All of us at some point or the other have been refused to be taken to our destination by an auto – rude and uncooperative behavior by the airline staff – extremely bad service in the restaurant – felt totally cheated when we went to a resort based on their website –we were molested for no reason and so on - the list is endless. In these circumstances, an individual is left high and dry to sort out the mess all by himself without any support from any quarter. All that one can do is to fight for your rights alone. There is absolutely no guarantee that your efforts will pay dividends. In the end you give up not because of lack of conviction – but due to host of other reasons- shortage of time, lengthy legal process, bureaucracy – very tough opposition etc.
The other day the doctors at the AIIMS went on strike to protest against bodily harm from patients and their supporters. In Bangalore the autos went off road to pressurize the government to increase the minimum fare, the sweepers decide to hold the city to ransom by resorting to ‘down with brooms’, the bus drivers stop driving buses – everybody wants to stop doing whatever they are doing and hurt the person on the street -POS .
People who can protest and make their fair or false grievances felt with utmost impact are the ones who have their own association, group, union or forum.
What can the POS do to project their problems? – They can collect all their problems and keep it safely in the store and wait for the next general election thinking they will vote for a party which is responsive to their needs. By now we have understood that all parties are the same but with different names. Waiting for the elections, then voting for a different party has not solved any of our problems.
The ‘Meter Jam’ – boycott of autos in Mumbai was a very innovative and novel way of registering POS protest. The response on ground may not have been great but it certainly increased the awareness. Using electronic channels, web and social networks such as Face Book and Twitter, the campaign was able to reach a very huge audience – more importantly it reached the educated- tech savvy – employed – urban youth – the society which matters and which has the ability to enforce change in the way common people live. The ‘Meter Jam’ campaign is a very powerful tool capable of providing justice to the common people. The campaign has the potential of becoming the next ‘Dandi March’
Electronic channels, web and social networks such as Face Book and Twitter has now become our association and ‘Meter Jam’ the tool to register our protest. For the first time we have a with us a very powerful tool to seek justice and set things right.
With this success let us STRIKE back not only at the autos but all forms of injustice affecting common people and the person on the street.
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Marriage of Children – Whose Problem is it Anyway
My dear friend Dharwadkar is a very worried man. Come to think of it there is no need for him to worry at all. He is financially well of, with a regular pension, own house, working spouse, reasonably good health and above all both his sons are working in reputed firms. You may then ask me what is worrying him. I have a theory – Mind has a 1” box which has to remain full all the time with worries. Just when you think all the worries have been attended to and the box is empty, it gets filled up again with some other worry. Dharwadkar – DK for short spelt ‘Decay’ was unusually depressed and worried after his return from his home town – which incidentally happens to be Dharwad. His main worry is to find a bride for his elder son who is working in a reputed MNC in US and has an MS and MBA under his belt. I thought for a moment, why a boy with excellent education and a good job should find it difficult to get a life partner.
Looking back – meaning my generation – we became eligible – coming of age – a good catch - so to say in the mid seventies. I don’t think we had much difficulty in finding partners. One by one all of us got married – bore children and in due course have also become grand fathers. We gave no reason to our parents to worry about. So I cannot say how parents feel when, one’s offspring does not tie the knot on time. A friend of mine came very close to causing some degree of discomfort to his aged parents when they found out that he was still a bachelor and reaching the thirties. His mother a very strong woman with great persuasive skills one day called him and very frankly told him “my dear own blood and bones, time has come to say ‘I Do’ and you better say it quick or else you will end up as an abandoned road side bull, aimlessly wandering and grazing new pasture every day. The thought of becoming an aimless bull was too much for my dear friend, who then acted swiftly and found a mate.
In our days there were two kinds of marriages – ‘Love’ and ‘Arranged’. Even today it has remained the same.
Going back to Decay – I normally listen to his woes without offering any unsolicited advice except to say yes, no, grunt, yawn, scratch here or there etc to help him continue his narrative of the day. This morning while exercising one’s body, mind and soul, I somehow felt a strong urge to take this bull by the horn (not my friend who was about to become an aimless bull) and get to the bottom of his problem. To my great astonishment I found that dear Decay had done what all was required of the Marriage Blue Book- They had put ads in all the matrimonial sites, contacted their kith and kin, given their requirement to the traditional match makers, temple priests were told – you name it Decay had done it. Mind you this colossal effort has been in place from the last two years without yielding any result. The reasons are I suppose well documented – boy does not like the girl, girl does not like the boy, she is not fair, too smart for me, comes from a different background, too short, too tall, gotra does not match and so on.
What has so drastically changed in the last 35 years making the institution of marriage so different – meaning, why has it become difficult to find a mate either through L or A.
Amongst my friends and acquaintances there are a number of similar instances where in, their children have not been able to find suitable life partners. The boys and girls in question are highly educated, well employed, attractive and charming. When compared with us, ‘Generation – Today’ - grew up in a more open and liberal society and they were mostly left to themselves to conduct their day to day activities. Parental influence and guidance was there but limited. The society gave them more opportunities to interact with the opposite sex.They grew up in age of options and choices and still made good decisions. Surprisingly, when it comes to the all important decision of marriage – they dither, stall and delay.
Talking about L marriage – I simply cannot understand why some children cannot find suitable mates within their area of interaction. Is it that, they do not know what they want or their expectations are so high and idealistic that it becomes extremely difficult to find a mate. Does ‘Generation – Today’ think that they will lose their independence and identity if they were to say yes to M. In an age of instant food, quick fixes and frequent job hopping is there an unconscious resistance to long term commitment and relationships. May be as young children the life was in fast forward and they had very little time to sit back and reflect on their way of life. So when they finally slow down, they learn that the life they were leading and the life they want to lead are at variance and this revelation affects all aspects of life including selection of a suitable mate. Whatever the case may be these youngsters hem and haw when it comes to marriage.
Some youngsters prefer A marriage from the word go – either due to parental pressure or own accord. Those who did not succeed in L marriage at some point of time agree to go the A way. There are a number of hurdles to be crossed in this route also. As the children are busy, the task of progressing the A marriage is conveniently left to the parents, who in turn rely on traditional sources to find a match. When perceptions of the parents and that of children differ, matchmaking turns into a nightmare. I know a case where the parents are busy finding a girl with good ‘D in L’ like qualities. Each time they find someone suitable it turns out that their son is not interested. It’s almost a year and they are yet to find a right match.
Parents and the children should know that marriage is similar to catching a running train – with every passing minute the train is gaining speed and the other party is losing ground. With age, the window of opportunity becomes smaller and choices gets narrowed down .The competition gets too severe.
It’s high time someone gave advice to both parents and the children – may be a marriage councilor who can take a dispassionate view and render good practical advice.
Till such time this vexing problem is resolved people like Decay will continue to be worried and spend sleepless nights.
Looking back – meaning my generation – we became eligible – coming of age – a good catch - so to say in the mid seventies. I don’t think we had much difficulty in finding partners. One by one all of us got married – bore children and in due course have also become grand fathers. We gave no reason to our parents to worry about. So I cannot say how parents feel when, one’s offspring does not tie the knot on time. A friend of mine came very close to causing some degree of discomfort to his aged parents when they found out that he was still a bachelor and reaching the thirties. His mother a very strong woman with great persuasive skills one day called him and very frankly told him “my dear own blood and bones, time has come to say ‘I Do’ and you better say it quick or else you will end up as an abandoned road side bull, aimlessly wandering and grazing new pasture every day. The thought of becoming an aimless bull was too much for my dear friend, who then acted swiftly and found a mate.
