Volatile Spirits

Green on Green

2011-12-25T12:51:00.000+05:30

Ever since I bought a camera phone, I have developed a tendency to capture moments that draw my attention.. however small and insignificant they may be. It could be an ear-ring worn by a complete stranger, or a splash of colourful waste on the roadside. And its very easy and convenient, actually.

The other day in a metro station, I noticed this young lady dressed in military green... that's not the big deal.. the deal is in her socks. Wow, they are green too!!

I got to admit that I haven't seen adults wear green socks... one may wear skin toned, black and even grey ones, but green?

Out came my mobile, with the camera mode on. Pretending to be fiddling around with the handset, as is common with people these days, I executed my shot to near perferction.. "Green on Green", I had titled the image.

But fate was against me. A fellow passenger had walked up behind me, rather stopped there when he noticed me setting the frame.

"Not an extraordinary pair of legs, I guess?", he commented.

"Why would a girl photograph a girl?", he said in the same breath.

Now, that last phrase had caught some ears, and people were turning around. To avoid creating a sticky situation, I was left with no choice but to counter the perhaps-innocent stranger.

"Why would you peer over a girl's phone, may I ask?", I scorched back - I was standing to my full height, and had a strict look on my face.

Luckily, the people around me, with hardly any idea of what led to this spat, chose to support me. They condemned him for interfering with girls... and thanks to the high frequency service of the metro, it was over in three minutes.

My Brave Girl

2011-11-27T13:22:00.001+05:30

This is a true incident that happened on the evening of November 24th. However, since I did not take permission from her, allow me to change her name. She is my colleague; and let's call her Shalini.

Have you seen street urchins throw stones at buses on the road? I have, but havent bothered about it much, coz it seems to be just children throwing small stones, most of which do not reach the moving vehicle. But what happens, if the stone is comparatively big, and it hits the glasses?

After a long day at work, Shalini was going home by a bus, when this happened. Someone threw a stone at the bus, and the projectile broke through the glass and hit her right on the face. Poor girl, she was not even on the window seat and fate had selected her.

Feeling blood, she screamed for the first aid box. Luckily there was one on the bus, and few fellow passengers helped her to clear the glass bits. Any other person in her place would get numbed in this situation, but her sharp brain quickly estimated the most prominent location where she could call her parents to. She asked the driver to start the bus, while someone called the police. In fact, they met the police on the way. The men asked the women on board to help them in carrying Shalini to the police, but no one came forward. Clutching her cell phone and purse, Shalini had to walk to the car herself. Her spectacles had fallen somewhere, perhaps broken too, but she could not think about them right then. Since she was bleeding profusely and her eyes hurt, she was sure that she needed medical attention urgently. She asked the police to take her to a hospital, and inform her parents at home. Two people from the bus volunteered to be with her all the time, till her parents arrived. The government hospital where the police had taken Shalini gave her very limited care, and wanted her parents to take her elsewhere for some tests since their own equipments were out of order. This was when they decided to shift her to a private hospital close to their home, and at least, where all facilities were under one roof. Her brother, much elder to most of us, took charge hereafter and completed all formalities.

It was much after the incident when we came to know about all this: next morning. When we rushed to the hospital, her face was swollen and cut; and we could hardly keep ourselves steady. Her mother told us that this was a much cleaner look, while Shalini jokingly told us how she vomitted everywhere: in the police car, government hospital and also after her admission to the private setup.

We were relieved to see that Shalini was out of the trauma of the incident. She is young and unmarried, and we were worried that a face injury could disturb her future. She would be undergoing surgery soon to set right a few cracked, displaced and depressed bones... and only time will tell how she sails through this. A sharp and brave girl that she is, Shalini would be back with a bang!

Amen.

P.S: My appeal to all of you is that please condemn such incidences... they prove nothing, yet hurt inncocent people. Why throw stones at buses?

And if someone is hurt, please come forward and help. Delay on your part can cause a life loss, even.

An update:
Shalini (actual name: Rupa) has written about her experience in detail. Read it here on her blog.

Two Extra Hours

2011-11-21T15:05:00.000+05:30

"What would you do if you had two extra hours to yourself everyday?".. a simple question!

My first reaction was, "Nah, I don't need any more! Isn't 24 enough?"

Pondering, I realized there are few simple things that suffer because we are always short of time.

For one, I would Read the Newspaper diligently. I usually leave for office quite early, and can take a look at the paper only after I get back. This actually means glancing at the headlines, absorbing about 5%. 30 minutes for a fair scan through the bunch.

Number two on the list is Have Breakfast properly. My morning schedule on weekdays is jampacked, and due to any abberation caused by extended sleep or any unforeseen event, the axe is almost invariably on the breakfast. I know that's wrong, but... . 15 minutes. Total 45 minutes.

Another thing that tends to get squeezed on weekdays is my bath. With two extra hours every day, I would like to block 15 minutes flat for a peaceful Bath. 15 minutes. Total 1 hour.

I would try to attend to my health (read fitness) a bit. I know it is all about a few free hand exercises, and it takes little dedicated time. But who has it? Anyone who does tries to inspire me by saying, "Do you not have 20 minutes for yourself?" .. Maybe I do, but you have to allow me to be lazy at times. So maybe I can carve out some time out of this "Extra time". 20 minutes. Total 1 hour 20 minutes.

You know what I would do for my home? Do the dusting everyday. I live in Delhi, where dust particles travel in the air.. and settle on anything that comes in the way. I just cannot inspire myself to brush it daily.. and would go for this chore only once a week. It requires 10 minutes, believe me, if you do it daily. So there you are. 10 minutes. Total 1.5 hours.

Well dusting is not the only thing that requires day to day attention... so allow me to budget 10 more minutes to miscellaneous housework.You know how it is... something or the other needs to be stuck, or replaced, or any such thing that remains pending till the weekend.. and maybe gets postponed to the next due to some unforeseen event or sheer laziness. That totals to 1 hour 40 minutes.

And last but not the least, I would like to allot 15 minutes to cooking and 5 minutes to sheer laziness. You know cooking gives you an unearthly pleasure.. the joy of creating a tasty concoction from raw ingredients is undescribe-able. My busy schedule has drained all enthusiasm out of me, but I look forward to instances of trying out new recipes.. or improvising the existing ones.

The last 5 minutes is a buffer that would get fitted wherever I feel like, mostly to the morning sleep. Winter is slowly setting in Delhi, and who would mind 5 extra minutes of sleep?

I pose this question to you... What would you do if you had two extra hours to yourself everyday?

Delhi International Arts Festival

2011-11-13T21:59:00.001+05:30

Delhi International Arts Festival - a multi dimensional, multi venue annual extravaganza of all kinds of art forms: music, dance, films, theatre, what not. Somehow, it maintains a low profile and enjoys very selective publicity. What I mean is that although I live in Delhi, listen to the radio and move about in the city, glance through newspapers, I detect absolutely nominal coverage. My fate with this event is somehow jinxed.. it sometimes coincides with my holidays, sometimes I dont realize its on. This year too, this 15 day festival from 31st October to 15th November was about to give me the slip. But luckily I chanced upon a newspaper advertisment on the 7th. I checked out the website mentioned therein almost immediately to download the schedule of events.

I wanted to go on 7th itself, but could manage to land up only until the 10th. I chose the venue that was most convenienet for me, and also had two events scheduled on that day. Unfortunately, my husband was busy and could not accompany me. But so strong was my urge to break out of the daily routine, that I was mentally prepared to go alone. However, a junior from college who is also training under my husband, joined me. Both of us landed up at the India Habitat Centre to attend a musical performance by a singer from Israel called Noa. Not only is she stunningly beautiful, her voice is strong, yet melodious. We could not understand the lyrics.. but who needs words to enjoy good music? She transported us to a different world altogether. Later she sung a song in English and made the audience sing with her too.

We slipped out of the music recital to an auditorium where a classical dance performance was scheduled. Although Bharatnatyam is a common danceform, the performance was so divine that it seemed completely new to me. The dancer, Vani Ganpathy, herself explained the lyrics and the choreographical interpretations so that we could enjoy her renditions, although we could not understand the lyrics of the background music (which was mostly in Tamil).

I felt strangely liberated with this break, and although I missed my family badly, I came back the next day to watch fringe dance. It consisted of a section on different forms of Manipuri dance, with their colourful costumes, and very delicate touch of martial arts. The last section was by a contemporary dance by a professional team called Danceworks. They are based in two Indian cities, with number of international dancers and more than 5000 students. Isn't that impressive?

You must be wondering where are the photos.. but I am sorry, somehow my photos havent come out well. And my video recordings are long and heavy. So, please pardon me. I shall post few once I get some from my friends. And I promise you, that I am going to be back next year!

Team Building at Sariska

2011-10-27T17:11:00.002+05:30

My Monday blues disappeared when I received a mail nominating me for a Team Building Programme at Sariska Palace, Alwar from 16-17th of September.

We were a team of 32 colleagues from various departments. We started on 16th morning from office. It had rained heavily since the night before and roads were waterlogged. It took us about six hours to weave through the traffic, but a sumptuous mid-way breakfast made up for all the stress.

Sariska is a known for its Tiger Sanctuary. Just Adjoining it is Sariska Palace, built by Maharaja of Alwar and presently been converted into a heritage hotel with all the modern amenities. This is also the location where the Bollywood movie, “Karan Arjun” had been shot.

Our trainer, retd. Major Subhash Mahajan, joined us on the way.

Allotted rooms and roommates, we quickly freshened up and gathered for lunch.

It was raining ever since we arrived, so our activities were restricted indoors.

We were divided into four teams with 8 members each, and the trainer gave us a problem to solve. He had created a model, which we needed to study to visualize the problem.

The rain had stopped by then, so we could venture out a bit. The trainer made us stand in a circle and explained the games he had planned for us.

The adjoining picture shows one of the many games where four blindfolded representatives had to collect coins strewn on the floor, guided by respective team members.

The post-tea session was very challenging. We were divided into three teams this time, handed a piece of cloth, two colours and a paintbrush. We not only had to name our team, we had to frame a motto, design a flag and compose a 12-line song without repetitions!

The theme was “Mera Ujjwal Bharat” and we were given an hour to complete the task.

We were imparted a crash course on first-aid training during emergencies.

It was actually fun!

We assembled in the evening on the outdoor podium for a cultural evening presented by the staff.

When the dancing began, we all joined in.

The next morning began early in the Conference Hall. We discussed our ideas on what the Organizational Values of DIMTS should be.

We had almost transformed into arguing politicians in the Parliament, so much brainstorming was done!

We got to showcase our creativity when we were asked to make a gift for our room-mate, and tell everyone about the person we spent the night with… someone we didn’t perhaps know well enough before!

We had a rapid fire session of sketching our imagination on paper : the only challenge being a team member sketches after the other, without any prior discussion.

