Let your ears bleed or bleed to death

Last night, I could not sleep even a wink because of the deafening sound of some religious event taking place in the vicinity. The incessant noise stopped only in the morning when it was time for me to start my day. I am sure those who had been shouting their lungs out throughout the night were tired by now and had dozed off, after ruining the much-needed sleep of many like me.

Similar was the case two nights ago, when a party carried on in the neighbourhood, although then the blaring volume of the music was lowered around midnight, to our relief.

Indian courts have time and again issued directives for public to not use loud speakers for any reason - religious or merriment - after 22:30 hrs.

But, who gives a damn to any court directive? At least no one in Uttar Pradesh, for sure!

Many a times, we had to get out of bed in the middle of the night, changed clothes and step out in our neighbourhood to request the enthusiastic revellers to calm down. Sometimes they honour our request but often to only increase the volume again, the moment we turn our backs.

There were occasions, when we had to dial 100 (the police help) which turned out to be our bigger nightmare. The police, instead of taking the necessary action against the miscreants, started harassing us - asking us all sorts of questions - your age, profession, your neighbour's name, what time do you sleep, how far is your place from the location where the noise is coming from, etc. etc.

However, no more I will be complaining about this late night noise business - neither I will volunteer to appeal the noise makers to go quiet nor I will trouble the police to intervene. Rather, I would suffer in silence while the inconsiderate revellers and religious fanatics can go beyond all possible decibels.

Why? The reason is good enough.

This week, a family in the Badaun district of Uttar Pradesh was having a party. The euphorics had forgotten the fact that they live in a society of humans who needed to rest at night. The word courtesy was alien to them. Unable to sleep, the tortured neighbourhood complained and the poor cops reached the spot to tame the people who were causing the racket.

The ruckus-makers proved to be mightier than the police. The crowd was high on spirits of revelry and music had blocked their senses. Dancing to the rhythm of blaring noise and swaying on cheap alcohol that had numbed their sense of rationality, the revellers picked up a fight with the police force.

The fight took an ugly turn. The cop who had led the team was thrashed and beaten to death whereas his other mates were left badly injured.

Undeterred and unmoved, the party-makers were back to their noisy business leaving the cops to fend for their lives.
   
The incident has underlined the level of sensitivity and consideration such people have for their co-citizens. After this incident, any person in his or her right senses will not dare disturb their inconsiderate neighbours who live in oblivion and have no sense of their civic duties.

In future, I will never complain about loud noises at night. I will learn to live with it or learn to sleep with earplugs on.

I would rather let my ear bleed than bleed to death!

Prison - A Writer's Den

The founder of Sahara India Group of companies, Subrata Roy, who is more popular as 'Sahara Shri' has brought out his first book, 'The Life Mantras'.

With this book, the clever businessman, who started with a small chit-fund company but grew to it a multi-million rupees worth asset, has became an author. This is the first book of the trilogy, he claims.

The news of the book release forced me to put my job aside, instead jot some musings and share them with my friends and well-wishers.

Jails, I conclude, create a conducive environment for writing. It started in the mid-1940s when Jawahar Lal Nehru wrote 'The Discovery of India', sitting inside the four walls of a prison. The book became an epic.

The reason maybe the isolation in prison that provides ample time to go on an inward journey and introspect.

With nothing much to do - provided you are a VIP prisoner and enjoy some privileges that the ordinary prisoners cannot even dream of, as they are supposed to be involved in hard manual labour, which leaves them dead tired to even indulge in any fantasy, leave aside writing), jail throws at prisoners the opportunity to mull over their deeds - good or bad and judgements - right or wrong.

The silence gives enough concentration to think about the future course of life. The person can formulate his strategies for the time when he or she will be able to breath the fresh air.

The jail surroundings, it seems, assist the prisoners - of course the ones who have in them at least some traces of creative intelligence, to find their muse. Sitting alone in the dark and damp corners of their cells, with no distraction, they let their imagination take a flight.

One need not be Nehru to pen a book from jail, anyone can do it.