In our days there were two kinds of marriages – ‘Love’ and ‘Arranged’. Even today it has remained the same.
Going back to Decay – I normally listen to his woes without offering any unsolicited advice except to say yes, no, grunt, yawn, scratch here or there etc to help him continue his narrative of the day. This morning while exercising one’s body, mind and soul, I somehow felt a strong urge to take this bull by the horn (not my friend who was about to become an aimless bull) and get to the bottom of his problem. To my great astonishment I found that dear Decay had done what all was required of the Marriage Blue Book- They had put ads in all the matrimonial sites, contacted their kith and kin, given their requirement to the traditional match makers, temple priests were told – you name it Decay had done it. Mind you this colossal effort has been in place from the last two years without yielding any result. The reasons are I suppose well documented – boy does not like the girl, girl does not like the boy, she is not fair, too smart for me, comes from a different background, too short, too tall, gotra does not match and so on.
What has so drastically changed in the last 35 years making the institution of marriage so different – meaning, why has it become difficult to find a mate either through L or A.
Amongst my friends and acquaintances there are a number of similar instances where in, their children have not been able to find suitable life partners. The boys and girls in question are highly educated, well employed, attractive and charming. When compared with us, ‘Generation – Today’ - grew up in a more open and liberal society and they were mostly left to themselves to conduct their day to day activities. Parental influence and guidance was there but limited. The society gave them more opportunities to interact with the opposite sex.They grew up in age of options and choices and still made good decisions. Surprisingly, when it comes to the all important decision of marriage – they dither, stall and delay.
Talking about L marriage – I simply cannot understand why some children cannot find suitable mates within their area of interaction. Is it that, they do not know what they want or their expectations are so high and idealistic that it becomes extremely difficult to find a mate. Does ‘Generation – Today’ think that they will lose their independence and identity if they were to say yes to M. In an age of instant food, quick fixes and frequent job hopping is there an unconscious resistance to long term commitment and relationships. May be as young children the life was in fast forward and they had very little time to sit back and reflect on their way of life. So when they finally slow down, they learn that the life they were leading and the life they want to lead are at variance and this revelation affects all aspects of life including selection of a suitable mate. Whatever the case may be these youngsters hem and haw when it comes to marriage.
Some youngsters prefer A marriage from the word go – either due to parental pressure or own accord. Those who did not succeed in L marriage at some point of time agree to go the A way. There are a number of hurdles to be crossed in this route also. As the children are busy, the task of progressing the A marriage is conveniently left to the parents, who in turn rely on traditional sources to find a match. When perceptions of the parents and that of children differ, matchmaking turns into a nightmare. I know a case where the parents are busy finding a girl with good ‘D in L’ like qualities. Each time they find someone suitable it turns out that their son is not interested. It’s almost a year and they are yet to find a right match.
Parents and the children should know that marriage is similar to catching a running train – with every passing minute the train is gaining speed and the other party is losing ground. With age, the window of opportunity becomes smaller and choices gets narrowed down .The competition gets too severe.
It’s high time someone gave advice to both parents and the children – may be a marriage councilor who can take a dispassionate view and render good practical advice.
Till such time this vexing problem is resolved people like Decay will continue to be worried and spend sleepless nights.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Bengaluru Days – Trip to Hogenakkal falls – Extreme Adventure
It was another uneventful evening at ‘Anadhi’resturant, some three by five coffee was lying on the table and the conversation was very routine. The usual crowd was there -Prasad popularly known as ‘Gudda”, Question Babu who is no more with us, G Srinivas to all Bangaloreans he is known as Kappanna, Erkatu Chandu who is also no more – we were generally relaxing after a tiring day at the college. A little later Sunder, VK Ramu, Ramaswamy and Seeni joined us and of course not to forget dear Santhanam. The conversation suddenly took a turn and Sunder was telling us about his class trip to Hogenakkal falls. 45 of them were leaving the next morning by bus to the falls.
One thing led to another and suddenly the tone and tenor of the conversation changed and the whole atmosphere was electric. I heard some one saying “how dare you say we cannot come to Hogenakkal falls” “if you don’t want to take us, we shall come on our own” some body said “its ok yar we will go some other time” how will you come, too far, too late and so on. The whole argument made no sense and stopped as abruptly as it had started and not before Gudda making a very bold and imaginative statement on behalf of all the non Hogenakkal goers “It’s a matter of honor,we will meet all of you chaps in Hogenakkal tomorrow morning; we will leave now on cycles”. The statement sounded like Mahatma telling his followers – let’s go to Dandi.It was alright for Mr MKG to make a statement of this nature – he had Birla house to support, hordes of Congress workers and in fact the whole nation was behind him. We had very little.
We had a lot to do – firstly find out the route to Hogenakkal, commandeer a cycle, gather some cash and finally concoct a story to be told to the parents. It was indeed a very tall order for a bunch of fifteen year olds, with Gudda and Babu standing tall at sixteen and a half. Within two hours, at about 8 PM in October 1964 –Gudda, Babu, Kappanna, Chandu and self were ready with our cycles for the great adventure. Even to this day I do not know how we all decided to embark on this misguided escapade - bordering on foolishness and utmost stupidity. May be it was sheer recklessness, sudden surge of adrenalin or youthful exuberance.
Just a bit about Hogenakkal. At Hogenakkal, the Kaveri, now a large river drops and creates numerous waterfalls as the water cuts through the rocky terrain. In places the water falls as much as 20 meters and sounds like continual thunder. Soon after the falls the river takes a Southerly
course and enters the Mettur reservoir. When the water falls on the rocks it appears as if hoge (smoke in Kannada) is emanating from the top of the kallu ( meaning rock ) because of the force of the water, hence Hogenakkal (smoking rocks). It is located in the Dharmapuri district of the southern Indian state of Tamil Nadu, about 130 KM from Bangalore
It was a journey in total darkness with our cycle headlamps making absolutely no impact on the road ahead.Gudda being a good singer kept us distracted from the task of endless peddling through his melodious voice. Babu regaled us with his many anecdotes and the task ahead looked a little easier. We constantly sought directions from the locals in the village shops which happened to be open at that point of time. Tea was another strength giver and morale booster. The places which have remained in my memory are Hosur, Palakodu, Dharmapuri and Pennaguram before reaching Hogenakkal.While we were making slow but steady progress, we saw Kappanna flash his torch on a mile stone and immediately switch it off. This suspicious and odd behavior attracted all our attention and we made him light the mile stone once again only to learn that the name of the village was ‘Karpalli’ – what an extraordinary coincidence. Remember having the mother of all breakfast at Pennaguram and very easily making the last 15 KM downhill through the winding roads to the falls. We reached the TB at around 11 AM and the college bus had already reached.
We had averaged almost 10 KM per hour for 13 hours, which was a remarkable feat by any standard. There was no wild cheering, garland or the media to welcome us. The whole afternoon was spent under the waterfall in the bathing area.
The water fall beautifully massages the body and all the fatigue of cycling was removed. It was time for the bus to depart and our dear friend Chandu decided to call it quits. After some deliberation Sunder decided to come back with us on the cycle. The rest of the day was spent amidst the various water falls and a ride in the coracle. Sun set in the forest is fascinating to watch, the sun suddenly disappears and the entire forest is covered in a blanket of darkness. With it comes the eerie silence of the forest and the nocturnal calls of various animals and birds.