The oraganisers had something planned for us too. They selected three men and asked them to decorate three girls with ornaments made of newspaper.

The makeover was indeed innovative.

The last activity was almost like a blind date with toilet paper. We were asked to take as much we wanted to.. and then one had to share equal number of true and false facts about his own self.

The leading “hoarder” was required to share as many as 93 true and 93 false facts about himself.

We started on our return journey, right after lunch.

We played “Dumb Charades” all along the way, our enthusiasm outweighing our fatigue.

It was indeed a trip to remember, where we made many new friends.

Framed in History

2011-08-28T17:48:00.000+05:30

Photo Tour of Goa in Monsoons

2011-08-12T11:02:00.002+05:30

Monsoons, popularly described as the time of the year to stay put indoors and sip tea as the rain lashes your window pane.

Umm, not for some.

And we chose Goa, a Union territory enriched with heritage, and flecked with beaches, churches, temples and more.

We knew the sea would be fiery and there would be no water sports. But we knew something else too. There would be no crowd either. And nature would be at its beautiful best.

Our trip started at Mumbai, because we have relatives there. We booked our seats by a semi-sleeper Volvo bus, which was very comfortable and reasonably priced.

The landscape along the road that snakes through mild hilly terrain between Mumbai and Goa has an unadulterated beauty about it. The rain soaked fauna is lush green.

We were determined to stay in North Goa, because we were told that all the action is right there.

We got off at Mapusa and went to Calangute beach straightaway in the search of a hotel. Well, you can afford to take such risks in off season, don’t think of it in peak tourist seasons!!

You may well have to book your hotel three months in advance.

The options of lodging, however, are numerous and rising in Goa. There are hotels of varying budgets, guest houses, anything you may want.

We wanted to stay as close to the beach as possible, and the one we zeroed in was perfect: Hotel Goan Heritage.

Our room overlooked both the swimming pool and the sea. And a gate from the campus would open directly to the beach.

Goa offers another flexibility to the tourist: Hire your own vehicle and go wherever you want.

You may hire a Scooter, a fancy bike or a car. Hiring a tourist bus or a taxi is also possible, but that’s too ordinary a thing to do.

There is perhaps no petrol pump in Goa except Panaji. Petrol is available in roadside shops, albeit at a slightly high price, but fuel is not a problem at all.

Because you have turned up in off season, you may find perfection missing from everything.

Moss and weeds grow freely on the rain soaked monuments.

This is the entrance to Fort Aguada, which was actually a storage for water in the higher parts of Goa. An abandoned lighthouse is also here.

The Fort overlooks the sea below.

The slope down is rocky on which a dense growth of trees tip into the sea.

The horizon almost merges …

Down the road from Fort Aguada, we drive to Sinquerim beach. It is obviously the extension of Aguada.

A circular viewing gallery has been constructed, and if you stand there for even five minutes, the angry splashes of the sea would drench you.

Taj Vivanta, a five star resort, overlooks this beach.

Moving north along the coastline, you would discover Candolim Beach, characterized by this old deserted ship.

In our search for a fort called Ries Margos, we arrived at this unnamed beach.

The fort lies right opposite this viewing gallery, and is presently under renovation.

What a lovely resort this fort would make with its picture-perfect location!

For the shoppers, even in this not-so-tourist season, Goa offers a myriad variety of beachwear, junk jewellery, funky eye-gear, alcohol and sea food.

Another craze is temporary tattoos. Although the overnight artists claim that these would last a month, in all probabilities, these would last few days. If you want a permanent one, check out the tattoo studios in Goa.

This is at Baga beach, btw.

Anjuna Beach. Rocky but picturesque. You can step in the sea if you are careful.

There’s water trapped in the rocky base, and you can see tiny fishes.

Vagator is another rocky beach along the coast. The approach is from an elevated level, but if have some time in hand, and your adventurous self is active, you may venture down.

The next destination is Fort Chhapora, which is in ruins. What remains is the boundary, and you cannot make out where the inner structure were.

The wind is so strong that birds cannot fly against it.

And needless to say, the view of the sea is breathtaking.

Three beaches await to be discovered by you. The blackish sand, the gentle slope inviting you into the sea and complete ignorance by the tourists characterize them: Morgim, Aswem and Mandrem.

If you are lucky, you may witness some fishermen in action, some tending to their boats and get a feel of their daily routine.

The northernmost beach, Arambol, is popular among foreigners and other tourists as it is closest to Mumbai.

It has some trees on one side.

Our guide showed a beach further north by the name of Quickem, but no one seemed to know about it.

Next day we ventured into Panaji to book our return tickets and then move on towards Old Goa.

You have to cross the backwaters of the sea and the road is a dream to ride on.

This is Basilica of Bom Jesus. Adjoining it is St. Catherine’s Church and Archaeological museum. These three are well known tourist destinations.

They form a part of a beautiful complex of chapels and churches, which is an architect’s delight.

A road on the backside of this tourist complex leads you to Mandovi River. A ferry service is operated by the Government that carries people complete with their conveyances: two wheelers, cars, trucks and also pedestrians.

In about 15 minutes, you would be on the other side, Divar Island.

There is no tourist spot per se in Divar. It is a peaceful island with picturesque beauty. Piedade village is perhaps the only human settlement, which is sparsely populated. There’s a church and temple on top of a hill.

The tranquility of the place grips you while you drive around. Lose yourself if you will, because there is no signage. You can eventually come to the dock, to be ferried back into Old Goa.

It is also a foodie’s paradise, if you are a non vegetarian. Vegetarian preparations are equally good, don’t worry.

Mouthwatering sea food cooked in the Konkan style is available in even the smallest joints in Goa. North Indian, Chinese, South Indian options are also there.

Must do: Enjoy a meal on the beachside with your favourite drink.

Our trip was short but we have come back very happy and rejuvenated. There are many things we did not do or see. But we have experienced Goa in a new way. We could explore in the inner roads and see how the common man lives and how the city functions beaneath its shiny armour of tourism. Indeed Goa is a place to be during tourist season where there is fun, frolic, adventure and water sports. Nevertheless, we encourage you to witness Goa in this peaceful and calm version.

Should I or not?

2011-05-24T22:00:00.002+05:30

There's a new bus service launched in Delhi. I work for the company that manages it.

I travel almost everyday at least once. Free.

My logic is that

I am a part of the service provider.
I am actually on duty, because I note all deviations from rules, guide the bus drivers and conductors, intervene in case of disputes, collect commuter feedback, etc.

My family says

Public transport is usually not a money making business. The one in Delhi is definitely not. The fact that a private body has been given the opportunity to manage the services is a positive step to attempt to minimize blemishes, and I am making things worse.
I earn enough to pay the fare, which is fairly subsidized.

Two positives and two negatives.

What do you think?

Where will you walk?

2011-05-12T21:53:00.000+05:30

50 posts and an Award old

2011-04-18T23:51:00.003+05:30

I am just 50 posts old. And I have got an award: The Versatile Blogger Award. Its my first.

I am thrilled!!!
Thank you, Sushmita aka Shooting star from My Unfinished Life

Next thing that I am required to do is say 7 things about myself. Oops, let me try.

i-a) I am an optimistic person - I try to see the good things in any thing.
i-b) I smile a lot - So much so, that when you meet me or see a photo of mine, you would notice only my teeth.
ii) I am a Minimum-Cosmetics person - A sheer disaster for beauty salons and related merchants.
iii) I am a Foodie, but a BAD cook. I actually dont have any interest, and would tend to get away by making minimum.I love chocolates and sweets.
iv-a) I have weird obsessions. I love people with good handwritings. In fact, the easiest way to impress me is by having a good writing. At the same time, all the people I have had a crush on or fallen for or ever noticed have simply pathetic handwritings. I hate men who pretend to be suave. I like people around me to be as chilled out as me.
iv-b) My other fascination is for miniatures- it could be a tiny Ganesha idol, or a small cup, anything.
iv-c) A market place and money on me is a disastrous combination. But having said that, I would only buy shoes for myself. I would ogle at photo frames, but would never buy one.
v) I love reading books and writing. Strangely, I havent ever finished a book that I have bought for myself. I have gobbled up gifted books, inherited books, borrowed books, books belonging to relatives and likewise.
vi) I love my parents, family and friends equally. And I would do anything for anyone, if you can convince me that my doing something would really help you.
vii) I am a good listener and a good preacher, so in case you are feeling low, you know where to come.

I am required to pass this award on to 15 bloggers. Permit me to hold this. I have to find people who haven't got it already. Will do that soon.

So thank you, once again, all my readers, without whom I wouldnt have been a blogger at all. And a special mention goes out to Sushmita for she has come to mean a lot more than she realizes..

Oops those heels hurt!

2011-04-16T12:46:00.000+05:30

Confessions of a criminal

2011-04-11T22:21:00.000+05:30

Visualize the situation. The bus is supposed to turn right at a junction, and in 99% of days, it gets caught in a red light. It suits me best if I can get off here. The bus stop prior to this junction is a bit too behind, and the next after the turn means a bit of extra walking to my destination.

Today, the light was red when our bus reached the said spot. I requested the driver to let me off, but he refused. I nodded politely, didnt say any additional word and got off at the next defined bus stop. And started walking.

A fellow passenger, who too, had got down here, followed me. He was cursing the driver, loud enough for me to hear.

"What is the problem?", I asked.
- "Why did he not open the doors at the light?"
"Why should he? Thats no bus stop.", I explained.
-"Now you are taking sides with him? You only asked him to let you off..."

Well, I admitted to him that I was doing the wrong thing. That too, knowingly.

As he walked away, I was left wondering how irresponsible as citizens were we. Ok at least I am. I would throw an ice-cream stick on a roadside if I cannot see a dustbin within my power of vision. I would plead bus drivers to drop me between bus stops just because it is possible. I cannot ask a metro driver to drop me midway on a track, can I? I do many such wrongs; will list them slowly.

Keep your bag clean

2011-04-03T16:14:00.001+05:30

"Madam, your ticket please"

- I was cozily sleeping on a window seat of a bus enroute my office, and this was a checker.

Random checks do happen on our bus routes in Delhi. If you are caught without one or with an undervalue ticket, you would have to pay a fine, may be jailed for two days or both.

"Yes, of course", I replied, waking up. Trying hard to recall where I had shoved it in, I started searching in the most easily available pockets. But whatever came out were of various values of previous journeys on different routes, which have no validity at present. I dug and dug.

"Did you throw it?", taunts the bald man standing next to my seat.

"No, I have it", I assure him, not looking up. I realize I am delaying everybody. "I have a proper ticket, please let me go", I pleaded.

"If this is the case, you should be able to produce it."... Ugh, this guy is adamant.