Babloo Srivastava, a noted criminal from Uttar Pradesh wrote a book from jail. Once he completed the book, Babloo proudly came out for its release. Dressed in his usual smart attire, hiding behind his RayBan Aviators, he appeared as cool and fresh as summer breeze.

And now, Sahara Shri has turned into an author. Knowing his chances of coming out in the free world are dismal, he has already decided to write a trilogy.

The prison exposing the latent talent of people is an intriguing issue that served as fuel for my curiosity. I spent a few hours on Google to enlighten me on the issue and what I laid my hands on baffled me.

Amazon has a dedicated section LINK on books written in prison.

Wikipedia has a separate page on prison literature LINK

If nothing else, at least this Subrata Roy's Life Mantras has done one thing - it has inspired me to read the books that have been authored behind bars.

Tame Your Drivers First!

Indian film actress and the Member Parliament (MP) from Bhartiya Janata Party (BJP) Hema Malini met with serious accidents on the Yamuna Expressway (between Greater NOIDA and Agra) twice in less than six months. The MP expressed her concern for increasing accidents. First time her car was reported to have been going at 150 km per hour.

Concern is being expressed by traffic police and the Uttar Pradesh (UP) Government as well. The government in this backward state is struggling to control the chaotic traffic, especially on Lucknow (the state capital) roads.

Unfortunately, one fact that neither Hema Malini nor the UP Government understood is the reality that accidents or traffic cannot be controlled unless the people on the road are well aware of the traffic rules and abide by them; and at the same time the executing authorities implement them strictly and impartially.

What I have noticed - and I am sure others would also have - is that the biggest violators of traffic rules are those who use powerful machines - MUVs and SUVs - which, I have no qualms in pointing out, in most cases belong to either politicians or their henchmen, relatives, other distant family members or acquaintances.

Other vehicles, which top in flouting the traffic rules, generally bear the signs, such as, 'Government of India' or 'Uttar Pradesh Government' - prominently displayed on the registration number plate - nonchalantly staring at every other vehicle belonging to lesser mortals, called 'law-abiding Indian citizen'.

These powerful vehicles are normally decorated with tiaras on their heads in the form of blue or red beacon and many of them are also equipped with sirens. Their drivers, as a rule, are rude and misbehaved goons. Sitting proudly behind the powerful steering of their huge vehicles, they carry an attitude loudly proclaiming 'I am even bigger than my boss'. They behave also in the same way.

Unruly, these drivers take it their right to park the car at any place whereever they fancy. They can take a wrong turn on any one-way street and disturb the whole traffic. They take it for granted that the road belongs to them and the ones like them. They can scare to death any pedestrian with their shrill horns and zooming speed.

Daring to challenge them is calling for serious trouble. Of course, as they are surrounded by weaponed security force - that has been provided to the politician. They can use any kind of derogatory language to threaten or scare you. The traffic cops are afraid of them as they can manipulate their transfer to some godforsaken place.  

The most upsetting aspect of the issue is that many times the bureaucrat and politician keep sitting in the car when the driver is violating the traffic law. Instead of asking to driver to mend his ways, these lawmakers prefer to remain oblivious of the world outside their vehicle. They quietly become party to wrong their illiterate and uneducated driver is indulging in without foreseeing the serious repercussions of traffic violations.  
       
Take these examples:
Being a frequent traveller to Delhi (many times by road via Yamuna Expressway) I have noticed that the speed limit for cars is 100 km/h. I maintain my speed to 100 km/h but what I witness is that many government or politicians' vehicles zoom pass me. The only sound I hear is 'vroom...' and the vehicle is out of sight. Speeding is a normal phenomenon with government or politicians' cars. The justification given by the owners of these speeding vehicles is that they are busy and are required to reach at places. So why not start early? The common man also needs to reach places in time!

Recently, the district administration in Lucknow has introduced one-way system at various places. Two days back, I was walking on one such road and a politician's vehicle tried to come on that road from the wrong side. The cop tried but not enough. The driver's big vehicle was enough to demoralise and intimidate the poor traffic cop. He let the vehicle go on the wrong side causing hazard for all the vehicles and each pedestrian.
   