After a peaceful and refreshing eight hours of sleep we started our journey back to Bangalore. The uphill 15 KM to Pennaguram was literally back breaking, that’s when we realized that we would have to climb from almost sea level to Bangalore at 3000 ft.Not a very encouraging thought. After a really hefty breakfast at Pennaguram we headed towards Dharmapuri.It was about this time we realised that the collective wealth could at best get us one round of very basic lunch and thereafter be officially declared pauper, bankcrupt, khaput.In the finance meeting that ensued after lunch, the newly joined member of the group Sunder cast some very serious doubts regarding the fiscal management exercised by Gudda.This led to a ‘cycle out’ similar to ‘walk out’ by Gudda, who decided to proceed on his own to Bangalore.
Almost exhausted and dying of thirst and hunger, in the middle of the afternoon we sighted an ‘Alemane’ - a Kannada term for a unit or home where jaggery is made. When we narrated our plight to the people in the Alemane, they took pity and instantly offered us Kabbina halu - sugarcane juice and thick jaggery juice. It was the most refreshing and energy boosting drink we could have had in that situation. Sufficiently charged with sugar in our blood we embarked on the second leg of our journey. Unlike the night trip the group got fragmented and separated by large distances between each rider. We could not keep an eye on each other and at one point Babu collapsed with exhaustion. The journey became even slower and requiring much more effort making it uphill.
By about 5 PM we reached a village shop, having no will or energy left to proceed ahead. The only good news was that Gudda had also stopped in the same village and had left a message that he would be waiting for us at Hosur.In this village we found a good Samaritan in the form of a jawan from MEG.He instantly took charge of the situation and invited us to the function at the village well wherein the local deities were being worshiped in order to bring rain. At the end we were served ‘Mudee’ – Raggi balls and saru- dal. When he learnt that we were all NCC cadets, his desire to help us went up another notch. He took us to his house and offered us freshly prepared Uppit and coffee. In the end he collected money from all the villagers and gave us 1Rs and 72 P in change for the journey ahead and for Gudda. In those days the amount was a princely sum, especially coming from a famished village badly in need of rains.
The spontaneous act of generosity on the part of the jawan is one thing none of us will ever forget. Sometimes I wonder if we were to come across someone in a similar situation in the city would we be forthcoming and unhesitatingly embrace fellow beings and shower them with milk of human kindness – my sincere answer is NO. The city has made us very selfish and we shiver to stare at adversity. We look at all strangers with suspicion and reaching out to the needy is the last thing on our minds. Life in the city is in an unnatural state of perpetual ‘fast forward’ leaving us with little or no time to sit back and see how others are faring.
Having thanked one and all profusely we commenced our journey to Hosur. By about 8 PM we reached Hosur and delighted to find Gudda sitting in the open verandah of a house. All bickering and misunderstandings were forgotten by the time we finished one round of hugging and greetings. Gudda had put to use his spare time to good use. He had approached a gentleman and had obtained his permission to spend the night in their open verandah. In the mean time he had befriended the children of the gentleman and told them his story, which was mainly about his hunger and desire to eat. Once again the act of kindness was in the fore. The lady of the house served us a very hearty but simple meal of rice and sambar.We spent the night with grand visions of Bangalore, home, hot bath, lunch and finally the much needed sleep on soft beds.
Early next morning, 1Rs and 72 P in change provided all of us with good breakfast and strength to undertake the last leg of our journey. We reached Wilson Garden Bangalore around 11AM where we were treated to bread and badam milk by Bheem Rao a classmate of ours.
By 1 PM I reached home. An audacious adventure came to a safe end after almost 65 hours of exicitement, anger, hope, frustration, camaraderie, achievement and a host of other emotions. After a hot bath followed by beet root sambar, rice and papad I went to sleep for many many hours still dreaming of Hogenakkal.
Sunder, Gudda and self have retired from the navy and settled down in Bangalore. We meet frequently and fondly remember the daring trip which all of us undertook to Hogenakkal.Looking back, we are truly amazed at the tenacity and determination exhibited by all of us.
The trip certainly qualifies as ‘Extreme Adventure’
One thing led to another and suddenly the tone and tenor of the conversation changed and the whole atmosphere was electric. I heard some one saying “how dare you say we cannot come to Hogenakkal falls” “if you don’t want to take us, we shall come on our own” some body said “its ok yar we will go some other time” how will you come, too far, too late and so on. The whole argument made no sense and stopped as abruptly as it had started and not before Gudda making a very bold and imaginative statement on behalf of all the non Hogenakkal goers “It’s a matter of honor,we will meet all of you chaps in Hogenakkal tomorrow morning; we will leave now on cycles”. The statement sounded like Mahatma telling his followers – let’s go to Dandi.It was alright for Mr MKG to make a statement of this nature – he had Birla house to support, hordes of Congress workers and in fact the whole nation was behind him. We had very little.
We had a lot to do – firstly find out the route to Hogenakkal, commandeer a cycle, gather some cash and finally concoct a story to be told to the parents. It was indeed a very tall order for a bunch of fifteen year olds, with Gudda and Babu standing tall at sixteen and a half. Within two hours, at about 8 PM in October 1964 –Gudda, Babu, Kappanna, Chandu and self were ready with our cycles for the great adventure. Even to this day I do not know how we all decided to embark on this misguided escapade - bordering on foolishness and utmost stupidity. May be it was sheer recklessness, sudden surge of adrenalin or youthful exuberance.
Just a bit about Hogenakkal. At Hogenakkal, the Kaveri, now a large river drops and creates numerous waterfalls as the water cuts through the rocky terrain. In places the water falls as much as 20 meters and sounds like continual thunder. Soon after the falls the river takes a Southerly
course and enters the Mettur reservoir. When the water falls on the rocks it appears as if hoge (smoke in Kannada) is emanating from the top of the kallu ( meaning rock ) because of the force of the water, hence Hogenakkal (smoking rocks). It is located in the Dharmapuri district of the southern Indian state of Tamil Nadu, about 130 KM from Bangalore It was a journey in total darkness with our cycle headlamps making absolutely no impact on the road ahead.Gudda being a good singer kept us distracted from the task of endless peddling through his melodious voice. Babu regaled us with his many anecdotes and the task ahead looked a little easier. We constantly sought directions from the locals in the village shops which happened to be open at that point of time. Tea was another strength giver and morale booster. The places which have remained in my memory are Hosur, Palakodu, Dharmapuri and Pennaguram before reaching Hogenakkal.While we were making slow but steady progress, we saw Kappanna flash his torch on a mile stone and immediately switch it off. This suspicious and odd behavior attracted all our attention and we made him light the mile stone once again only to learn that the name of the village was ‘Karpalli’ – what an extraordinary coincidence. Remember having the mother of all breakfast at Pennaguram and very easily making the last 15 KM downhill through the winding roads to the falls. We reached the TB at around 11 AM and the college bus had already reached.
We had averaged almost 10 KM per hour for 13 hours, which was a remarkable feat by any standard. There was no wild cheering, garland or the media to welcome us. The whole afternoon was spent under the waterfall in the bathing area.
The water fall beautifully massages the body and all the fatigue of cycling was removed. It was time for the bus to depart and our dear friend Chandu decided to call it quits. After some deliberation Sunder decided to come back with us on the cycle. The rest of the day was spent amidst the various water falls and a ride in the coracle. Sun set in the forest is fascinating to watch, the sun suddenly disappears and the entire forest is covered in a blanket of darkness. With it comes the eerie silence of the forest and the nocturnal calls of various animals and birds.After a peaceful and refreshing eight hours of sleep we started our journey back to Bangalore. The uphill 15 KM to Pennaguram was literally back breaking, that’s when we realized that we would have to climb from almost sea level to Bangalore at 3000 ft.Not a very encouraging thought. After a really hefty breakfast at Pennaguram we headed towards Dharmapuri.It was about this time we realised that the collective wealth could at best get us one round of very basic lunch and thereafter be officially declared pauper, bankcrupt, khaput.In the finance meeting that ensued after lunch, the newly joined member of the group Sunder cast some very serious doubts regarding the fiscal management exercised by Gudda.This led to a ‘cycle out’ similar to ‘walk out’ by Gudda, who decided to proceed on his own to Bangalore.