Not that anyone was complaining, but I offered to get off the bus with them. They agreed. I sat on the seats of the bus stop, took all my time as I drew out each old ticket after another. I kept aside anything that was not a bus ticket: receipts of my tailor, someone's business card, and things like that. Ultimately, from the most unlikely pocket, emerged a freshly bought ticket bearing the requisite serial number. The checker was watching me all the time, quite bored by then, and the moment I drew out the correct piece of paper, he gave out a sigh of relief.

"See, you wasted ten minutes of my time", he said.

"But I told you I had it", I snapped back.

"Now let me go. Do I look like a truant?", I asked him, pulling myself to my full height. I was dressed in formals, my hair was freshly washed and loose, flying in the breeze, giving me an aura. And I had the ticket that I was about to be fined for not having. I was one up.

The man put me on the next bus to my destination. Luckily the frequency is pretty fair, and the roads were fairly empty that time of the day, so I reached office comfortably to take on the day ahead.

Moral of the story: Keep your handbag clean. Learn to throw off stuff you dont need.

What I had been up to the last two months

2011-03-13T16:58:00.001+05:30

Surveying.

Rather supervising surveys among Metro and Bus Passengers that had to be done for a project. That makes you quite a villain among the enumerators who do the work for you.. they are scared about when and where I would crop up and what fallacies in their work would I find.

I claim to be a soft spoken nice girl, but ask those boys and girls, and you would be in for a surprise!!

It was a great experience, however. Not scolding enumerators, but speaking to people. Actual commuters. Consumers of the services our beloved authorities provide. Victims of our fallacies.

Can I take you somewhere?

2011-01-23T19:05:00.000+05:30

Missing Birds' Bureau

2011-01-15T16:02:00.000+05:30

Found: A Baby pigeon
Age: Few days?

One evening, as we were walking out of the parking lot of our housing society, we noticed something alive in the corner: it was a baby pigeon huddled up in a corner.

Too small to fly, the poor being had been perhaps attacked by crows or dogs or cats... because it was badly injured in the head.

My brother in law picked the bird up and brought it upstairs. We cleaned the wounds with a cotton; and put some antiseptic cream on them.

We dug out a shoe-box from the store, punctured few holes in the cardboard, placed a bowl of water and some grains in the corner, and put the bird in its make shift cage.

In the morning, I was surprised by the confidence with which he was walking around in the shoe-box. But by the evening, he chose to go back to the outer world...

This Winter

2010-12-29T22:40:00.003+05:30

If you are not wearing socks,

its either because

you are superhuman
you dont have a pair

Training our HR Skills

2010-12-08T18:19:00.011+05:30

A Team Building Programme initiated by the HR Dept had got all of us very excited, as it meant two days out of office, and great fun. We assembled early in the morning in the office premises before embarking an airconditioned bus that was to take us to Fort Ramgarh, Panchkula. The people selected for this trip were from different departments; who hardly knew each other. The first round of gelling started by people getting acquainted with each other’s names, departments, location of present residences and likewise. Some games rounds happened to keep up the banter.. because the age group was quite diverse as well.. before we stopped for breakfast, after which all of us dozed off.

The Fort turned out to be a complex alongside the highway, with its name recorded in the Limca Book of World Records for the tallest wooden door: a whopping 37 feet. Rooms were divided, keys handed over. We re-assembled for lunch after which we were ferried to a nearby complex consisting of 97% open area. A treasure hunt is on the cards. Divided into two teams, each one of us was handed a list of clues. We huddled together, and worked out strategies with each other, most of whom were complete strangers until a little while ago. We scurry around the ground like children, and announce merrily every time an object is found. Next task is to build a sand castle. Its strange, how some of us took charge, and guided others to work. A senior member scurrying up and down to fetch water. A middle aged member digging sand. The younger chaps helping in the ramming and cutting. By now, we had become comfortable, and were giggling and pulling each other’s legs. As dusk drooped on us, we were asked to play Volleyball, not with our hands but a sheet of cloth. There was a fairly high net, and it took effort from all of us to hurl the ball across.. and to catch it by running together as a system, holding the cloth. There was a session where we got to discuss Employee Issues, but that was something we were not keen on, so tired were all of us! We could barely have dinner before we went to sleep readily.

The next morning task was about standing on a blanket, when it was fully open, then folded into half and further into quarter. Huddling, lifting the lighter people, we managed to fit. Then, a four way tug of war. Divided in four teams, we exerted our weight on the poor ropes!! And finally, it was a game of cricket. The boys were doubtful about cricketing abilities of the girls, and hence posted us on the boundary lines. Most of us had to do nothing, as the ball would stop in the sandy outfield. I was the unfortunate one who had to grab a high catch, but it was easy, as the ball came slowly down to me. We returned to our Fort-turned into Hotel, had lunch and started on the way back. We were gifted a coffee mug each, which stands a constant reminder of the fun we had!!

Amritsar in 36 hours

2010-11-21T21:45:00.000+05:30

“What’s the use of a mid-week holiday?”, I remarked, as I glanced at the list of holidays that declared Wednesday, 17^th November, 2010 as a holiday on account of Eid. “Had it been on a Friday, we could have got three days off in a row”.

Things started falling in place almost by magic. My brother-in-law’s convocation for his post graduate degree gets scheduled on Saturday. My father in law agreed to visit us for about a week. On the Sunday preceding the 17^th, we are reflecting on possibilities of my father in law going to some nearby place and my husband, who is relatively free at present, to accompany him. Then the brainwave comes, “Why don’t you use your Wednesday-holiday?” The question is shot at my brother in law and myself, the office going people, who are normally bound by official duties on weekdays.

Where, where, where.. options start cropping up and get discarded due to shortage of time. The old man murmurs softly, “I would like to see the Golden Temple...”

So rare is the phenomenon when a parent expresses his wish, that there was no question of considering an alternative. Amritsar is finalized. Modes planned. We start Tuesday night, utilize the “Wednesday holiday” and return by Thursday morning.

There was a project located in Amritsar sometime back. Unfortunately, I was not part of the team assigned to it. I had been watching people going for site visits, surveys, data collection, meetings, what not. I had been hearing stories, seeing photographs, but never came the opportunity for me to experience Amritsar myself. And lo and behold, everything is planned in that one moment.

The trip was hectic but nice. Golden Temple, the prime attraction, is a place visited by thousands of people round the clock everyday, yet it is clean, serene, organized. So many people have food in the community lunch free of cost. Its all in the name of God. We loved our stay there, although I am quite an atheist. A dip in the holy pool. The cold water. The colourful fishes, fairly big. We also visited Jallianwala Bagh, that stands as a quiet testimony to the tyranny of the British during their rule in India. And finally, Wagah Border. A shiver runs down your spine when you see a gate, marking the Pakistan border right in front. Political boundaries suddenly come to life. Its strange that we can walk up to a certain limit, they can progress till another, and a land in between that is no one’s. One wrong step across would cause war. We watch the Retreat ceremony on the Indian side, where the flag is folded respectfully at the end of the day. We return to the urban core for evening snacks and dinner, and catch the train back.

To the "Anonymous"

2010-10-29T08:57:00.003+05:30

I received a comment from an anonymous source in my blog today. Actually, I received the notifcation in my mail, and when I checked by blog, the comment isn't visible. This person acknowledged the fact that one of my posts helped him to complete his college assignment, and he would like to have further details through e-mail. But my friend, I do not have your mail id, neither do I have any idea of the kind of information you are looking for. Please put in a mail to me at anupama06@gmail.com, and I would try to help you as far as possible.

Afternoon Siesta

2010-10-09T16:56:00.000+05:30

School Days: Tag

2010-10-09T16:27:00.003+05:30

I think it is my responsibility to answer a tag if someone has taken the trouble to tag me. But, at the same time, I would not tag anyone in particular. Anyone is free to take the self interview..

1. What was your favorite back to school item to buy?
Well, nothing. During our "junior school" days, our school bus fellow would gather us together in a line, and into the bus straightaway. When in high school, I used to try some of the pickles, which were, incidentally, sold near the junior school building. Irony?

2. What was your favorite subject in school?
I was Jack of all trades, master of none. I was above average in most subjects, but not excellent. I did not exactly hate, but I can say that I did not like literature, history, geography and any other descriptive subject. I had always been a more analytical kind of person, so I liked applying my knowledge rather than learning pages by heart.

3. Did you ride the bus or get a ride from Mom/Carpool?
I have answered this in Q.1... a privately operated school bus used to ferry my brother and me from home to school and back during the earlier years. Later, the two of us would walk down from school, although Mom used to give us the tram fare everyday. We saved it as our pocket money.. spent it on pickles, and all the weird stuff my little brother could think of..

4.What is your favorite memory from your school days?
Lots!!!!..... here's some:
a) First crush
b) Part of School Rowing Team
c) Fainting on the school grounds
d) Bunking classes (strangely as we grew older, we became truant)
e) Our teachers, their styles of teaching, the way they walked.. and how reverent of them were we, even though we loved them (and vice versa..). Our school is in the Guiness Book of World Records for the largest number of students, yet our teachers can still recognize each other by name, face (even our aged faces), and can recall our antics..
f) My friends... no amount of writing is enough
g) The first 100/100 in Computers in Class VI
h) The first 36/100 in Maths in Class IV.. and the perfect 100/100 in Class X Boards (called Madhyamik)
i) The premises of the school...

Weekend Trip

2010-09-13T15:00:00.010+05:30

We had planned a getaway to Nalagarh in Himachal Pradesh this weekend where Friday was also an off day. We wanted a tranquil place, free from numerous tourists or commercialism. The traveller’s guide and internet projected this little town as a paradise for honeymoon couples, a place for long walks and scenic beauty... just what we wanted!

What excited us all the more was no one seemed to know, or even have heard about the place. So off we went on Thursday night. About seven hours later, at about 4.40 AM, the bus dropped us at a deserted junction, “This IS Nalagarh”, the driver asserted.

We looked around doubtfully at whatever we could make out in the dark: a four armed fork shaped junction with a traffic police shelter in the middle. A dimly-lit clearing on the other side meant to be the bus stand. One arm of the junction was an obvious market street, with series of closed shops. A tea shop was open on another arm. That was perhaps the only sign of life that could be seen. We hung around the bus stand for about an hour as the town awoke to life. Auto rickshaws, shared automobiles, school buses, local buses, regional buses, trucks and lorries. Sipping tea, we studied the flow pattern to assess the directions of development and decide on our first plunge to Nalagarh. Our mission was mainly to find a hotel.

Few metres down the junction, we found one. Encouraged, we chose to delve further. It was a straight road with sparse development around. We came across a hotel called ‘Hotel River View’… “There must be a river around”, we inferred. We walked down the slope carrying our bags with us, finally reaching Chikni River, now just a rivulet used mainly for washing of trucks. There was a broken bridge, but the trucks had found a way to reach the water.. and the water was shallow enough to allow crossing. People were also crossing the river effortlessly, although the current was fairly strong. I had a try myself.