Suggestions:
Each driver holding the powerful steering of today's fast machines should undergo extensive training (it is a fact that most of the government drivers and also politicians' drivers have never learnt driving in a proper way, and if a test is conducted for them, most will fail). These government drivers are more used to holding a whip generally used for steer a bullock cart rather than holding a power steering wheel of powerful 21st century machines zooming on roads. Along with driving they also need to learn the traffic rules and the meaning behind all those yellow and white lines on the road, which I am sure they have no clue about.

Hema Malini's car was also over-speeding. She is a literate woman. Being an MP, she is also expected to behave responsibly. Twice she met with accidents but the question is why didn't she ever scold her driver to drive safely, carefully and not crossing the speed limit?

Same suggestion goes for the government of Uttar Pradesh as well. First tame your own drivers and make sure that they do not flout any traffic rule, rather they follow the traffic law just like any other citizen. If a common man sees a politician's or bureaucrat's car being lifted from the non-parking area, or the driver being issued a challan for entering a one-way street from the wrong side or for over-speeding, he/she will never dare to violate the law.  

If cops are wearing helmets (in Lucknow none of the policemen uses a helmet when riding a bike) or government drivers wear seat belts, they can set precedence for others.

As it is said: 'Children imitate their parents' or 'Practice before you preach' or 'Charity begins at home' - the politicians and government servants should lead by setting examples. The rest of the traffic will automatically fall in place.


  
    

Divinity with Chilled-out Tourism

It was a four-hour train journey from Mangaluru to Gokarna - a small town in Karnataka state. It is only km away in the south of Goa - the most popular holiday destination of India among foreign tourists. 

The arrival time was 18:38 hrs. but like any other Indian train, we were running late. It was around 19:30 hrs. when our co-passengers started telling us that the next halt would be Gokarna. The train stopped for the nth time in its short journey, and we got down at a poorly-lit, small platform where a single, inconspicuous sign read 'Gokarna Road'. 

Perplexed, whether we have gotten down a bit too early in our over-enthusiasm backed by our co-passengers, we looked for any other soul on the platform for confirmation. To our utter surprise, we found out that it was the one and only station in Gokarna town.  

Our excitement to visit Gokarna was laced with apprehensions. We had been thinking it to be something on the pattern of Goa! The base of our expectation was the stories that we had heard that it was a destination popular among the backpackers. 

Outside the station were parked about half a dozen three-wheeled auto rickshaws in the wilderness. 

There was no sign of life, such as tea shops or coolies or the chaos of other passengers, which could manifest that it was a railway station. It appeared like a scene straight from some horror movie with only one family (us, in this case) in the name of passengers, stepping out of a train in the dark.

We wanted to reach the city and civilisation as quickly as possible. Luckily we had tele-booked a couple of places with exotic names like Dolphin View or Strawberry Farm. The auto rickshaw driver appeared clueless when we started mentioning these names. 

Eventually, he brought us to Sree Shakti Hotel - in the heart of the town. Painted in fluorescent green and orange the hotel rooms were basic but neat, clean and comfortable and the owner was an extremely friendly lady.    

After throwing our bags in the room, we headed straight to the beach. 

What we saw filled us with disappointment. My heart sank as the next day was the Christmas eve and we had plans to celebrate Christmas at this new exotic location named Gokarna. It was anything but exotic! 

Although 500 meters away from our hotel, the beach was swelling with devotees who had come to visit the famous temples Mahabaleshwar and Mahaganpati, in Gokarna. The white sand had become multicoloured with a variety of litter, the devotees had carelessly thrown all over. 

There were queues of jeeps, cars, mini buses at the road adjacent to the beach, which were bringing pilgrims from faraway places. The shrill shrieks of people of all ages were competing with the high tide and bright lights at the beach had filled the night sky. It was like some mela (fair) was going on.