Almost exhausted and dying of thirst and hunger, in the middle of the afternoon we sighted an ‘Alemane’ - a Kannada term for a unit or home where jaggery is made. When we narrated our plight to the people in the Alemane, they took pity and instantly offered us Kabbina halu - sugarcane juice and thick jaggery juice. It was the most refreshing and energy boosting drink we could have had in that situation. Sufficiently charged with sugar in our blood we embarked on the second leg of our journey. Unlike the night trip the group got fragmented and separated by large distances between each rider. We could not keep an eye on each other and at one point Babu collapsed with exhaustion. The journey became even slower and requiring much more effort making it uphill.
By about 5 PM we reached a village shop, having no will or energy left to proceed ahead. The only good news was that Gudda had also stopped in the same village and had left a message that he would be waiting for us at Hosur.In this village we found a good Samaritan in the form of a jawan from MEG.He instantly took charge of the situation and invited us to the function at the village well wherein the local deities were being worshiped in order to bring rain. At the end we were served ‘Mudee’ – Raggi balls and saru- dal. When he learnt that we were all NCC cadets, his desire to help us went up another notch. He took us to his house and offered us freshly prepared Uppit and coffee. In the end he collected money from all the villagers and gave us 1Rs and 72 P in change for the journey ahead and for Gudda. In those days the amount was a princely sum, especially coming from a famished village badly in need of rains.
The spontaneous act of generosity on the part of the jawan is one thing none of us will ever forget. Sometimes I wonder if we were to come across someone in a similar situation in the city would we be forthcoming and unhesitatingly embrace fellow beings and shower them with milk of human kindness – my sincere answer is NO. The city has made us very selfish and we shiver to stare at adversity. We look at all strangers with suspicion and reaching out to the needy is the last thing on our minds. Life in the city is in an unnatural state of perpetual ‘fast forward’ leaving us with little or no time to sit back and see how others are faring.
Having thanked one and all profusely we commenced our journey to Hosur. By about 8 PM we reached Hosur and delighted to find Gudda sitting in the open verandah of a house. All bickering and misunderstandings were forgotten by the time we finished one round of hugging and greetings. Gudda had put to use his spare time to good use. He had approached a gentleman and had obtained his permission to spend the night in their open verandah. In the mean time he had befriended the children of the gentleman and told them his story, which was mainly about his hunger and desire to eat. Once again the act of kindness was in the fore. The lady of the house served us a very hearty but simple meal of rice and sambar.We spent the night with grand visions of Bangalore, home, hot bath, lunch and finally the much needed sleep on soft beds.
Early next morning, 1Rs and 72 P in change provided all of us with good breakfast and strength to undertake the last leg of our journey. We reached Wilson Garden Bangalore around 11AM where we were treated to bread and badam milk by Bheem Rao a classmate of ours.
By 1 PM I reached home. An audacious adventure came to a safe end after almost 65 hours of exicitement, anger, hope, frustration, camaraderie, achievement and a host of other emotions. After a hot bath followed by beet root sambar, rice and papad I went to sleep for many many hours still dreaming of Hogenakkal.
Sunder, Gudda and self have retired from the navy and settled down in Bangalore. We meet frequently and fondly remember the daring trip which all of us undertook to Hogenakkal.Looking back, we are truly amazed at the tenacity and determination exhibited by all of us.
The trip certainly qualifies as ‘Extreme Adventure’
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Art of Drinking
Consumption of alcohol – popularly known as ‘Drinking’ comes in many forms - social drinking, binge parties, pub hopping, cocktails, pre lunch drinks (popularly known as PLD in the navy), bouncing (popular in the Air Force where the juniors bounce on a senior officer at odd hours demanding a drink or two), and many more. In the navy drinks were a part of our life and we grew up accepting it as a social requriment.There were many who did not drink and yet formed a part of this society. As bachelors we enjoyed these parties a lot.
Alcohol may be man's worst enemy, but the bible says love your enemy.”
Frank Sinatra quotes (American Actor and Singer, 1915-1998)
At one point of time we all bid good bye to the wild bachelor days and embraced marriage. Matrimony has its share of very good things and not so good things. Some time after the honeymoon, the wife realises that her dear husband drinks. Some wives accept the reality and all is well for the dear husband. Some do not and that is where the trouble starts. Initially it comes as a surprise to her and soon develops into a rude shock. If the wife were to come from a non drinking family the shock is even greater. After many failed efforts on her part and broken promises on his part, she decides to exercise her powers of veto bestowed upon her by none other than Mr Manu (of 'Manava Dharma-Shastra’) himself. She says enough is enough and declares ‘Dry Days’ throughout the year. This is the biggest blow to the married man as he imagines the whole world collapsing in front of him, friends deserting, feeling of becoming a social taboo, a butt of all jokes and the rest. As time progresses he looses all confidence and in no time he is half his original self. Wives of lesser calibre impose a conditionality and an upper limit such as - ‘once a week’, ‘only on weekends’, ‘ not more than two’, ‘only with guests’, ‘not after 9 PM’and the list is endless
Just when the married man is about to accept his fate, the ‘Artful Dodger’ with his skill and cunning appears on the scene. He is a master who has successfully weathered the storm of dry days and come out totally wet. He has the distinction of converting drinking into fine art. He is full of practical advice and narrates a series of incidents of innovative methods of drinking. He tells the anxious married man to rest all his worries and listen to what he has to say.
The ‘Artful Dodger’ recalls –
As soon as the sun set, this officer from Kochi used to stand in his second floor balcony and invite any one passing by, to join him for a drink. Having overcome the condition imposed by his newly married wife - ‘only with guests’ with grace he would proceed to enjoy his drink. Just when you thought all the troubles of ‘Officer from Kochi’ were over the second condition would pop up - ‘not more than one’. The crafty OFK would pour neat whisky into one entire glass and nurse it the entire evening.
What about the gentleman who used to dodge ‘not more than two’ with utmost elegance. As soon as the drinks were served he would take a sip or two and leave the half filled glass on the table ensuring it was in full view of his wife and proceed inside to the bar to talk to the host. While talking, he would pour himself another drink in a separate glass named herein after as the ‘working glass as against the ‘show glass’ next to his wife. The show glass would be filled only twice the entire evening and the poor working glass would do over time like any other working class.
Once we went to a newly married friend’s house in the evening to be greeted with Aqua. Some minutes later the conversation practically died and there was no life left in any one. All were told to move to the table to start the dinner. The evening was full of surprises, first the aqua and then the disgusting looking dark coloured glasses and jug on the table. The friend took great pains in serving what we thought was water. The first sip revealed it was good old XXX pre mixed with water. To the utter disbelief and astonishment of the wife in question the conversation suddenly revived and the party reverberated on the table.
Charlie married late and he found shaking off his bachelor habits extremely difficult, they were sticking to him like barnacles. In the old days the navy observed what is known as ‘Make and Mend’ a tradition from the sail days when the sailors were given off on Wednesday afternoon to make and mend their clothes, sails etc. Over a period of time the MAM was utilised to meet other officers and interact. It provided an excellent platform to exchange ideas and sort out problems. To ensure, the interaction flowed freely, the MAM was accompanied with a glass of beer. At times, people got totally engrossed in their conversation and the beering continued late into the afternoon. Charlie thought it wise not to disclose this noble naval tradition to his young wife. He would go home late to be greeted by his wife who thought he had come early. This deception was indeed a double whammy.