We came back to the bus stand and enquired around for Nalagarh fort, which was apparently the only tourist attraction. Well, no one seemed to know what we were talking about, except a policeman. We checked in a hotel, freshened up and caught up on some sleep. A few hours later, we had lunch and went on an excursion to find the fort. It was on the higher part of the city which we reached through a mix of roads sloping up and steep flights of steps. The Nalagarh Fort Complex entry stood in front of us after quite a climb. Inside, a sharp V shaped junction offered two choices of way, but no signage. We went down one, realized that was the wrong path, came back and ventured in the second.

The Fort has now been converted into a heritage hotel. Let us imagine it to be a big beautiful house, and not a fort. With due respects to anyone concerned, I am sorry to say that the flavor of a fort was totally gone. The renovation work seemed to be a confused mix of architectural styles as well as a mere plastering and painting kind of a job. You think of it as a bungalow and you will like the play of levels, use of various elements, planters, lights, etc. Both of us being architects, the feeling of disappointment perhaps had an additional multiplier.

Nalagarh thus turned out to be an industrial town which had the potential but lacked the interest in tourism.. the local people, taxi drivers inclusive, were hardly aware of what was there to see in there, and also the places one could go to. It is a place to drive to, so that you have a car (or any personalized motorized mode) to check out the surroundings as well. The natural landscape is beautiful and would have been great for long quiet walks only if there weren’t trucks and buses brushing past you as there is no footpath. There is no proper restaurant, just dhabas.. no markets other than those for daily needs, vegetables, medicines and likewise.

Next morning, we went to Chandigarh. As architects, this is a city we have studied about since our college days, its buildings, its spatial pattern, perpendicular system of roads, roundabouts… and somehow, neither of us have been there. This opportunity we grabbed, and checked out most of the city, the capitol complex designed by one of the greatest architects, Le Corbusier and the Rock Garden, a major tourist attraction.

I guess criticism was in our minds from the beginning. After Delhi, the luxurious width of roads and literally huge radii of roundabouts seemed to be such a waste. Even Le Corbusier’s designs, which we had attempted to copy as students, seemed as plastic, huge waste of concrete, little respect for land utilization. Rock Garden, spread over 12 acres, seemed to be another plastic effort. But slowly, we realized that the creator was a road inspector, who had an innovative idea to compile the industrial waste into a garden, and the sheer effort is worthy of appreciation. The element of surprise is also amazing. There are places to relax, and no restrictions on how long you spend inside. A gallery of aquariums, camel rides and a court with swings are some innovative inclusions.

We returned home from Chandigarh on Saturday night itself, recharged our batteries on Sunday to be able to join work from Monday with rejuvinated enthusiasm.

Sick of Change

2010-08-23T14:21:00.004+05:30

I am sick of change. I detest the idea of change, getting used to the change, and it happens again. I have started hating that.Maybe I am growing old now..

I do not want a change of home. So much so, I do not feel like going back to my hometown.

I do not need a job change anymore. No problem with poor increments or promotions. No interest in new opportunities. I am sure my present job has a lot to offer... much more than I have acquired.

Please leave my cell phone, life insurance policies, credit cards, e-mail ids, handbags, taste of cosmetics, etc unchanged. I am happy with what I have.

Even if Appollo, the Greek God, comes into my life, I would request to be left alone. I cannot start life afresh anymore.

It is a weird feeling... My approach is becoming lazy, "Let things be..."

Independence Day

2010-08-16T16:52:00.007+05:30

August 14,2010
I needed to post few envelopes. In today’s world of e-mail and telephones, the post office has ceased to exist in our lives. When confronted with a situation wherein one needs to visit one, you have to ransack your memory to recall where you had last seen the nearest post office.

Anyways, there I was, in the local shopping complex near my home, scanning buildings – I knew there was a post office somewhere.. My line of sight was directed upwards, and the onus was on the people around to avoid banging into me.

My search was interrupted by a gush of wind caused by someone brushing past me at cyclonic speed. I caught a glimpse of the guy: it was one of my closest friends, walking in a world of his own. He turned as I involuntarily gasped out his name, smiled and joined me.

“Happy Independence Day in advance”, he wished.

I was a bit taken aback, didn’t wish him back. Instead, I asked him, “Are you wearing orange because of that?”, pointing to the saffron garment he had on him.

”No no”, he negated me, going on to explain that it was a mere coincidence.

Rewind two years back.

I was having lunch with a senior of mine from school. He mentioned how his wife went every year to a popular market place to buy tricoloured bangles every year on 15th August… With extreme difficulty, I could manage to refrain from the temptation to ask why a set cannot be re-worn every year… or what would one do with more than one set of exactly similar bangles..

Somehow, I cannot relate to greeting each other for a happy independence day… what are you exactly wishing for? A good day? It sounds like wishing someone a great year ahead on New Year’s Eve.

15th August, is a national holiday. And I was feeling bad to have not got a holiday as it was a Sunday this year. A series of greetings had started flowing in right from early morning. I answered each, and asked them the significance of this day to their individual selves, and forwarded the query to anyone I could think of.

“Power cut whole of last night. Care a damn for independence day” was the first reply.

“I am travelling for work,” was the second, complete with the query,”Any better way to celebrate Independence day?”

“Independence, in a corrupt nation?” jeered the third.

“Independence Day to me is remembering thousands of people with great sense of pride in their achievements. They laid down their very lives so that we could have independence of making our choices in life… such sacrifices are a source of inspiration”: Yes, this is something I would relate to.

“Watch out for my blog on this topic” – are you on an advertisement spree? I mean, you have all rights to write, but why create hype?

“Responsibility”: - One word. Crisp and clear.

“Let us try within our might to eradicate poverty and spread education in our country. Not just raise the flag and sing the National Anthem”: Yes, I am willing to go beyond, if required.

“Hope the day will come one day when there will be no killing, no unemployment, no illiteracy.. poverty could be fully eradicated and smile can be given to every Indian”…

"Mixed reactions...this day means a lot, but I am also said" and someone avoided the question totally,"Too much to share in a sms"..

How was this Sunday different? A day you thank your lucky stars that you were born in an independent nation... where people, especially women, can do whatever they want, have freedom of speech... thank those on the border who fight for us...

Down, but not out

2010-07-29T20:30:00.002+05:30

What's in your bag? : Tag

2010-06-19T09:27:00.020+05:30

Tagged Again... and tagged by Ms. Sushmita Sarkar (Shooting Star)...

She's done hers amazingly well.. with snaps of almost everything.. and here comes mine! A line or two to establish their usability(???). It was fun pulling out each item and clicking them... a sudden realization of what a lot I am carrying around...

My bag itself:

A huge, elongated box type concoction in pure leather, by Hi Design. Gifted to me during my marriage, I have used it extensively. The poor thing has endured all the "rough use". And when I am using it, I would not change it for occassions... I just love it.

My identity:
We dont need it for access in our office, so this lies there in my bag.
I wear it for out of office meetings.

My purse:

Bought from Palika Bazaar in 2007, a market for everything at most unreliable prices. Its front pouch is excellent, as it holds my cards and visiting cards.
Hair clips:
I carry them as a backup... Suppose I have left my hair open someday, and feel like tying the tresses later in the day... all I have to do is dig either of them out...
Combs:

I generally carry both of them. The white one is rarely used, its just there as a backup, just in case I forget to insert the other one after cleaning it. I have done this often after weekends, after the weekly cleaning. The white one is cleaned when it gathers dirt.

Compact:
Used rarely, when my skin starts looking oily. Carried around mainly for the mirror inside.
This little box has been with me since 2006.

Lip Cream: Boroline

My awfully dry lips have a tendency to chap even in summer. This cream has been handy in moisturising and minor injuries since our childhood. My Granny's favourite, even till date.

Handkerchief :
Very handy for hand-drying, adjusting facial makeup, camaflouging emotions...

My lipsticks:

I may carry three, but I use only one [the central one].... That too, when I feel like.

My perfumes:

Gifted items, very useful!!!

The actual contributors to the weight of my bag.

My eye liner:
This is perhaps the oldest and misused item on my person. This dates back to my childhood, when Lakme first launched this eye-liner. I cannot quote a date. This was the only bottle I have ever possessed in my entire life! I have only used it for the purpose of drawing a dot between my eyebrows (bindi)... I have never used it for eye-lining!
Box of Visiting Cards:

I carry quite a few cards in this spare box. Comes in real handy in meetings and workshops, when you need a number of cards at a time.

Measuring tape:

Useful when shopping for clothes. When in doubt whether a particular garment would fit you or not, and the shop keeper is damn sure it would, or the trial rooms are not free, you know how to check...

Safety pins:

Saves lot of embarassing situations!
Good for lending to someone too.

Phone and accessories:
The charger and the headphone.

And of course, the phone! [Phone camera has been used for these snaps, so no image of phone]
Dressing accessories:

Another one of the backup stuff, gets used when I drape a saree.

And mind you, this is perhaps a few items that are in my bag... you would find pens and pencils, some papers and a small notebook, some medical supplies, a needle and thread... the list is endless.

Missed Out!

2010-06-17T20:21:00.004+05:30

I have not been counted in the Census of India that is under preparation.

I was out of station on leave, and the representatives could not get hold of any one of us at home.

I am sure we would not be accounted for when they go for headcounts in Calcutta, because we have been away for so long now.

So, when they publish a figure, please add 3 more persons to it.

New responsibility

2010-05-24T11:34:00.000+05:30

I have chopped off my fangs.

This means I have trimmed my nails. But is that something to write about?

Well, I had to.. and cannot resist the temptation to publicize my excitement of having bought a new cell phone. Its being a totally touch screen model is no longer a unique feature in today’s world, completely revolutionized by technology. But for me, the upgradation has been tremendous. I had a sturdy set, perfect for rough use. Suddenly, the onus is on me to handle a delicate model, that too, for the kind of use that I have.

For you, birdie

2010-04-16T12:06:00.004+05:30

"Thousands of birds are dying", informed a mail in my inbox, "because of the heat wave"... and also asked us to leave some water in our balconies for the birds to stop by.

The ambient temperature during the day is really that harsh. Ten minutes of exposure to the sun can drain all energy out of healthy individuals.

We complied to the appeal of the mail, and placed a fairly large vessel full of water in a secluded corner of our terrace. It was a Saturday, and I was home. I even put ice cubes in the afternoon so that the water remains cool for a longer time.

The first day, strangely, not a single bird ventured.

"These creatures must be blind", I almost thought when I saw a wasp splashing in the water. I wondered if it could communicate to the birds... from the next day, the number of visitors in our bird-bath has shot up significantly.