Tired with our long journey (we had travelled from Madikeri (Coorg) to Mangalore by an overnight bus and then spent a couple of hours at the Diesel Cafe of the Hotel Prestige for our breakfast before reaching the railway station to get the 14:35 train to Gokarna), disappointed engulfed us. The first impression of Gokarna was enough to dampen our high spirits. We went back to our room calling it a day.

Fortunately, the morning for us broke with fresh energy and a different scenario. After a bit of reading about the place, the first thing we did was to hire a scooter (a two-wheeler) and explore the godforsaken town.

What we discovered of Gokarna made us extend our stay from 5 days to 8 days!

Located at the south coast of India, Gokarna is small, but not at all a sleepy town. The life starts as early as 5 in the morning, with devotees lining up for a darshan of Mahabaleshar (Shiva) and MahaGanpati (having the statue of Ganesha in a standing form). 

The Car Street (the main road leading to the temples) remains busy the whole day with Pandits, dressed in saffron cloth wrapped around their waist. They magically balance a Puja Thalis (plates with flowers and other stuff for worshipping Gods) in one hand and a water jug in the other, while walking up and down the street - mostly barefoot, performing their business.

The whole street sells only vegetarian food and in the name of liquor there is only tea, coffee and cold drinks. 

As the day progressed the noises subsided making us curious to know what went wrong. 

What we found out was that all establishments (even temples) close after lunch for a siesta (afternoon nap) and the town wears a deserted look. Intelligent enough, as who would like to work in 30℃? 

The activities start again by 16:00 hrs. Shops and other establishments wash their front area and make rangolis (design to welcome the guests) and arrange the products they are selling. 

The evenings become more interesting when the Gods are out on a palanquin (handheld carrier). The procession goes up and down the street with 4-6 people playing the percussion instruments and some Pandits reciting some mantras. The entourage stops only at places where people are ready waiting with their Puja Thalis.

Every room or house in the vicinity belongs to these Pandits, who keep performing different kinds of special puja for the specific needs of the devotees.

The place buzzing with activities makes it quite an intriguing town and also gives it a unique character.

The place where we were staying became a smoking adda (a place where people congregate) in the evening, for many backpackers. The reason was that the place was clean and had enough space for tourists to sit in the open and sip their tea and catch up with other fellow travellers. 

The Car Street in Gokarna was the best place to stay as it had all facilities. The other 'exotic' places where we had done the booking turned out to be in the secluded areas around the beach. Ans most of them were shacks with shared bathrooms. Locating those accommodations would have been a real task on the night we had arrived. 

We made full use of the scooter and drove to other beaches named, Om, Kudle, Half Moon, Small Hell, God's Own, Belekan, Nirvana, Shiva beach and many more - the heaven for tourists, especially backpackers. 

Incidentally, Kudle beach happens to be the birthplace of Hanuman (the Indian monkey God) where, apart from two signs which say so, there is no trace of any temple or any religious activity. 

These neat and clean beaches serve a whole sky to tourists for their enjoyments - playing in water outside water, swimming, walking, jogging, yoga on the beach - one can follow one's imagination for relaxation and enjoyment. There are cafes and restaurants all around, which also offer rooms for stay. 

Slowly we discovered that the whole town can be covered by hiking and walking from one beach to the other and from one cafe to the next one. 

The restaurants serve everything - from fish, pork and chicken to beer, whiskey and rum. The plus point is that there are no taxes since all activities on any of the Gokarna beaches are illegal, yet there are no disputes and no chaos. It seemed like religious people and people involved in tourism trade have come to a pact - not to interfere with each other and let both of them earn their living through their own means. 

In our eight days of stay, I did not see even a single policemen minding either the traffic of millions of devotees who visit the place or the thousands of tourists who frequent the destination.

 It seemed like things moved in Gokarna with some divine intervention.

 

 

Mesmerising !

Watching Kathakali (story play) performance - the native dance of Kerala - the God's own country, in India - can be an experience of a life time.

There are many tourist places in Kerala, where special shows of Kathakali are organised for people interested in art and culture of the state.

Having a leisurely holiday in Fort Kochi this December, I  also decided to experience it.