Another hilarious incident took place in Mumbai when the husband entered the house with his friend quite late in the afternoon after a very satisfying MAM. Knowing that the end was near his appearance slowly started to resemble a jelly fish with no jelly inside. The wife having, no time measuring device in the house had dozed off only to wake up when the door bell rang. Thinking it was early afternoon the LOH offered the two some more beer. Who said life is not fair.
The other day I met my friend Dharwadkar who was very reluctant to strike any conversation which I found was totally against his grain. On enquiry I found that he was proceeding home to Smirnoff a glass or two – a perilous act on a weekday afternoon. Probing a little further as to how he mustered the required amount of courage to indulge in such an act, he astonished me by saying that it was safe. He found safety in numbers in the form of relatives who had arrived in his wife’s absence. His assumption was that he would not be subjected to breath analyser test in front of the guests. He is still alive and kicking.
Kumar and his brother with their respective wives were treated to dinner at the Tiffany by their parents. Kumar ordered a beer and his brother a whisky with ice and soda. The party went on very well and all enjoyed the evening very much. On returning home poor Kumar had to go through the third degree – the newly married wife said “you need to learn a lot from your elder brother – he not only took small drinks but diluted it with ice and soda and look at you - drinking the whole bottle by yourself”. This is sheer bad luck but what to do – we are like that only.
Alcohol may be man's worst enemy, but the bible says love your enemy.”Frank Sinatra quotes (American Actor and Singer, 1915-1998)
At one point of time we all bid good bye to the wild bachelor days and embraced marriage. Matrimony has its share of very good things and not so good things. Some time after the honeymoon, the wife realises that her dear husband drinks. Some wives accept the reality and all is well for the dear husband. Some do not and that is where the trouble starts. Initially it comes as a surprise to her and soon develops into a rude shock. If the wife were to come from a non drinking family the shock is even greater. After many failed efforts on her part and broken promises on his part, she decides to exercise her powers of veto bestowed upon her by none other than Mr Manu (of 'Manava Dharma-Shastra’) himself. She says enough is enough and declares ‘Dry Days’ throughout the year. This is the biggest blow to the married man as he imagines the whole world collapsing in front of him, friends deserting, feeling of becoming a social taboo, a butt of all jokes and the rest. As time progresses he looses all confidence and in no time he is half his original self. Wives of lesser calibre impose a conditionality and an upper limit such as - ‘once a week’, ‘only on weekends’, ‘ not more than two’, ‘only with guests’, ‘not after 9 PM’and the list is endless
Just when the married man is about to accept his fate, the ‘Artful Dodger’ with his skill and cunning appears on the scene. He is a master who has successfully weathered the storm of dry days and come out totally wet. He has the distinction of converting drinking into fine art. He is full of practical advice and narrates a series of incidents of innovative methods of drinking. He tells the anxious married man to rest all his worries and listen to what he has to say.
The ‘Artful Dodger’ recalls –
As soon as the sun set, this officer from Kochi used to stand in his second floor balcony and invite any one passing by, to join him for a drink. Having overcome the condition imposed by his newly married wife - ‘only with guests’ with grace he would proceed to enjoy his drink. Just when you thought all the troubles of ‘Officer from Kochi’ were over the second condition would pop up - ‘not more than one’. The crafty OFK would pour neat whisky into one entire glass and nurse it the entire evening.
What about the gentleman who used to dodge ‘not more than two’ with utmost elegance. As soon as the drinks were served he would take a sip or two and leave the half filled glass on the table ensuring it was in full view of his wife and proceed inside to the bar to talk to the host. While talking, he would pour himself another drink in a separate glass named herein after as the ‘working glass as against the ‘show glass’ next to his wife. The show glass would be filled only twice the entire evening and the poor working glass would do over time like any other working class.
Once we went to a newly married friend’s house in the evening to be greeted with Aqua. Some minutes later the conversation practically died and there was no life left in any one. All were told to move to the table to start the dinner. The evening was full of surprises, first the aqua and then the disgusting looking dark coloured glasses and jug on the table. The friend took great pains in serving what we thought was water. The first sip revealed it was good old XXX pre mixed with water. To the utter disbelief and astonishment of the wife in question the conversation suddenly revived and the party reverberated on the table.
Charlie married late and he found shaking off his bachelor habits extremely difficult, they were sticking to him like barnacles. In the old days the navy observed what is known as ‘Make and Mend’ a tradition from the sail days when the sailors were given off on Wednesday afternoon to make and mend their clothes, sails etc. Over a period of time the MAM was utilised to meet other officers and interact. It provided an excellent platform to exchange ideas and sort out problems. To ensure, the interaction flowed freely, the MAM was accompanied with a glass of beer. At times, people got totally engrossed in their conversation and the beering continued late into the afternoon. Charlie thought it wise not to disclose this noble naval tradition to his young wife. He would go home late to be greeted by his wife who thought he had come early. This deception was indeed a double whammy.
Another hilarious incident took place in Mumbai when the husband entered the house with his friend quite late in the afternoon after a very satisfying MAM. Knowing that the end was near his appearance slowly started to resemble a jelly fish with no jelly inside. The wife having, no time measuring device in the house had dozed off only to wake up when the door bell rang. Thinking it was early afternoon the LOH offered the two some more beer. Who said life is not fair.
The other day I met my friend Dharwadkar who was very reluctant to strike any conversation which I found was totally against his grain. On enquiry I found that he was proceeding home to Smirnoff a glass or two – a perilous act on a weekday afternoon. Probing a little further as to how he mustered the required amount of courage to indulge in such an act, he astonished me by saying that it was safe. He found safety in numbers in the form of relatives who had arrived in his wife’s absence. His assumption was that he would not be subjected to breath analyser test in front of the guests. He is still alive and kicking.
Kumar and his brother with their respective wives were treated to dinner at the Tiffany by their parents. Kumar ordered a beer and his brother a whisky with ice and soda. The party went on very well and all enjoyed the evening very much. On returning home poor Kumar had to go through the third degree – the newly married wife said “you need to learn a lot from your elder brother – he not only took small drinks but diluted it with ice and soda and look at you - drinking the whole bottle by yourself”. This is sheer bad luck but what to do – we are like that only.
The ‘Artful dodger’ has given all the married men enough ideas to get by the hurdles of marriage.
This blog is not to belittle the fair sex but to look at life through a wine glass. Cheers!!!
This blog is not to belittle the fair sex but to look at life through a wine glass. Cheers!!!
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Navy Days - The Influential Khalifa
In early December 1990 I reached New Delhi to take up my appointment in Naval Head Quarters. Heavy East winds had already started to blow over NHQ. On reporting, I was allotted accommodation at the Naval Officers Mess, Kotah House situated in the exclusive South Delhi area of Pandara on Shahjahan road. The Kotah House from the outside gave an appearance of all royalty and splendour but the insides were in dire need of repairs.Kotah House had been declared a heritage building by the government and as a result no repair could be carried out by the navy. The main building housed the state rooms and a few VVIP quarters. However the bulk of the accommodation was located around the main building and was affectionately referred to as the ‘Stable’. Originally they were the stables of the Maharaja of Kota.