Every morning, I pour out the water to the plants in my so called garden [so as not to waste the water], and fill the vessel with clean water. Throughout the day, the birds chirp, tweet and make merry in their exclusive corner on my terrace.

Earth hour: almost

2010-04-01T14:01:00.002+05:30

A few days back, media all round us urged us to participate in the Earth hour: switch off all electrical appliances for one hour one particular evening, as a gesture against global warming.

We are a cricket loving family. On the designated day, as it would happen, live telecast of a very interesting match was on television... such is our addiction to cricket, that we decided to participate in the mission 95%: put off everything, except the television. Lights off, a cool breeze blowing, watching cricket on a 21 inch screen, sipping some refreshingly cool drinks turned out to be a heavenly experience.

The tournament is still on, and the schedule is such that there is at least a match being telecast every day. We have opted to switch off the lights and enjoy the evenings watching the matches, thus contributing to the environmental cause as well.

Dormant beauty

2010-03-16T13:59:00.003+05:30

Six months back, my mother gave me few seeds to plant. Very typical of me, I forgot all about them. But I did plant them, after I accidentally chanced upon them amidst my luggage. I borrowed a pot from my landlady and would water the seeds diligently in the hope that some life would be left within. About a week down, two weak saplings germinated... one look at them I knew they were some other species, perhaps weeds. But I didnt stop watering them nevertheless.

This morning, I was greeted with a burst of beautiful flowers... spring is in!

When colours talk

2010-03-02T21:51:00.005+05:30

Of Missed Calls

2010-02-17T18:09:00.004+05:30

Well, I had been attending too many meetings of late. I finish one, go for another, get back and am required somewhere else... there has been too much scurrying around. I put my mobile phone on the silent mode with the vibrator on, so that I would know when anyone called or sent a message. Back home too, I wouldn't bother to change the settings. But the problem lies elsewhere. My phone and myself aren't constant companions on off days.

Sunday evening I just chanced upon the phone beneath a pillow. I had forgotten totally about it, and I had no clue to how it got there. I had as many as 17 missed calls.

I am sorry, my buddies,who called me that day. I hope I have got back to all of you. This is a sincere message of apology to you all. I do appreciate your attachment with me.

To all those who keep their phones silent often, please keep your eyes on the instrument...

Loneliness

2010-01-25T20:23:00.007+05:30

I hate being alone.

I have friends who live alone by choice. Some are compelled to. My landlady has chosen to be alone even at 75+.

Inspiration is the last thing that I can draw from them. I hate being alone. Perhaps I am too used to family life. Even one hour of solitude seems to kill me. I hate returning to an empty home after work. I hate unlocking rooms to find the mess I had left behind. I hate lazing alone. I look up to the work that has to be done, but cannot move a limb. I do not feel like cooking for myself either. Sleep deserts my eyes, and so does my love for reading. My zombie mind does not find peace in talking on phone either.

What to do?

2009

2010-01-02T19:26:00.005+05:30

It had been an uneventful year, I wondered to myself, as the clock struck twelve on the night of 31st December. But, time seemed to have flied. When did the year begin, and where did it go?

I remember the sleepy exchange of new year greetings with a long lost friend early morning in January. My mother in law's determination to reach Delhi from Calcutta when her train had got cancelled. The sudden all-vegeterian menu on Rajdhani express, because of bird flu. What happened to those hens, I wonder. Things came back to square one after the initial scare. Similar was the fate of the panic created by swine flu. People would come outdoors with noses and mouths covered initially and then I guess, they just got bored of it. Some hospitals and medical set-ups had made some money, yes.

Our completely unplanned getaway to the hills was a big rejuvinator. So was our trip to Calcutta during Durga Pujas. Dad's angioplasty. Mom's diabetes and never-cured cold. My helplessness of being miles away.

Completion of my brother's PhD. Great moments for us who share and bask in his glory, when he joined MIT for his post-doc.

Newly made friends, old friends... Some great movies, nice songs... some pathetic ones as well..

Remember the Tata Nano massacre in West Bengal? I would, because its my state. And the whimsical mind behind all this became the rail minister... and is actually doing reasonably well. Barrack Obama got a Nobel Prize... the first black American president, and now a nobel laureate too. Wow, that brings to my mind Abhinav Bindra's bright face, holding up his Gold medal. A completely unknown face suddenly became a youth icon.

We have all faced effects of recession in varying degrees, rising prices, changing governments... but we have come out of the storm with our heads held high. Maybe we are struggling still, but I am sure, we shall all emerge winners.

There had been sudden shaky moments, moments of loss and pain. You have got to tell yourself, be convinced of it, that whatever has happened is actually for the best.

I have carried fond memories across that retrospective minute... have you?

6 Hours and 40 minutes

2009-12-21T14:15:00.004+05:30

Six hours of journey time.

40 minutes of looking around.

Lots of money spent.

Obviously, doesnt make any sense! But thats what we did this Saturday.

After a super-busy phase, it was a whimsical choice to relax in Yamuna Bio-Diversity Park. From where did it crop up in our minds, I have no clue. And no clue as to how to reach the spot. There were three of us, so we chose to avail of public transport... just for the sake of it. Do not form the impression that Delhi's public transport system is very exciting... well, it is, but in the wrong sense.

Friday evening, I just spotted the place on Google Maps... road links were not clear enough, but what we could judge was that if we could reach Jahangirpuri Metro Station in North Delhi, we would be reasonably close. And so next morning, three of us jumped in a bus and went to Central Secretariat, the nearest Metro Station, which is a cool 15 km away. Even on a Saturday morning, congestion was immense, and the journey cost us about 1 hr and 15 minutes. And our destination was at the other end of the Metro route. By the time we emerged out of the mostly underground track, we were already exasperated from travelling. And difficulty had just begun.

No one who we chose to ask had even heard about Yamuna Bio Diversity Park. We enquired for spots around as we had seen on the map, and got confused more and more. One seemed to be in a direction diametrically opposite from the other. Finally, we chose a direction which appeared feasible to all of us. We boarded a cycle rickshaw and reached a bus stop on the Karnal Byepass. The backdrop of a sanitary landfill site with its strong smell appeared to excite the landscape architect in my husband and the urban designer in our friend, as they started taking photographs enthusiastically. I took the initiative and requested an inter-state bus to drop us a few kilometres ahead to our next intermediate destination. We had to walk 500 m down to get into a crowded RTV, another point-to-point public transport service. The vertical height of the vehicle was so small that I could barely stand upright, just imagine the condition of the other two with me... both of whom are much taller than me.

Sant Nagar extension was the spot where we chose to have a bite, as it was already three in the afternoon. We started with the approach of a quick refill, but so hungry and thirsty we were, that we hogged like pigs. Let us at least do one thing properly, seemed to be our approach.

Post lunch, we checked out the park on the internet once again. We made further inquiries from the local people, policemen on duty and finally, an auto driver seemed to know what we were talking about. Infact, he took us fairly close. Just a few more directions obtained from the street hawkers, patrolling policemen, local people relaxing in the winter sun and we were finally there... at the gates of Yamuna Bio Diversity Park. The auto driver was, however, very confused. "What is so interesting in a jungle?", he asked, when we told him where we had come from.

The guard on duty came up to us. It was evident from the bewildered look on his face that he wasn't used to get visitors. And before we could actually react, he said what we were dreading: the park wasn't open to general public. Oops!

Blessed with sudden visitors, the guard took pity on us. He mumbled something about permission being available for students... we jumped on those words almost, as my husband drew out his student ID promptly. We called the Scientist in Charge, on a number provided by the guard and obtained access. It was five in the evening. Time in hand was short. A worker took us around a small portion of the 157 acre park as a short overview. He showed us an artificial lake, which did not appear man made at all. Migratory birds were everywhere... on the trees of the central island, on the bordering plantation and in the water. A band flew in, looking stunning on the background of the evening sky. Our guide took us next to the small museum wherein we saw how barren the land had been, and documentation of the wide variety of flora and fauna one could see now. Snake skins, scorpions and dangerous looking insects were on display too.

Getting back proved comparatively easier. We got a rickshaw to the main ring road wherein we got into a bus to take us to Kashmere Gate Bus terminal. We seated ourselves in a bus that would take us straight to home. So tired were we that we did not seem to mind the long journey at all. Instead we caught small naps.

One year through

2009-09-14T10:20:00.002+05:30

One year past a fateful day when I was amidst a bomb blast, I am alive and kicking. Phew!

