred Quimby? Finally, when I tune into Sports Channel, there would be a discussion on how the budget has neglected sports. This is another one of the constants of our union budget. All union budgets neglect sports is something I learnt in 1986 and that hasn't changed till now. So, there would be this panel of sportspersons, and all of them would talk about how their particular sport has been neglected. This discussion would go on until someone would say how cricket is the root of all evil in Indian sports, and then all others in the panel would come together and agree on that, and thus the discussion will end.

The next day, it would be the chance of the newspapers to rerun what the idiot box television did the previous evening. It is on such days that I love the Times of India. They are probably the only news publication that would make budget seem so very colorful to the reader. While most newspapers would be busy writing studied pieces on what was presented in the Lok Sabha the previous day, TOI would come up with a bunch of photographs. There would be one of the finance minister getting out of the car with suitcase. There would also be a photo of our Prime Minister and of most party leaders. Then, they would get photos of the state government leaders. Similar exercise would be followed with industry leaders of national and local importance. Since TOI can't stay away from skin show for too long, they'll get photographs of some film personalities as well. Apart from all this, there would be the customary photographs of some highway (for infrastructure), some farmer ploughing field (for agriculture), some beggars (for poverty), a child cleaning table (for child labor), a foreigner, which would mostly be a lady wearing sphagetti straps and showing ample cleavage (for tourism), etc. When they have crammed in all these photographs, it saves them the effort of having to really write much about the budget. If one ever comes up with something like Union Budget for Dummies (like me), it would surely be a series of ToI newspaper reports on budget over the years.

At office, things wouldn't be much different. On the day after budget, one is expected to speak only regarding the budget and how it would impact our jobs. Quite a few could be seen working on excel sheets which would help them calculate how much more they would have to pay in the form of income tax that year. Since I hardly ever see any reduction in the tax that I pay, I don't bother calculating about it. The fact that I don't understand how it is calculated makes my task simpler. While it took me a while to work out of the funda of handling the post-Budget day at office, I did finally work it out. The secret of it is to always make a speculative statement, something in the lines of "I don't know what the prices of cars will now be after all that steel and rubber prices" or "Electronic goods sales will now see a big difference" or something on those lines. I soon realized that most others too were making similar statements. First time I experienced it, I was so elated. I realized that I wasn't the only ignoramus with regard to budgets.

After surviving multiple budgets, the biggest lesson I have learnt is that budgets generally don't make a huge difference to me. I still don't have a government water connection in my apartment and have to depend on borewell water. Electric supply is still erratic at best, ever ready to go missing at the mere threat of a rain or summer. Sewage lines in working condition seems like an alien concept, while roads without pot-holes is a strict no-no. At the end of the day, in my life's balance sheet, the budget will make it easier with a few things but will make a few other things tougher. The netas have long understood that if they have enough muscle and money power, they can present any budget and still get away with it and win more elections. After all, how many of us thought of the last 10 budgets when we caste our vote? The only ones who really know that are our politicians. Jai Hind!

Cold Reality

When the rains first came to Bangalore, I rejoiced. No, it wasn’t anything to do with the receding ground water level in the city or the resultant water scarcity which caused this elation, not at all. It was because I was going to get a cold again. After all, it had been almost 4 months since I had my last attack of cold. I was getting scared that I had almost gotten healthy, but when the rains came, the cold can’t be too far behind. In fact, I had my first big sneeze before the mungaaru mazhe finished and I immediately rang my wife up in her office to give her the good news.

Since the time I can remember, I’ve suffered from cold. To cold’s credit, it has never been a dominating presence in my life; it was more like Sankarady in Malayalam movies – a meaty side role who would mostly have about 15-20 mins of total screen. I remember having to down various cough syrups – some tasty, mostly yucky – along with the occasional tablet to improve my situation. The tablets had to be crushed and mixed with honey since I didn’t know how to swallow a tablet till I was about 10 years of age. No amount of honey could keep away the terrible taste of a tablet. They didn’t do much good for relieving my cold, but I developed a lifelong hatred towards honey. When I successfully swallowed my first tablet, I felt so ecstatic that I didn’t get a cold for another 6 months straight! Needless to say, I’d forgotten the right technique and had a couple of tablets losing their way at the back of my throat before finding the right way down my esophagus.

As I grew up, I decided to change tactics. Since the attack from inside against cold wasn’t working, I decided to attack it from the outside. This led to switching of weapons from cough syrups and tablets to balms. Amrutanjan was my first choice because I liked its color but realized it burned my skin. Vicks was the preferred balm in my house, so I then turned to it. It was at this time that a cousin of mine took to Zandu Balm. He was enamored by it that one could see him taking the bottle out and applying it throughout the day. His love of it prompted me to switch allegiance yet again and try Zandu, but even it wasn’t successful in keeping cold at bay. As for my cousin, he had taken to applying the balm inside his eyes to get some relief before he visited a doctor who first threw the bottle of Zandu Balm out and then threw him out. My cousin got the message and never ever applied a balm.