On completion of all the in coming routine I was allotted a cabin in the stable. I collected the keys and approached the cabin with great anticipation as it would be my abode for the next one year. After depositing the luggage in the main room I decided to inspect my quarters in greater detail only to find that the rear door had only one part and the other was missing. Further scrutiny revealed that two windows and one ventilator also had left this cabin very long time back along with the stable boys of Kota. The cabin gave me a feeling of being ‘Outdoors’ while being ‘Indoors’. One night of this ‘Indoor cum Outdoor’ arrangement was sufficient to cause a severe nervous break down even amongst the toughest of sea goers.
The next morning I had to be literally thawed and then woken up by the civilian bearer Manga Ram to give me a cup of tea. There were more surprises in the offing. I noticed a long time resident cat occupying the spare bed with authority and confidence and giving me ‘you are the intruder’ look. To add to my woes, I found the geyser was not functioning. The icing on the cake came in the form of extremely dull lighting and an over cast sky.
I said to myself that god had played a trick on me and everything would be normal in due course. That’s when the door bell rang. The mess Khalifa had arrived to give me a haircut. Khalifas if you have noticed have an uncanny knack of striking conversation and keeping you engrossed in their narration. They have many interesting stories, anecdotes, galley rumours, gossip to tell. I had once the privilege of having my hair cut by a Khalifa who was also a potential movie script writer. That was in 1971 on board INS Kavarati. There was no way one could escape the narration as the cutting went in tandem. If you stopped paying attention or did not ask relevant questions he would stop the cutting and hold you in ransom.
In a very short period of time the Kota Khalifa had presented his credentials and was busy clipping away. As any long time resident of Delhi would do, the Khalifa also narrated the names of all the VVIPs he knew and how he was their trusted hair stylist and cutter. He also made a very important policy statement which came naturally to him being in Delhi for many years – he said “make no mistake, in spite of knowing all the big wigs of Delhi, I treat every one from “Sentry to Mantri” alike. If my hands were not caught in the sheet which covered me, I would have clapped endlessly in admiration. As the cutting finished and entered into the head massage phase, we touched upon various national issues and finally settled down to long discussion on mechanics of work. Under the influence of massage one kept agreeing to what ever he said and he always had the last say. The discussion ended when he said “Sahib, there is no work in the fouj” unable to grasp this complex Aristotleish statement I sought more clarification to which he said “Sahib, work should have a start and finish point without which it can neither commence nor end, Fouj me kam kabhi start huva khabi katham hoga kissiko pathanahi”. I really do not know with what purport he told me this philosophical statement, but it did leave me unnerved for a long time – was all my work aimless?
Having reached the payment phase the conversation also became lighter and more down to earth. He enquired if I had settled down in my cabin. All my pent up anger came out and PG Woodhouse would have said, to quote “He was like a bottle with full of fizz not interested in who uncorked the bottle, as long as there was a chance for the fizz to come out”. I fizzed forth all my complaints to the barber.
The hair cut and massages session ended and I tipped the Khalifa more than usual, fully knowing that barbers are very influential and well connected people and the most important thing in Delhi is to be connected. While packing up his instruments he casually asked “Sahib, where did you come from” and I said “Vizag”.He suddenly stopped what ever barbers do after a hair cut and became very attentive and posed the next question “Are you with the bade Sahib” meaning the Chief of Naval Staff designate who also happened to come from Vizag.I gave him a smile but no answer. The all knowing, influential and philosopher Khalifa departed saying “Samajgaya sahib”.
After a hot bath in my neighbour’s cabin and a good breakfast I settled down in front of my cabin, reading TOI.
Few hours later my reading was interrupted with the arrival of a tallish stern looking gentleman with an unmistakable military bearing. He caught my attention and said “Sir, I am Hardit Singh, the Chief Steward of the mess and I have come to apologise for mistakenly allotting a sub standard cabin to you – we have prepared another cabin for you and with your permission I will ask these two boys to shift your luggage to the new cabin”. He gave the necessary instruction to the boys and wished me a happy stay in Kotah house.
I was totally bowled by this sudden windfall. Unable to contain my curiosity as to what caused this sudden change of cabin I asked “How come this change all of a sudden” For the first time the stern looking Hardit Singh dropped his guard and permitted himself a half smile and said “I have my own source of information, sir” and walked away in the general direction of the barber shop.
On completion of all the in coming routine I was allotted a cabin in the stable. I collected the keys and approached the cabin with great anticipation as it would be my abode for the next one year. After depositing the luggage in the main room I decided to inspect my quarters in greater detail only to find that the rear door had only one part and the other was missing. Further scrutiny revealed that two windows and one ventilator also had left this cabin very long time back along with the stable boys of Kota. The cabin gave me a feeling of being ‘Outdoors’ while being ‘Indoors’. One night of this ‘Indoor cum Outdoor’ arrangement was sufficient to cause a severe nervous break down even amongst the toughest of sea goers.
The next morning I had to be literally thawed and then woken up by the civilian bearer Manga Ram to give me a cup of tea. There were more surprises in the offing. I noticed a long time resident cat occupying the spare bed with authority and confidence and giving me ‘you are the intruder’ look. To add to my woes, I found the geyser was not functioning. The icing on the cake came in the form of extremely dull lighting and an over cast sky.
I said to myself that god had played a trick on me and everything would be normal in due course. That’s when the door bell rang. The mess Khalifa had arrived to give me a haircut. Khalifas if you have noticed have an uncanny knack of striking conversation and keeping you engrossed in their narration. They have many interesting stories, anecdotes, galley rumours, gossip to tell. I had once the privilege of having my hair cut by a Khalifa who was also a potential movie script writer. That was in 1971 on board INS Kavarati. There was no way one could escape the narration as the cutting went in tandem. If you stopped paying attention or did not ask relevant questions he would stop the cutting and hold you in ransom.
In a very short period of time the Kota Khalifa had presented his credentials and was busy clipping away. As any long time resident of Delhi would do, the Khalifa also narrated the names of all the VVIPs he knew and how he was their trusted hair stylist and cutter. He also made a very important policy statement which came naturally to him being in Delhi for many years – he said “make no mistake, in spite of knowing all the big wigs of Delhi, I treat every one from “Sentry to Mantri” alike. If my hands were not caught in the sheet which covered me, I would have clapped endlessly in admiration. As the cutting finished and entered into the head massage phase, we touched upon various national issues and finally settled down to long discussion on mechanics of work. Under the influence of massage one kept agreeing to what ever he said and he always had the last say. The discussion ended when he said “Sahib, there is no work in the fouj” unable to grasp this complex Aristotleish statement I sought more clarification to which he said “Sahib, work should have a start and finish point without which it can neither commence nor end, Fouj me kam kabhi start huva khabi katham hoga kissiko pathanahi”. I really do not know with what purport he told me this philosophical statement, but it did leave me unnerved for a long time – was all my work aimless?
Having reached the payment phase the conversation also became lighter and more down to earth. He enquired if I had settled down in my cabin. All my pent up anger came out and PG Woodhouse would have said, to quote “He was like a bottle with full of fizz not interested in who uncorked the bottle, as long as there was a chance for the fizz to come out”. I fizzed forth all my complaints to the barber.
The hair cut and massages session ended and I tipped the Khalifa more than usual, fully knowing that barbers are very influential and well connected people and the most important thing in Delhi is to be connected. While packing up his instruments he casually asked “Sahib, where did you come from” and I said “Vizag”.He suddenly stopped what ever barbers do after a hair cut and became very attentive and posed the next question “Are you with the bade Sahib” meaning the Chief of Naval Staff designate who also happened to come from Vizag.I gave him a smile but no answer. The all knowing, influential and philosopher Khalifa departed saying “Samajgaya sahib”.
After a hot bath in my neighbour’s cabin and a good breakfast I settled down in front of my cabin, reading TOI.