On the advice of our lovely host at the homestay, I booked the show.

While booking the tickets, my original thought was to give my friends from Europe, travelling with us, a surprise gift; and open a window for them from where they can get a glimpse of Indian culture.

However , it turned out to be a memorable experience for me as well.

The two and half hour show started with the make up art that plays a huge role in kathakali - a ballet dance form native to Kerala state.  

I always thought the Kathakali dancers wore huge colourful masks, but I was wrong. It is the intricately done make up that takes about two hours to metamorph the artistes and there are no masks.

Even the swollen jawline that gives the impression of a mask is arduously cut paper strips stuck to the jaw.

The colours used on artistes' faces are all organic derived from various stone that after rubbing on another stone produce colours such as red, yellow and black. 

Each colour has its own significance. Green denotes goodness, white simplicity, black demon, and so on.

Kathakali dance can be compared to ballet or opera in which the actors narrate a story. The training for the dance form is rigorous and goes on for at least six years before the artistes learns the art of talking without even opening their mouths.

Kathakali performer do not speak when performing but narrate the whole story through the gestures and expressions. 

The house was full and the make up was complete after about an hour. The men , yes the artistes are generally men , were ready in their new avataars. 

Then came the guru (master) who apprised us about the nuances of this age-old tradition of story telling. He familiarised the audience with the importance of eye movement in Kathakali and the gestures for different dialogues. 

One of the artistes came on the stage and demonstrated all those movements under the guidance of the guru. 

Finally , it was time for the performance. The intricate makeup and paint on their faces, huge and glittery headgears and dramatic frock style dress with tutu and layers of scarves around their neck created a enigmatic scenario on the stage.

Since the story acript had already been handed over to us, it was easy for novices like me to grasp the story.

The time flew - two and half hours were over without us realising it. We were all sitting mesmerised and in trance still trying to get the overwhelming experience seep in.

A few glimpses that I could catch are here to share the bewitching experience that I had. 

The Maharaja experience of Air India

Some people feel travelling by Indian national carrier Air India is comfortable and nationalistic. The government servants are forced to travel by Air India. They love it simply because they don't have to pay or it.

I generally travel by other low cost carriers like Indigo, Vistara or Spice Jet because I normally have to pay for my tickets, unless it is work related.

However, unfortunately I reserved Air India this time for my personal trip this time. And no guesses , I had a nightmarish time !

It started a day before my flight. I tried to check in through Air India mobile app and I was not surprised that it crashed every time I clicked  on check in, the app would crash.

After wasting more than half an hour for a job, which I am able to accomplish on Indigo app in less than a minute, I failed to check in.

Scratching my head,  I tried calling the customer  care, which I was fortunate enough to connect after an hour. I at least could get my seats blocked.

Before I could celebrate my successful mission, I received a text from Air India that my connecting flight has been rescheduled. It meant I needed to change my first flight in order to be able to catch the other one. 

Another nightmarish time started when I tried to call the customer care, again. Anyway, another flight was booked. However she said she would not be able to email me the new ticket but I can get it at the check in counter.

The customer care executive warned me to reach the airport two hour on advance because of this flight change. I, being a nervous traveller, followed her instruction. And she was right ! 

What I went through at the check in was hilarious, ridiculous or it can be termed irritating as well. 

The Air India counters were at utter chaos, and it did not surprise me. The staff was giving stickers to every passenger to stick it on their bags after writing their name, address, phone number, email id etc etc. 

People started following the instructions. They would peel the sticky paper, stick the sticker on to their bags and throw the peel anywhere on the floor. No one guided them and they kept littering the whole area. These stickers started to fall off by the time the luggage was put on the carrier. 

There was confusion at its best. 

Our turn came and the flight change was enough to baffle the young man sitting at the counter. After struggling for about 15-20 minutes, he had to call the floor manager 'Madame Anju' - a small-framed lady with a feisty temperament. 

Throwing her problem over us, she asked the young man to give us the boarding pass for just one sector and go through fresh check in for the second sector, to which we put our foot down.