A Misty Trip

2009-08-19T22:27:00.008+05:30

A long weekend was gleaming at us from the calendar… we were itching for a break. Things started falling in place all of a sudden. My salary was credited on 11th, I booked tickets on the 12th and 13th we were off, late at night, after a complete working day. We witnessed rush due to the long weekend, but perhaps it was a bit toned down due to the panic created by swine flu epidemic.
Early morning, I woke up to see some beautiful buildings of Chandigarh and Mohali. We got dropped off at Kangra. Debating among ourselves about the next course of action, we evaluated our options. Our eyes were on the metre gauge train journey to Palampur, but we were unsure about the train timings. Again, although the railway station was only 4 km away, the auto drivers were not quite willing to go. Dharamsala was definitely closer, so we decided to have a quick lunch, explore Kangra and move on to Dharamsala. Kangra temple would be a devotee’s delight with its bells and a campus strewn with deities. Kangra Fort, built by the Katoch kings, was awesome. With very few tourists, it was a delight to go around the fort, listening to the Audio Guide [this is the latest innovation] at our leisure, clicking pictures at a freedom allowed by digicams. Back to the bus station, we just hopped in a bus to Dharamsala, about 40 km away. Note that we hadn’t bathed till then. So a shower each we took at the hotel and went out for a walk. Discovered that the vegetarian items tasted better than their non vegetarian counterparts. Next morning, we woke in a cool mist, to see clouds resting lazily on the range in front. We were informed that there was nothing to do in the small town from a tourists’ point of view, and all attractions were in Mcleodganj, 10 km away. The holy Dalai Lama hails from there. I was surprised to see a small monastery claiming to have been the home to the Nobel Laureate. Daal Lake was under renovation, and our next mission was the Bhagsunag Waterfalls. The 3 km long walk was perhaps the best decision we had taken, because the only driveable roadway was hopelessly clogged up with two-way traffic. We meandered through cars, autos, two wheelers, cycles and trekked our way over rocks and steps in the second half of the route to reach the waterfalls, and wade our feet in the water. There were people in the plunge pool, although the water was extremely cold and had force latent in it. The way down would have been adventurous enough, but enough is not a word in the dictionary of either my husband or brother in law. So down the rocks we chose to climb down, through the waterfall. It was exciting, but definitely scary. I slipped a couple of times, hurt my knee, wetted my shoes… but enjoyed it all the same. It had started to rain, but we returned victorious and walked upto a church on the way back. The rain was picking up, drenching us. We had come far from the traffic jam, and it seemed the buses had evaporated completely. Eventually, however, a bus arrived and dropped us back to Dharamsala, amidst heavy rain. We had a quick lunch, settled our hotel dues and started for Palampur. The journey was picturesque, amidst clouds. Palampur turned out to be a small hill town, a photographer’s delight, a pedestrian’s dream, and devoid of the tourist attraction as we had feared. There aren’t many hotels, and we got decent rooms, too. We walked up to the market street, munched on the way, made enquiries typical to tourists and sunk into deep slumber after a sumptuous lunch. Next morning, we woke up early and went walking downhill and downhill and downhill and downhill and downhill and downhill. The weather was cool; everything was so serene that we didn’t realize the distance we covered. We crossed a tea factory on the way. On the way back, we were met by groups of monkeys who didn’t pay us any heed at all. After breakfast, we caught a local bus to take us to Baijnath temple, about 16 km from Palampur. The temple was beautiful, more so because of the rivulet flowing far below. There were about 200 steps and our enthusiasm was such that we climbed down the entire set to reach the water. The climb up was tough, and we were panting when we re-entered the temple complex. It was built in Orissan architectural style. We returned hurriedly to the town to visit Neugelkhad, a site where the cliff is plumb vertical and a rivulet flows far below. We were horrified to find that the edges were not rock solid, and would give in under our weights if we weren’t careful. And if you slip, you would fall straight on the rocks along the edge. Nothing can obstruct your fall midway. The mountains on the otherside weren’t that steep, however and we could see lush green stretches.
Time in hand was running out fast, so we wrapped up hurriedly. We shot back to the hotel, had a heavy lunch and started on our journey back to Delhi. The bus took us downhill along the path we had walked in the morning and further. It was dark and raining, but I could not sleep. The roads were wet, and muddy, and the bus was skidding. Everytime the headlights of the bus swept over the steep edge, my heart would jump. The road was narrow and the bus did seem to go too much towards the edge to allow traffic from the opposite side. Sometimes, amidst vegetation, my eyes caught an occasional built structure. I could sleep only after we were safely off the hills. More drama came our way when our bus was stopped due to agitation at Una, a town at the foothills. We were lucky that the trouble got sorted out within two hours. Further ahead, another half an hour was lost in lending the spare tyre [stepny] to a bus stuck up due to a puncture. I woke up on the borders of Delhi. As if death needed to sign the conclusion, I witnessed recovery activities at a spot where an accident had happened between a car and a milk van, killing three people right there.

Singh is King

2009-04-07T15:43:00.006+05:30

A mid-day wedding: a Sardar's.

Venue: A banquet hall located almost at the other end of the city.

Date: A bright, sunny Sunday.

I chose to go with the office crowd, because the groom is a colleague unknown to my family. And a pack of girls pooling in is actually fun, giggling and gossipping. The distance did not seem to be a problem at all. Inside the venue, the number of guests tends to startle you, but we could locate a familiar face at the far end of the hall. He was looking quite nice, dressed in white and a red turban.. our young Sardar was looking like a prince, holding a sword. "Its real", he told me later.

Within minutes of our arrival, the fellow was carted off by the relatives to the Gurudwara for the "actual" wedding, leaving us at the mercy of the DJ. I stayed away from the dance floor a bit, sipping a refreshing glass of juice, watching the people around. There were people from all age groups. Most dont bother to dress up much... sober, simple, presentable but they could be just anywhere. I owe apologies to the men for not noticing them much. All Sardar men appear alike in a crowd, with their turbans, tall(ish) structures and facial hair. Its only three breeds: Elderly, Middle Aged and Young Sardars. And the women, just in case they choose to dress up, they surely know how to go overboard! And its mostly Salwar-kameez.... they would look at me questioningly, "Saree?" and answer themselves, "Of course, you are not a Sardarni".

But its the DJ who stole the show. He had perhaps taken it upon himself to underline the fact that it was a Sardar wedding. One song would be a Bollywood dance number, followed by a couple of completely unheard of Punjabi songs and then would come, "Singh is King", a song extremely popular among Sardars just because of these three words. And even the children enjoy it... their heads would start nodding everytime the speakers announce "Singh is King"...

Noticed!

2009-03-17T12:17:00.004+05:30

Something went wrong this morning.. I was off schedule by three minutes. The morning chores before going to office form a system, and a little alteration can create a mess. I almost missed my bus. I got my husband to drive me down, chasing the bus.. we overtook it, stopped it and got in. It was full. But I got beaming smiles from 90% of those on board: "Oh, there you are!" were the unsaid words.

I never realized people notice me so much. I am reasonably regular on the bus, miss it every few days... and even if I do catch it, I sink into those low but tall seats...reading, or even sleeping!!! I travel almost terminus to terminus, but I am not very noticeable, I thought. I dont fight, dont talk in a loud voice, dont gossip... I am in my own world in that one hour journey, often lost in my day dreams. But other people do notice me. Feels good.

Life Guard

2009-02-14T15:29:00.003+05:30

The signal is red. A stream of pedestrians are crossing the road. I try hard to join in, making use of my long legs. I was perhaps the last one in the group. Three fourth down the road, the signal turns green. The ignitions were on, the accelerators are pressed. I, and a few others, were trying to negotiate through. It was then it happened. He jumped. From where, I have no clue. It seemed as if Spiderman had accidentally lost his grip. And he was right in front of a Blueline bus, the kind which is famous for being killer. Call it reflex if you will. Because, honestly, there was no time to appraise the situation and take action. I just realized I was holding his shirt around the belt line. Luckily the man was of thin build, so I could hold him back. Question in my eyes, I helped him reach the other side. My outburst was curbed by a smile. No words, excuses, explanations. He just walked away.

January 2009

2009-02-03T17:15:00.007+05:30

What a month this has been! All amidst a very stereotype time bound work-home-work cycle. The 1st day heralds a new year and you are supposed to be in festive mood. But the economic recession cut it all out...scaled it by a tremendous fraction, but thats ok. Late that night, a sudden new year wish from a long lost friend. Lifts all your spirits as you reply sleepily. We had fought when we had last communicated, but that was all forgotten. 5 years is long. Happy, you take on the month ahead. My ma in law was supposed to come, all that went haywire [refer previous blog]... you are drained out emotionally...suddenly comes a site visit all out of the blue. Dead early on a foggy morning we head for a small town in Himachal Pradesh... tasty food,but pathetic road surfaces. The meeting gets prolonged, we start late. Get caught in traffic jams behind many trucks... get mixed up in some unrest by villagers because two calves had got run down. Then comes the phone call. Its my friend who never calls me unless there is any need. Maybe STD is not for catching up, unless you are the fiance. That day he chooses to chit chat. Then comes a call from another friend in Delhi whom I had promised to meet. The next call was from my inlaws.. "What! You are out at this hour of the day?" No point trying to explain to people at least 1500 km away. 2 o' cock in the morning, I am home. While compiling the success story of the trip, I get documents from site, with all information mixed up. Set that right, send it across. On a Sunday I had carefully preserved for myself, an elderly relative surfaces... you cannot say, "I want to sleep". So I drag myself over... participate in the cooking and consume vegetarian food [very tasty, although] while my better half enjoyed the chicken curry I had made. I met my friend, got enriched with the benefits of yoga. A sudden phone call from a school friend who was in town for some official work. He wants to meet up... I agree. We had studied two years together way back in 1994-95-96 and then seperated. And has he changed! Although he claimed I haven't, I beg to differ. A mail arrives from the college alumni... its the annual magazine with an interesting, but difficult theme. Makes you wonder, "One year is gone?". I try hard, request for extra time, but can manage only 500 words without being too elaborate. The school alumni chose to get active too, the planning for the reunion in Delhi is on. I really am not sure whether to look forward to it or not. A senior friend, who seemed to be in a cosy job, suddenly lost it. Shook me. I get a great job offer, but am confused. I said yes, but was contemplating. It seemed I was tailormade for the purpose, still. Suddenly things did not materialize. I was kind of spared the trouble, but am still wondering which situation would have been better. I have to go home all of a sudden. I had refused, but no one is interested. So I go. Touch, smile and come back. But met lots and lots of people. Thats very important. Cousins who are abroad, or any other city in India... cousins who are there in Calcutta. All relatives who could make it to the gathering. Granny. Mom and Dad. Pop in law. The next generation. Numerous phone calls. Great food. The work pressure chose to rise simultaneously.. so I carry an AutoCAD cd among my luggage. Work at night. Sleep less. But I have loads of homemade stuff with me now that I am back, so I end the month on a happy note.

Drama Galore

2009-01-06T15:55:00.003+05:30

My mom in law had chosen to come over to our place in Delhi all the way from Calcutta for about ten days. Contrary to popular ideas, the arrival of Ma in Law is not a terror for me at all. I just hand over the kitchen to her and live my life happily... enjoy the cup of tea accompanied by an unending supply of tasty and innovative snacks when I return from work, the suddenly multi-item dinner, the morning tea as refreshing as it can be and the very nutritous breakfast. The house would be clean, things would be in order...

This time, however, God chose to intervene. He knew I was looking forward to my days of freedom from housework. Some stupid accident had to take place in Kanpur on the 5th only, causing all trains, including the Rajdhani Express, to be cancelled. But would I take it sportingly? Neither would she. Back home she went, but made arrangements for booking another ticket for the 6th. Got me stuck on the railway booking site as well. I managed a tatkal reservation on the 8th, called to inform her, only to be told that my efforts have been a waste; her travel agent had got her confirmed tickets for the 6th itself. Dejected, I cancelled the reservations I had made minutes ago. Forget the financial loss I incurred.

Destiny rules. The train on the 6th got cancelled as well. As the news reached me, I felt dumbfounded...

But my lady is not the tigress of her home alone. Once she has decided to reach Delhi, reach she must. And my my, is she influential? She made arrangements to reach Agra... how were bookings made, I have no idea. All I know that she is coming. And somebody has to receive her in Agra and get her back to Delhi, bag and baggage. The drama continues...

Irrepairable Loss

2008-11-21T11:04:00.010+05:30

[Names of characters have been changed, for privacy purposes. Incidents are authentic, however]

February 6, 2006: early morning. I was in some train, going to Bhubaneshwar, where I was posted. An unkind beep of a message that had managed to reach me inspite of the feeble network woke me. Its contents were far more powerful, shook all lethargy out of me. I tried to jump up, and banged my head on the berth above me. You cannot sit upright in a middle berth in Indian trains, you know. "Ryan's mother is no more" ... the words were revolving in my mind, trying hard to sink in. Ryan's face kept flashing, his sharp features, his so cruelly handsome smile... the sense of loss seemed to get on me too. It seemed as if I had lost my own mother. What would I do without her? Where would I go? The emptiness was unbearable and I felt like jumping out of the window. I had never met his mother, but I am sure she was very pretty, given Ryan's looks. And was she an awesome cook? Needless to say, like all mothers of friends, she was. Ryan's Dad was dead too, way back in 1986... I felt helpless, cause I was more than 1700 km away from my friend.