Few hours later my reading was interrupted with the arrival of a tallish stern looking gentleman with an unmistakable military bearing. He caught my attention and said “Sir, I am Hardit Singh, the Chief Steward of the mess and I have come to apologise for mistakenly allotting a sub standard cabin to you – we have prepared another cabin for you and with your permission I will ask these two boys to shift your luggage to the new cabin”. He gave the necessary instruction to the boys and wished me a happy stay in Kotah house.
I was totally bowled by this sudden windfall. Unable to contain my curiosity as to what caused this sudden change of cabin I asked “How come this change all of a sudden” For the first time the stern looking Hardit Singh dropped his guard and permitted himself a half smile and said “I have my own source of information, sir” and walked away in the general direction of the barber shop.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Navy Days - Lighter Side of War
It was in June 1971, I reported on board INS Nashak an attack missile boat, then the latest acquisition of the Indian Navy. Later on in Dec 1971 these boats were to distinguish themselves as the “Karachi Killers” having carried out a bold and daring missile attack on Pakistan Naval ships and setting ablaze the fuel dumps of Karachi.
As a missile officer of the ship I had a number of serious responsibilities especially when the clouds of war started gathering over our heads in quick time. Every one on board was excited that the navy would be fighting a battle and we would a part of it. Amidst all the seriousness of war the life on board had its share of lighter moments.
One day the Executive Officer of the ship, Lt Ravi Vohra summoned me to his cabin. To me he always looked the desi version of Phantom – tall, huge, handsome man with penetrating but pleasant eyes and a deep metallic voice. He said "Pubs I want you to go and get 480 litres of milk from some big ship as we are running into serious problem with our victualling account and I want this sorted out within this week". When Ravi Vohra says get milk one simply goes and gets milk. There are no ifs and buts. I made a hasty retreat to my cabin.
Being young and new to the ways of the navy I did not have the faintest idea as to how to get the milk. The books of reference were of no use and they only mentioned the daily allowance. A stray idea popped up – get a cow but I discarded it quickly as impracticable. I finally mustered enough courage and decided to make a visit to a big ship.
I decided to try out INS Dharani first as it was our depot ship. I straight went to the supply officer and asked him directly if he could spare 480 litres of milk. He gave me one solid dirty look - mixture of surprise, disgust and anger. He said “Young subby, Dharani is neither a dairy farm nor I a cow". I decided to sound the retreat and head towards the gangway before he summoned the doctor and the duty watch.
My visit to the next two ships also met with similar fate, dirtier looks and quicker departures. Finally I decided to try my luck with INS Mysore the Flag Ship before facing Phantom again. Winding my way through the ship I finally reached the Supply Officers cabin and stood face to face with my saviour. He listened to my strange tale with utmost patience and called for Petty Officer stores, who on arrival fired a broadside saying that the Flag Ship itself was running short of milk. The kind officer would not take no for an answer. He told the PO “there must be some way of helping out these chaps. We must sort out their problem – they should be worried about missiles and not milk”. Having made this very important statement he left us to attend a meeting.
The PO went to the office to consult his colleagues, while I patiently waited with a long face which was slowly starting to resemble that of a cow. After a long wait he returned to announce that he could spare some chicken. Holding on to my temper I said “PO I want milk and not chicken – how on earth is it going to solve my problem”. He gave me one of those sarcastic smiles and a grunt which when decoded meant “You are still young in this game”.
He held out the rule book and read out “Under Article 43 rule (d) Para (ii) – Due to circumstances herein after mentioned ….. The Commanding Officer may authorise eggs in lieu of chicken and milk in lieu of eggs etc etc……He then pronounced the verdict “Sir you transfer 480 litres of milk on a voucher and finally we will adjust it against chicken.
Triumphantly I entered the ship looking like a proud cock. The EXO asked “what is all this excitement” I said “Sir I have found someone who can convert Milk into Chicken" which left him completely bowled for the first time.
As a missile officer of the ship I had a number of serious responsibilities especially when the clouds of war started gathering over our heads in quick time. Every one on board was excited that the navy would be fighting a battle and we would a part of it. Amidst all the seriousness of war the life on board had its share of lighter moments.
One day the Executive Officer of the ship, Lt Ravi Vohra summoned me to his cabin. To me he always looked the desi version of Phantom – tall, huge, handsome man with penetrating but pleasant eyes and a deep metallic voice. He said "Pubs I want you to go and get 480 litres of milk from some big ship as we are running into serious problem with our victualling account and I want this sorted out within this week". When Ravi Vohra says get milk one simply goes and gets milk. There are no ifs and buts. I made a hasty retreat to my cabin.
Being young and new to the ways of the navy I did not have the faintest idea as to how to get the milk. The books of reference were of no use and they only mentioned the daily allowance. A stray idea popped up – get a cow but I discarded it quickly as impracticable. I finally mustered enough courage and decided to make a visit to a big ship.
I decided to try out INS Dharani first as it was our depot ship. I straight went to the supply officer and asked him directly if he could spare 480 litres of milk. He gave me one solid dirty look - mixture of surprise, disgust and anger. He said “Young subby, Dharani is neither a dairy farm nor I a cow". I decided to sound the retreat and head towards the gangway before he summoned the doctor and the duty watch.
My visit to the next two ships also met with similar fate, dirtier looks and quicker departures. Finally I decided to try my luck with INS Mysore the Flag Ship before facing Phantom again. Winding my way through the ship I finally reached the Supply Officers cabin and stood face to face with my saviour. He listened to my strange tale with utmost patience and called for Petty Officer stores, who on arrival fired a broadside saying that the Flag Ship itself was running short of milk. The kind officer would not take no for an answer. He told the PO “there must be some way of helping out these chaps. We must sort out their problem – they should be worried about missiles and not milk”. Having made this very important statement he left us to attend a meeting.
The PO went to the office to consult his colleagues, while I patiently waited with a long face which was slowly starting to resemble that of a cow. After a long wait he returned to announce that he could spare some chicken. Holding on to my temper I said “PO I want milk and not chicken – how on earth is it going to solve my problem”. He gave me one of those sarcastic smiles and a grunt which when decoded meant “You are still young in this game”.
He held out the rule book and read out “Under Article 43 rule (d) Para (ii) – Due to circumstances herein after mentioned ….. The Commanding Officer may authorise eggs in lieu of chicken and milk in lieu of eggs etc etc……He then pronounced the verdict “Sir you transfer 480 litres of milk on a voucher and finally we will adjust it against chicken.
Triumphantly I entered the ship looking like a proud cock. The EXO asked “what is all this excitement” I said “Sir I have found someone who can convert Milk into Chicken" which left him completely bowled for the first time.
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Bengaluru Days - The Joy of Summer Holidays – Unlimited Outdoor Activities
Getting up in the morning on the first day of summer holidays was an extraordinary feeling. The exams were over and you were a free bird. There was no attempt by the mother to wake you up and you didn’t bother to look at the watch to see what time it was. In any case I did not possess a watch and the only wall clock in the house was in the drawing room. Bangalore in the sixties was still very cold and one needed a blanket even in April. I still remember the way, entire National High School field used to be covered with mist in the morning. If you stood at the Samaj end one could not see the high school.