The normal practice is that when one books a long flight wih a break, one gets two boarding passes and the luggage is booked to the final destination.  Air India wanted its passengers to suffer due to its competencies.

We stood for our rights and demanded two boarding passes. The struggle on their part continued. The customers behind us started feeling jittery and the manager was also called to rescue the young executive and the fiery lady.  

Eventually, we were given the two boarding passes. 

However, yet again Air India did not give me a chance to feel victorious. I got a text that my connecting flight has been rescheduled to its previous time, thus increasing my waiting time to 2 hours.  We had to get up at 5 in the morning only because of this rescheduling and now once again we were back to square one. 

So, this was the Maharaja (princely) experience for us in our very own Indian airlines Air India 

The Indian way of air travel

Off late, I have been travelling a lot for work and getting ample opportunities to objectively observe the behaviour of fellow passengers.

Having studied psychology, I anyway enjoy observing people.

Today, I was compelled to write after my short but torturous 55-minute journey from Delhi to Lucknow via Indigo.

I am lucky to get a vacant seat next to me most of the times. However, today it seems, was not my day. A rather healthy man (can't say fat or those who are bulky will mind) was stuffed in the middle seat.

First, I wanted to ask him to spare some of my space, which his obese bulges were invariably occupying, but soon I decided otherwise. I started observing him.

He sat as if he was the king. While I shrank (even with my kind of slender physique) towards the window, whereas the poor passenger sitting on the isle seat crossed his hands close to his chest.

Now this guy in the middle rested his hands on both the arm rests. With a smirk on his face, he looked victorious and I am sure he must have felt comfortable.

Expectig courstesy may have been asking for too much!

55 minutes passed and by this time I was feeling amused by the little pleasures of my co-passenger. I had decided that I have to share this experience with my friends at large.

Meanwhile, the flight landed. The wheels of the plane touched the ground with a thud sound, which got lost in the clink-clank of unfastening the seat belts.

Indians have a few funny habits, especially when travelling by air. Their unrestricted souls force them to not wear seat belts when they are driving on the road. And the same free soul compels them to unfasten their seat belts the moment the aircraft touches the ground.

Another funny habit - Indians can't survive without staring at their phones every two second. However, they leave all their important calls, especially related to business and work, for the take off and landing.

All the million dollar deals are done just before their flight is taking off and the airhostess is shouting her lungs out to switch off the mobile phones.

The phone seems to be linked to their heart beats. They start making calls the moment they start getting signals at the rimw of landing.

The clink clank of seat belt, and the chorus of 'hello' 'hello' 'where are you' are so synchronised that if it is quiet in any journey , I will feel suspicious and weird.

Now, even the airhostesses have given up and they don't react to this actions, which comes to these passengers involuntarily.

By the time the plane reached the bay, barring me and a couple of other lazy ones, all the passengers were standing with their luggage in their hands.

Yes, they had already opened the overhead bins and taken out their huge over size bags; and were waiting to get out of that jail. Some of them had already started pushing others because they wanted to be the first one to get out.

Anyway the doors open and the steps were arranged and by this time many passengers were at the door.

Now, the shuttle came to ferry people to the arrival lounge and in a hurry to get back to their business, again there was a race to take the first bus. At least 50 people were already in the bus like sardines, hanging till the door.

Waiting for the next shuttle is so not VIP like! Isn't it !

(If there is any award for those who get out of the plane first and get the first shuttle and then get the first trolley and reach the conveyor belt first,  no one will be able to beat Indians).

So,  we 10 people were the last one to take the last shuttle. We sat lazily in the bus and reached the arival lounge only to find those who were rushing, to have been desperately waiting for the luggage to start coming in. 

Of course, those who know the value of time, were standing at the point where the luggage pops out of the conveyor belt with their trolleys blocking the way for others.

Meanwhile, standing on the other side of the belt (the less privileged one) I spotted my luggage and walked out, while some of those who were the first to get out of the plane were still waiting !

PS: It is just a candid observation (check the photos which I took when the plane had not even reached the bay), so please friends don't take any offence.