November 18, 2008... maybe around 12 noon. I had just mailed some information to a consultant, and had logged on to the googlegroups created for our classmates to do some catching up with friends. Actually I had to send across a birthday wish. There was an unread mail... its subject line made my head reel. "Sad demise of my father.." from Rahul. Forgotten were my intentions to write a birthday mail. I sat there, staring at the mail. Our college days zoomed in and out... Rahul as the constant source of comedy.. so chivalrous that he would go sweaterless on a bitterly cold day for any girl. Rahul, such a genius he was with the computer..with him at the terminal, you would better not attempt to follow what is happening. Incidentally, he was the creator of the googlegroup I was viewing. Rahul's father was an architect like him, that's all we knew about the man.

The pagdi ceremony was the next day, the mail requested us to attend it. I chose to go, although I was not conversent with Noida. I was at least nearby, a voice inside convinced me. Weekday, workload, lots to commitments at home... nothing seemed important enough. I called up a couple of batchmates in Delhi, worked out a plan schematically, told my boss and tried to concentrate. I could not... felt the way I had done, about two years back in that train. I have known deeper versions of pain, loss of family and friends, but everytime, the emptiness gets on me. Rahul was in Bangalore, he must have come down. I was not particularly close to him, but since I was in the same city, I had to stand by his side during trying times....

Next day, I did manage to reach the venue all by myself. Religious dealings are no way part of my cup of tea, but I could somehow connect with the not-so-old man, whose life was claimed by a cardiac arrest. He seemed to apprecaite my presence.

Another friend had come over too. We returned together, chatting like school kids. But all the way, I thought about Rahul. He was very composed... but I could identify with his irrepairable loss... a gap that could perhaps not be filled again.

Smart God

2008-11-18T17:55:00.003+05:30

I am an atheist to the core normally. But in times of crisis, I tend to become weak. So I made a deal with God... You give me this for once, and I give up sweets. It is a big thing I had asked for, and what I offered in barter was equally big a step for me. God, given the apostle of kindness that He is, partially granted my wish... arranged circumstances so that things are set favourably.

Obviously I didnt do the needful. Thought I, "Now that things are set, the rest would happen automatically..." And of course, nothing is happening my way.

God is smarter than I thought.

Tagged

2008-10-20T11:09:00.006+05:30

Who tagged me?

Ms. Sushmita Saha, nee Sarkar

If your lover betrayed you, what will your first thought be?

If you are happy without me, its fine. Never mind what happens to me.

If you can have a dream coming true, what would it be?

A world tour.

What is the one thing most hated by you?

Dishonesty

What would you do with a billion dollars?

Use it for my world tour. Save the remainder [if any] for rainy days.

Will you fall in love with your best friend?

The person you are in love with is your best friend, in his own right.

Which is more blessed, loving someone or being loved by someone?

Loving someone....

How long do you intend to wait for someone you really love?

Lifelong... maybe in future lives as well. Love never dies...

If the person you secretly like is already attached, what would you do?

Wish him all the best. Bask in his happiness.

If you like to act with someone, who will it be? Your gf/bf or an actress/actor?

No acting for me, sorry. Otherwise, it would be the man of my dreams in every step I take.

What takes you down the fastest?

Orthodox nature.

How would you see yourself in ten years time?

Bad question.

What's your fear?

Death. Not mine, but of my loved ones. I cannot bear the idea of losing anyone.

What kind of person do you think the person who tagged you is?

She is different.

Would you rather be single and rich, or married but poor?

I need more combinations before I choose. I need to be with "him", married or not.

What’s the first thing you do when you wake up?

Yawn.

Would you give all in a relationship?

Yes

If you fall in love with two people simultaneously, who would you pick?

Firstly, I believe you can be in true love with only one person. Love is so immensely pure an emotion that you can feel it for only one person in a lifetime.

On second thoughts, is there a need to pick?

Would you forgive and forget no matter how horrible a thing that special someone has done?

Not forget, neither forgive. I would believe there must have been a reason why he did whatever he did. [I may not be aware of them: its better than lame excuses.] No grudges.

If you get to go back in time and fall in love all over again , would it still be with the same person?

Yes.

List 6 people to tag

No, I wont list. Anyone is free to take this questionnaire.

Witness

2008-10-16T18:01:00.001+05:30

A triplet of fiery eyes greet you the moment you look up at the hoarding at a distance. "I too am watching"... what are you watching, Ma? Definitely not Zee News, as claimed by the advertisement.

You witness my homecoming but do not even attempt to lower the ordeal of returning. Instead, you make me yearn for a neverending holiday at home... I need to be home, my house needs me, my parents, relatives, friends need me.

Narrow shave

2008-09-15T14:24:00.007+05:30

I hate working on Saturdays. My apathy begins right in the morning when my husband and brother in law give me sleepy looks...but I have no excuse. I have to work 6 full days a week, whether I like it or not. And all kinds of work load on to your shoulders on Saturdays as there is no "tomorrow morning" to put it off. 13th September was one of the rare Saturdays I had winded off things within good time. 6:15 in the evening, my sole goal in life was to get back. Things were as normal as they could have been. While I was crossing the road, I casually overheard the traffic policeman... he was commenting to a passerby, "Wonder why outside traffic is being allowed to enter Connaught Place, now that there have been blasts in Karol Bagh..." [Karol Bagh is quite close to Connaught Place, where my present office is located.] My ears prick up.."Blasts?" And the answer came straightaway. The sound was louder than anything I can think off. Deafening is too less said. It just robs you off your senses. As the black smoke rose higher, chaos reigned supreme. People running everywhere, directionless. The traffic had come to a standstill. The police somehow herded people to one side, urging us not to panic. "Go back where you came from, please take refuge" was the plea. I was perhaps in the innermost layer of the crowd, right against a building. I felt like sitting down. Somebody dragged at my arm.. it was a familiar face, although I dont know the name of the person. He is in my office, works in another department. He literally dragged me back to office. "You cannot move out," he told me. I knew there was no point arguing.

Back in office. Most of us who had ventured out were back. Ringing phones. Spreading rumours. Panic. Insecurity. Amidst the mess, some of the cool headed persons trying to work. Deadlines do not get altered because of bomb blasts. Some resorted to television for details, some to the internet. We huddled around someone who had put on an online television channel. I could perhaps fathom what I had just escaped. It was a crisis situation and something brought us together as we waited for time to pass. Someone was trying to crack some joke to break the subdued tension, but to no effect.

We contacted people who had not returned. Especially our draughtsman, Manoj. 6:15 he too had left and 6:20 the bomb had gone off. He was not answering his phone, neither were people at his home taking the trouble when we tried the residence number. The tension was showing on all our faces, words failed us.. but we were not prepared to give in, we kept trying.

Slowly, we decided to get back home. People clubbed together, so that nobody had to go alone. Especially the people who normally commute by the metro. Metro was discontinued ... neither was anybody eager to venture in. Finally, we were all home. Till late at night, I received calls, messages, people whom I never expected to look for me took the trouble to try incessantly to get through to me. Yes, Manoj was also located finally. All friends, relatives, acquaintances, all seemed to be reasonably safe. It was an experience of a lifetime..

Plans do flop

2008-08-18T11:56:00.006+05:30

"Plan something for the weekend" was the buzz at home ever since we realized we have got 3 consecutive holidays coming up!! "Palampur!".. Palampur is finalized. The follow up action was my baby entirely all because my office is on the Metro Route and it is convenient only for me. So I did the needful, checked out bus timings, made bookings...all set. Our homework was done, as in we had made inquiries, collected information available on the web, planned the budget and all that. The two students at home met their academic commitments, we consumed all supplies at home [so that nothing is wasted], put the maid on unexpected leave, forbade everyone who might need to contact us in the weekend, packed whatever that needed to be packed. 14th had arrived.

I was supposed to reach the bus terminus from office availing of the metro. It being the eve of Independence Day [August 15], I was greeted with a massive queue for a thorough check. You cannot complain because although a formality, it is a matter of national security. The stopwatch has started. Time's running out. My security check is over, albeit brushily. I transform to Carl Lewis, draw out my smart card on the run, punch it and rush to the platform to a lower level and get into the train in the correct direction, just about to depart. Four stations, I am where I needed to be. I am conversent with the station building by now, so I know exactly which gate to head for. I am out. I am at the bus terminus. Its raining.

Yikes! The top level is closed, due to some repair work, security reasons, etc. I get down to the lower level in utter chaos. No signage to guide you through. No "Enquiry" counter. Nobody knows, or is willing to, help you. I chose to wade through the water to reach some end wherein I could locate the counter from which bookings were being made for buses destined to Himachal Pradesh. All I needed to know was the location of the bay from where I could board the bus. The people at the counter were just unreachable, engulfed by layers of hopeful travellers. I drew myself out from the middle of the crowd and chose to ask the bus drivers. It was much easier, I tell you. I located the bus.

Next thing to do would be to call up my co-passengers, my husband and brother in law. You have got to find them, dont you? " We aren't reaching" was the information broadcasted through my cell phone. I couldnt make out much, except for the fact that I needed to cancel the tickets. I took one last chance with the driver, asked him to wait for 10 minutes. Never have I been written off so ruthlessly by anyone, the way the driver "pooh-pooh"-ed me.

I needed to cancel my tickets. I daren't even attempt to sell my tickets like a blacker in a movie theatre, because there were policemen on the prowl. I didnt need to be in the lockup atop this mess. I tried to take a plunge in the crowd, but nobody was willing to let anybody inside, man or woman. 10 minutes, the bus if off. No cancellation, no refund. Somebody asked me to try from the backside of the counter, which was equally crowded. Luckily for me, some representative of the Himachal Road Transport Corporation was making way for himself in order to get inside the enclosure. I followed his path and gained a position near the grill. 9 minutes. I hold out the booking slip and scream, "Please cancel my tickets, let someone else go". No body is even willing to turn. 8 minutes. One of the lot suddenly takes the paper out my hand, checks it and asks, " Why are you not going? Dont worry, these buses dont leave on time." And coolly returns the tickets to me. "I dont want to go", I try to tell him, but who is listening? 7 minutes. A man next to me gets friendly all of a sudden and asks, "Why are you trying to cancel your booking? Sell it to someone.." I give him a mighty scary scowl and mutter, "Where would I get three people willing to go to Palampur?" A young boy, spectacles and a black T-shirt, was trying to communicate something to me from the correct side of the counter. I hold up 3 fingers; the glow on his face subsides. 6 minutes. Suddenly the previous man beckons him to our side. He asks me to handover the ticket. I become extra careful. "Got three people?", I ask. On a positive reply, I take up the authoritative role, "Collect the money and hand it to me... otherwise no ticket." 5 minutes. The boy in black, yet to believe his luck, asks, "Which bus?" I point out frantically at the bus whose driver I had spoken to just a while ago, "Thats the one". 4 minutes, I am asked to get the number of the bus written on the ticket. Although unwilling, I realized I was still in the front row of the crowd. So I called out to the man at the counter again. 3 minutes to go and there was a confused look on the man's face. He must be wondering what was wrong with me. However, since too many hands were dangling all around him, he decided against investigating and jotted the number for me. 2 minutes to go, but the job was done. It took just 10 seconds for the money and tickets to change hands. I guided them to the bus and pulled myself aside. Jittery, wet, tired. Called my husband and informed him. No financial loss. But complete draining out of energy.