The best brand ambassador for Bangalore is certainly one by two coffee. But there were other lesser known traits peculiar to Bangalore only. At the stroke of seven my swimming mate MC Krishna used to be at the gate of my house and shouting “Pabbi, Pabbi, Pabbi” and would continue until someone from the house replied saying “he is having a bath and he will be there or some such thing”. Both the Q and A was heard by all the neighbours if they were awake or definitely got up thereafter. Nobody seemed to mind the loud early morning exchange of communication. After all the poor chap had come all the way walking or at best on a cycle and he had every right to shout on the top of his voice. This behaviour was predominant in South Bangalore before the advent of cell phones. Many years later six of us went on a trip to Kollegal, which is 160 KM from Bangalore on scooters and motorbikes. On reaching our friends house we shouted from the gate“Govinda, Govinda, Govinda” to our utter shock came the answer “Avanu manenalli Illappa” – He is not at home
Apart from swimming, cricket and visits to the theatre there were a number of other activities during the summer holidays. Choice of activity depended on ones age group. However, all activities were mostly outdoors and away from the constant gaze of parents and relatives. Unlike this day, our sports involved no financial expenditure. As long as you did not ask for money from your parents all was well. The options were many.
Bugari or the Spinning Top
For the uninitiated - Wikipedia says “A top, or spinning top, is a toy that can be spun on an axis, balancing on a point. This motion is produced by holding the axis firmly while pulling a string.
Bugari was an integral part of our lives. The game is simple, you draw a circle of 2 ft dia on the ground and the looser keeps his bugari inside the circle. The rest, one by one aim their bugari at the target and hope like hell the nail leaves a mark. Normally there are three outcomes – the target gets a hit and a small chunk of wood flies off (it’s called Gunna), in the next outcome, the nail gets embedded in the target and the rest are free to drop a huge stone on the target so that it splits – the ultimate is when the striker breaks the target into two parts. If the striker’s bugari does not hit the target and dies in the circle, then it becomes the target and so on. Kemp Mane- Red house Sitaram was a pro and his bugaris were huge and more importantly the nail end was as wide as a tooth and razor sharp. Whole of Shankarpuram and the adjoining areas were afraid of him. The cost of playing was almost negligible but loss of pride was immeasurable if ever your bugari got hit and split. The news spread fast and far.
Goil or Marble
Goli needs no explanation and I will deviate a bit from the actual sport. My father used to work in India Tin Industry located near White Field. One of the processes of tin making involved rolling glass balls on the huge tin sheet under weight to give it a mirror finish. At the end of the process the glass balls wore off and were reduced to various sizes, all resembling golis.The glass balls were of no further use to the factory and were discarded. My father seeing I had entered the Goli age brought home a gunny bag full of these golis of assorted sizes and colours. There could have been no better present. I instantly became the most sought after kid in entire Shankarpuram and Gavipuram.I had the power to gift, exchange golis and play recklessly. Not to mention, the golis could be bartered for many other necessities such as pencils, erasers, old stamps and at times Masala Dosa at Sri Venugopala Ananda Bhavan, popularly known as “Jiddi Hotlu”.
Ghalipata or Kite
Kanthu lived next to my grandparent’s house in Gavipuram. He was my hero. Nobody made ghalipata better than him. Unknown to the rest of the world his kites were made from black paper which carried the x ray report. His brother in law worked in an x ray lab and Kanthu had an endless supply of these sheets. But it is still a mystery as to how he selected this particular paper for the kite. An aeronautical achievement indeed. Kite flying involved planning, gathering of raw material, production, QA and finally the product. Apart from paper we required well cooked rice in lieu of glue (as it was costly and no family support or subsidy was available for its purchase), straws from an old broom, balangochi the stabiliser tail made from old news paper or a light sari and finally the thread. Then came the most difficult part of the game – to make the Sutra – a strong thread tied to the kite at two places - on top and at the bottom which held the running thread. The angle of the sutra was the most crucial factor in kite flying as it determined the lift, drag and other aerodynamic forces responsible for the kite to remain air borne. In this Kanthu was simply brilliant. Our kite used to reach the maximum height and reach the longest distance and stay for many many hours. My role was limited to holding the ball of thread and standing close to Kanthu.
Marakothi or (is there a translation) Monkey on the Tree
To play this game you need a tree which is low slung but having a number of branches. We had one such Chakotnehannu or Grape Fruit tree in my neighbour Prasannas house. A very strange game where in the looser is left behind on the ground and the rest climb the tree. The people on the tree have to come down and take hold of the game stick being defended by the person on the ground. In the process the tree person is out of the game if he is touched by the ground person and the game continues till all are out. The players needed to be very agile and adept in climbing trees, capability to spot an opportunity and jump from high branches, fast footed and leap up to the tree like a leopard. This game was not meant for the non athletic and the weak hearted.
Soor Chandu or (I think) The Fast Ball
It is played with an old tennis ball. This was a popular game with the male students of Mahila Seva Samaj and played during the lunch break. Two teams were formed. The aim of the game was to hit the opposing player with the ball with utmost force. Like modern day football, this game also involved tactics of marking and counter marking. The best hits were when you struck your opponent from a very close distance. If you happened to be the victim, then you spent a restless night in pain. Richmond was Lionel Messi. Here again, one is required to be fast footed and blessed with strong arms. More importantly thick hide to absorb the strikes.
Bache or (I really do not have a translation)
A very unusual game which has vanished completely from the face of Bangalore. This game is usually played in the afternoons when there is hardly any traffic on the road. Bache is a square iron plate of about 2mm thickness and 5 to 6 cm in width with a hallow in the centre. At the road intersection all the players placed the required number of empty cigarette packets (packet of 10) in a circle. I found mine behind City Institute in a rubbish bin. The players have to stand 100 meters away and throw the disc at the packets. Packets which come out of the circle are your reward.
Gilli Danda
Gilli Danda was an extremely popular game played in many big sports ground. The game involves striking the gilli on the ground with the danda in the hand and measuring the final distance the gilli has travelled using the danda. If you could get the gilli off the ground and pop it into the air with a soft touch and strike it again - was termed Madras and if the gilli was popped twice it was Bombay and so on. The game could take better part of the day. My friend Jay Kumar had Tendulkar status in this game. People used to come from all over Bangalore and take him to play for their team.
Racing Pigeons
Back to MC Krishna. He had a terrace full of Pigeons and some were trained to fly for long hours and in the end come back home. I would spend hours in MC’s house (with a constant supply of the best Iyengar Pulliyogare) watching the Parvalas in the air circling in gay abandon. At that young age it was simply fascinating to see them fly and then return to their master’s house. The game was all about endurance of the birds and their ability to return. MC was good at training them. This sport was carried out in total secrecy as I had an inkling that my parents would not approve of this. Over a period of time the idea of keeping a bird in my house began to take shape. On the fateful day MC and self walked all the way from Shankarpuram to Shivajinagar crossing the great cultural divide latitude at the Double road. Two South Bengaluru boys on their way to North Bangalore to buy Pigeons. On my return from the bird buying voyage I found my mother unusually quiet and appeared to distance herself from both the bird and me. This behaviour was strange as she normally sided with me in many of my adventures. MC had warned me that I should shift the bird inside the house after sunset till such time we built a permanent cage on top of the terrace. Once inside and as the evening slowly unfolded into a dark night two things happened. Father returned home from work and the pigeon started cooing gudugoodu gudu gudugoodu gudu gudugoodu gudu. It took some time for my father to locate the source of this strange noise in the house and a shorter time to pronounce the verdict.
An unsuspecting MC came home early in the morning shouting Pabbi, Pabbi; Pabbi to enquire about my latest acquisition. His enthusiasm was very short lived as he saw me desperately running towards the gate with the pigeon.
During the holidays we came home only for recharging and resting. The entire recreation was outdoors and at no cost to the exchequer. With so many options for outdoor sports it was hardly surprising that the elders complained that we had all become “Beedi Basavanna”.(bull on the road)
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