My Muse in Chhatisgarh...

I had been looking forward to travelling to Chhatisgarh state as this was my first visit to this part of India.

Due to busy schedule of work I couldn't see the beautiful surroundings but remained restricted to the city area. I was a bit disappointed but soon I consoled myself with a promise to be back solely for tourism purpose.

However, during the work I found my muse - Lakhi Narain Sahu Lemon Tea Wale (Lakhi Narain Sahu who sells lemon tea) at the City Central Mall.

This is no ordinary tea that Lakhi had been selling for more than 7 years. It is a special Masala (spicy) Lemon Tea.

One sip and it felt like I am having haajmola (tablets made of a variety of herbs and spices to help digestion). I couldn't refrain myself from asking Lakhi what he uses in the tea.

The liat was long and it had almost everything what my mother used to put in Buknu (an old Indian spicy powder for good digestion , which is now becoming extinct).

He boasted that his tea was no ordinary drink but a health drink and Lakhi charges a high price keeping the raretity in mind. One miniscule plastic cup for 10 Rs.

A seasoned salesman he keeps the Masala , he uses for tea, ready to sell the moment a customer praises his tea. The small packet of Masala coats 50 Rs. 

Lakhi , an easy tea seller doesn't sit at the Raipur Railway Station as he says there he would get lot of men (he meant cops) who would want his tea for free.

"Even a dig would want my tea for free," he says. So he is happy to sell less but to class customers who understand the beauty of his tea and can savour the taste and are ready to pay for his unique recipe.
I was so enamoured by Lakhi that I had to get his permission to photograph him. Poor guy ,he was flummoxed when I asked him if I can take his photo. Fumbling , he said I don't know.   So I showed him my mobile camera and explained.

So,  he posed and then asked me to show hoq he looks. Happy with the result, he smiled and I smiled too as I was happy with my muse. I left the place with a promise to have his tea next time whenever I am in Raipur. I also told him to give him some publicity by sharing his work on all social sites.

So please guys and gals make sure that you have this special lemon tea by Lakhi if you happen to be in Raipur. And also give him loads of like so that we can promote our very own organic tea!

The Taxi Tale

Mention Kolkata and the first thing comes to mind is yellow Ambassador taxis. Perhaps, this is the only place in India where Ambassador cars are used as taxis.

I landed in Kolkata today. I could have taken radio taxi. The airport is full of those posh counters for air conditioned taxis. But I consciously settled for Kolkata's signature transport.

The counter read, Pre-paid Taxi - Kolkata Police. I thought its safe and interesting!

So the ride began....

It was pouring outside. And the driver was reluctant to pull the windows down to let me get some air. So I insisted, and he relented.

After using the electronic button for 10 years to pull down the car windows, it was fun for me to try the rusted handle. I opened my window at the back also. Water was coming inside from the windows which were down.

Then I realised that the driver was not using the wipers, though it was chucking down. I asked if they are working - a quiet man, he just shook his head. After a while he turned on the wipers. The wipers started moving in slow motion. They made no difference to the cats and dogs falling on the windscreen.

I had decided to have this ride with all my awareness.

I noticed that at each traffic light, he switched off the ignition, irrespective the stop was for less than half a minute. The reason I could not understand.

So I heard each sound and analysed it. Every time he shifted the gear, it made a cranky sound. When he started the ignition, I could feel as if the whole chassis had been shaken. The reverse gear was the worst for which he could manage after 4-5 attempts.

The interiors of the taxi were more or less similar to those of black and yellow Premier Padminis which we see on congested Mumbai roads. The glove box had a huge pad lock. There was a hole where the music was supposed to be. Each panel of the door had the vehicle registration number painted crudely on it.
 
Simply in love with these yellow monsters, I asked the driver if the construction of metro (not the famous Calcutta Tube but the sky train) would affect this business, he, with his expressionless face, just shook his head, which I could not make out was for yes or no.

So this quiet driver misses the turn where I had to get off and we had to take an extra km to drop me at y destination. When the car came to a halt, with a lot of gurgling and shaking, the driver speaks now: "madame will you not give me anything as we had to take a long way to come here?"