During my pre-graduation days, I developed a fad for chewing pepper to ease out the itchy throat during cold. Pepper is supposed to have medicinal values, but I came to know that curing cold wasn’t one of them. Before I learnt it, though, I did spread around the powers of pepper to my classmates, and I won’t be surprised if we still see some people in their mid-thirties going around with pepper in their pockets which they pop into mouth every now and then.

Crossing over to the legal age limit for drinking helped me discover yet another medicine for cold – pepper rasam and brandy. Having hot pepper rasam with brandy only helped in my nose running a bit more freely but I sure enjoyed this medicine the most. In fact, there were times when I waited for cold to come so that I could take the medicine. Later on, I started taking the medicine even when the cold wasn’t there, but that’s another story.

After being wary of cold for a long while, I finally began to accept these periodic visits from cold. Just as I was beginning to accept it, cold started bringing a companion along – asthma. Very soon, my cold attacks would worsen to such an extent that I would have terrible wheezing attacks. All the harmless fun thus far started getting quite serious. I continued to dilly-dally on what needs to be done, but finally decided to visit a doctor. He diagnosed that I had allergy to dust (which you can’t avoid in Bangalore) and that was the primary cause of the wheezing. He prescribed 3 inhalers – 2 nasal and 1 oral – which I religiously took for about an year before I was reasonably well cured from these attacks. Cold too realized that I didn’t particularly like its companion, so it once again started making the visits all alone.

Nowadays, I and cold have reconciled to the fact that we can’t live away from each other for too long. There is something about constant sneezing, runny nose, teary eyes, difficulty breathing due to blocked nasal passages which is quite intimate that neither of us can stay away from each other for too long. I’ve thrown away all tablets, cough syrups, balms, pepper, and inhalers (though I have retained the brandy and branched out to various other alcoholic drinks as well) and have decided to start a new chapter of love and understanding with cold. We’ve lived peacefully for the last 3-4 years, and it looks like we have finally managed to accept each other as we are and move forward in life.

The Atheist

Hari was angry. Here he was, a self-confessed atheist, having to accompany his father to the temple. His father assisted the priest in the temple, cleaning the premises, tying the garland, etc. It had been raining heavily from yesterday; they heard that the river next to the temple had overflown its banks, and his mother wanted Hari to accompany his elderly dad.

Hari was somewhat of a hero amongst his friends. In a group taken in by the revolutionary ideals of Kerala’s Marxist Party, Hari was the leader. He had shown courage to scribble DOG one afternoon on the temple’s compound walls to show how much of an atheist he was. He had also boasted how he never goes to temples despite his father assisting in a temple. Of course, his friends didn’t know that he always visited the temple first thing in the morning. After all, he couldn’t tell his parents that he was an atheist. Now, that same Hari was having to accompany his father and assist him for a whole day in the temple, and he was hoping that his friends don’t see him going to the temple.

“Ready?,” Hari’s father asked, as he took the long umbrella from its hanging position next to the door.

“Yes, Father.” Hari took his own umbrella from the school bag.

The road was quite slippery from the rain, and while the rain had eased out considerably, it was still tough reaching the temple a kilometer away. For Hari, it looked even more treacherous as he had to look around to confirm none of his friends were around. Not that they would be out in this rain, but he didn’t want to take a chance.

It took them 10 minutes more than usual to reach the temple. Like the Brahmin household which was in charge of it, the temple had definitely seen better days. The compound walls were crumbling, and while one could still faintly see what Hari had scribbled, moss was already growing over it.

The river had obviously overflown its banks in the night, but with the rain easing out, it had receded a little. The levels were still quite high, but the danger was gone. Hari’s father stepped through the debris which had washed into the temple as the river had breached its banks. Hari gingerly followed his father.

As they came to the sanctum sanctorum, they had a shock to see that the doors as well as the idol had not survived the previous day’s rains. It was quite apparent that nature’s fury had taken care of God. Even as Hari stood shocked, his father picked up a stone that was lying close by which resembled the idol, wiped it with the dhoti he was wearing and stepped into the sanctum sanctorum and placed it where the idol was.

“Father!” Hari couldn’t believe his eyes.

“Now, don’t you go around telling this,” whispered his father. “Do you know that we survive because of this temple? If the Brahmin household comes to know that the idol had gone, they’d close this temple forever and how do you think we’ll survive then?”

Hari would never again boast about being an atheist.