In normal circumstances, I wouldn't have given anything thinking I have already paid for my ride. But since the ride was so amusing and I enjoyed it thoroughly, I decided to make his day. I paid him 100 Rs. only for the reason that he had made my day with a memorable ride!    

    

Kite Runner by Khaled Husseini

Kite Runner by Khaled Husseini

 It is a story about guilt, regret, repentance, war, devastation, love, innocence, jealousy, and various human emotions.

Set up in the backdrop of a culturally rich Afghanistan, Kite Runner is the tale narrated by a little boy who grows in an affluent environment.

Amir admires his father who is a rich and courageous man, respected in his community. However, Amir does not get the kind of encouragement he expected from his father. The father loved Hasan, the son of their servant equally. Sometimes he had more praises for Hasan than for Amir. The father found Amir too timid and wanted him to become as brave as Hasan.

Both Amir and Hasan grow up in Kabul flying kites and playing together in pomegranate orchards. While Amir would fly kites deftly, Hasan would run to get the kites he brought down.

On one occasion, which was a big kite festival in Kabul, Amir wins by cutting the last kite in the sky. For him, this victory was more important as it gave him a chance to earn respect in his father’s eyes.

Father did appreciate Amir’s achievement.

Exhilarated, Amir asks Hasan to bring the last kite that he had cut. Hasan runs. When he does not return for long, Amir goes to look for him. What he sees shocks him. Amir freezes. Another rich kid of mixed race is sodomising Hasan while rich kid’s friends were watching and holding Hasan.

It was revenge. In the past, this rich kid had tried to bully Amir but couldn’t succeed as Hasan stood as a wall. The rich kid felt humiliated and vouched to teach Hasan a lesson.

Shock freezes Amir. He wants to save Hasan but is unable to dare.

Amir comes back to his father and pretends to be unaware of what Hasan has gone through. His life with guilt starts from this day.

Hasan goes into his shell. He wants to recreate the relation he shared with Amir but fails.

Amir does things to get rid of his guilt. He quietly gives all his money and an expensive watch, which his father had given him as a birthday present.

Father finds out and, thinking all the gifts were stolen, asks Hasan and his father to leave the house.

Time passes. Amir is happy to get undivided attention of his father but dwells in guilt when alone.

Afghanistan sees the emergence of Taliban. Soon, there is exodus. Amir and his father also leave.

They end up taking refuge in the US. Life changes its course.

Amir’s father works hard and sends son to good school. Amir becomes a writer and marries an Afghani girl Soraya, settled in the US.

Father dies. Amir and Soraya are unable to have children. Amir thinks it is a curse and God’s way of telling him what he deserves for not coming to the rescue of Hasan.

After father’s death, Amir receives a letter from his father’s best and closest friend Ali. The letter had another shock waiting for Amir.

After the death of Amir’s mother, his father had slept with Servant’s wife, who gave birth to Hasan.

Father also lived in guilt and therefore tried to give all those comforts and material things what he gave to Amir. What he couldn’t give Hasan was dignity and the family name.

Ali in his letter asks Amir to go to Afghanistan and bring Hasan’s son to put him in some orphanage. Hasan’s parents have been killed by Taliban.

Amir goes back to Afghanistan and sees Hasan’s son is serving as one of the objects for a militant, who is the same rich boy who had sodomised Hasan.

After much torture and violence, Amir is able to bring Hasan’s son to Pakistan.

Thinking that this may be the chance to repent on what he did to Hasan, Amir now wants to adopt his son. Fighting too many legal battles, he takes Hasan’s son to the US.

It takes long for Hasan’s son to adjust to a new and normal life but eventually he does smile!

(The way the story has been narrated is amazing. I felt transported to Afghanistan, Pakistan, and to the US as well. I lived every emotion with the characters. I cried in their pain and smiled in their happiness. It turned out to be the best-written books I may have read so far. I was compelled to write, though it may spoil the reading pleasure of those who have not read the book and want to read it now)