I needed to get out. They were coming. I need to reach the rendezvous. Getting out was a tough task. I followed few people up a staircase. I knew the upper level was closed, but hoped to find a way out. You cannot imagine the mess up there. It was dimly lit, scarcely populated and there was water everywhere. The ceiling was pouring in incessantly at some points. I dodged some, some I couldn't. I had lost complete orientation of myself in the building. Looking out, I could see nothing but rain. There were some bookshops which kept my hope of finding a way out going inside me... but however hard I tried, I kept ending up in barricades, dead ends. Ultimately, I found another staircase to the lower level and somehow got out of the complex to a familiar area. I walked to the point where my partners-in-travel were expected, ignoring the rain, puddles.. I was just drained out of all energy. I shoved my watch and my cell phone inside my handbag and sat on the edge of a wall, waiting. The lashing of the rain varied as I sat watching people hustle by, some carrying luggage, some dragging children, some glued to their cell phones ...

August 15 is a day you cannot move in Delhi. We were planning a one day trip to Chandigarh to make full utilisation of the Saturday. But along with the incessant rain, my brother in law played a spoilsport... he was not interested in buildings, road patterns... so there we were, in Delhi.. but there is a silver lining to everything, our house needed us.. we did a lot of homely work, which was long necessary.

A moment

2008-08-07T11:01:00.005+05:30

It was raining.... very hard. Three o' clock in the afternoon, but the sky was the darkest shade of grey. I was walking along the colonnade of Connaught Place. NDMC, or some agency, at some time, had installed loudspeakers somewhere near the ceiling, which are generally used for advertising, public addresses, etc. Yesterday, someone was playing some lovely music, apt with the weather. "Garaj baras sawan....."......What ambience!

Allegations

2008-06-11T10:45:00.003+05:30

Where are you? My friend, born on this day... I remember and miss you so much... in our short spanned acquaintance, I knew you very little but you knew me inside out! You could read my mind well before I realized it myself. My friend, you cared for me so much and it was in your smile I found supreme confidence and support.. I wonder where you are... so far that our technology cannot reach you... yet our souls connect. You can see everything, can't u? Dont you know what I am going through? Can you not set things right for me, the way you wanted them to be?

Happy birthday, my dear friend. I'll always remember this day.

Rain Girl

2008-05-21T14:11:00.006+05:30

Born in the month of July, I have always been in love with the monsoons. The clouds turn me on, the chilly wind pulls me outdoors, lightning brightens up my face and the rains make my heart dance up with joy. Most people romanticise in spring, but I become poetic in monsoons.

BRT

2008-04-25T16:55:00.006+05:30

The latest sensation of public transit in Delhi is the BRT corridor. It has been constructed in spite of all kinds of resistance from all possible sources. The trial run is currently on which lets the very confused Government decide the necessary alterations. The media publicises the project as a major failure.. its there on the front page everyday. But take it from me, a Transport Planner at your service. I admit there are shortcomings, none of which can be ignored. Still, now that immense amount of money has been poured in it, I feel we should carry on with it, modifying it marginally if required. It is absurd to think that by making life difficult for the motorised modes, you can induce people to shift to public transport which is neither comfortable nor reliable. Simple painting of zebra crossings does not make a busy road safe for pedestrians, especially when the traffic is compressed to lesser number of lanes. The signals do not function properly. The road geometry, the quality of the work are not up to the mark. How does one reach the bus stop in the middle of the road? What happens if a bus breaks down? Are cycle tracks justified? The questions are many, the answers missing.

Leaving these grey areas, let us try to appreciate the brighter side of this venture. So long, before the coming of these dedicated corridors, the buses had been wrecking havoc just by being present in the traffic flow. They would stop anywhere, violate traffic rules, what not. Now it seems as if the buses have been taken off the roads and driving is so much more comfortable. Congestion is there, but it is nothing more than what was there already. The bus ride has also improved, since you have to stop only at the bus stops. It feels absolutely royal to zoom past the rest of the traffic during peak hours.

Moreover, it is wrong to judge a system on the basis of a single stretch, which is just a part of a massive network. What was the Delhi Metro when it was introduced? 6 stations, no use! Massive investments, tremendous operation costs, meagre ridership. It was only when DMRC ignored the expert opinions and continued with their venture, that the system became a grand success. Now people look forward to the upcoming corridors and hope to be better connected. The onus is now on the people to support the BRT..let it be what it was conceived to be. One may have loads of queries, but why not wait and watch? Why not ask the experts?

Charm

2008-03-28T11:30:00.009+05:30

I like travelling by bus. You may have heard all sorts of negative things about availing public transport in Delhi. All those facts are true - I'll endorse them wholeheartedly. But nobody publicizes the charm of travelling with the masses. One can see so many types of people... each one is unique.

With the modern revolution in mobile phones and advent of ipods, a headset is perhaps the most common thing seen plugged in the ears of urban youngsters. Mark the adjective. Urban. That encompasses young, cool, smart, tech savvy, rich... what not. But learn to expect the unexpected in a bus. There was a man, who is of short height by all means, drastically thin build, and to top it all, a beard which has gone beyond the stage of a stubble purely due to lack of maintenance. He wears a dirty kurta over a dhoti , and along his left side hangs a bag of flaming red with dramatic frills. He is perhaps a priest, one would think. Observe carefully and you would notice a thin wire emerging almost out of nowhere and bifurcating into both his ears. Here comes a modern man for you!!!

The other day, my bus was crowded well beyond expected limits due to some unknown rush. I handed my bags (I seem to be carrying more than one on the wrong days, that too extraordinarily heavy) to the lady seated on the aisle side of a seat, when I noticed her carefully. Seven punctures on each of her ear lobes. Clad in an ordinary saree, she seemed to me to be a rural lady so misfit in the urban setting of Delhi. Suddenly a phone rings, and she withdraws a swank Nokia N-72 from the folds of her saree and starts off in crystal clear English. Gives you a jolt, for sure!! I would have believed her had she been returning from a fancy dress competition.

What a crowded bus does to you is something you dont realize often. Allow me to give a brief description of the bus the way it generally is... it is a 2/2 configuration, with a large portion of one half dedicated for the seating of women. Needless to say, I am mostly seated on that half of the bus, if I am seated at all, that is. One day I happened to be on the other side.. and as I looked out, I realized I recognized only half of the route I cover everyday!! What I was looking at seemed so unfamiliar and I could hardly make out where I was passing through.

Positive mind

2008-03-06T17:57:00.009+05:30

The world is a stage set for me, this is my belief. As I step out of the pedestrian subway in the morning after deboarding the bus, I believe that the sun falls on me like a spotlight... brightens up my face, heralding a good beginning to the day ahead. [The spotlight follows me till I reach my destination, scorching my back in summer and warming up my sweaters in winter]. My spirits rise as I scamper up the steps (two at a time) to my office on the third floor, mostly because the lift is often defunct.. I enjoy climbing over the risers which are of 'slightly lesser than standard' dimensions and smile at the guard on duty. On the way back I am delighted to sit at the window of a bus which is so shattered that it doesnt have rods even. No rods and no glass. As my hair bounces in the wind, I wonder how ideal would I have been for someone on the lookout for a model for a shampoo commercial.... there is a brighter side to everything; and it is important that you realize it.

I loved reading books at one time. Dont let the past tense surprise you. During the valuable years, my degrees and my job demanded so much of me that I had to put aside my favourite companion. Whatever time I would get needed to be devoted to things such as going out with friends and family, sleep, etc. The first year of my marriage did me in further, but somewhere down the line, I felt my soul drying..sounds melodramatic, but I felt there is something I need... beyond balancing a career and home. There are many in this world who run families and work at the same time, and I dont know whether they can do all that they want to. I dont think my mother has any regrets such as that I was feeling. I have to wrench some time out, I decided. The people around me seemed so uninterested in books that it was difficult for me to get hold of one. Their only concern is money and all the material comfort one could afford. That is when I discovered e-books... books that could be downloaded and absorbed at will. I had a lot of catching up to do.. books I had only heard about and never could manage to read. I chose to make good use of the time I spent every day in travelling... I download a book of my choice, print few pages at a time, and read it in the bus. It takes immense time to finish a book because of mandatory parameters that are not fulfilled all the time: a seat under the lights is just an example. I devised a system to counter the jerks.. I hold the book (or the papers) in my left hand and grip the wrist with my right hand...release the grip only to turn pages. For once I was happy that modern mobile phones come with FM radio, which, if plugged in, cuts you off from the chaos in the bus. I actually named myself Vidyasagar... he was a great man who studied under the street lamps and I do exactly the same, only the source of light and matter are different. But I read in motion, with lots of disturbances. My credit for my eagerness to read should not be undermined, isnt it?

Along with my reading habit, something that was going down the drain was my handwriting, something I was so proud of. The last time I held a pen to write a paragraph was an incident that had not happened for years. I took to blogging so that I could at least compile thoughts of my complex mind before I lost the enthusiasm to. There are certain people whom I wish to speak to, discuss my likes and dislikes, share my ideas and understand their points of view. But circumstances often pose as barriers - not always can you catch somebody to pour your heart out. I floated the link on a public forum expecting more people to read my mind and comment, so that the interaction can go on. I atleast hope to reach out to the minds I have been looking forward to link up with.

An enjoyable official trip

2008-02-09T11:29:00.001+05:30

Perhaps the most amazing trip I ever had. My meeting was scheduled at five in the evening and there I was, all alone, at Agra Cantt Railway Station as early as 8:15 a.m. I had to take only one quick decision - what to do! In India, especially in an orthodox minded state like Uttar Pradesh, nothing is normal for being done by a solitary girl, who if not pretty, is reasonably attractive, mainly due to her youth. I could not possibly sit in the retiring room for the next few hours.. the suggestion from my very caring husband was that I check in with some hotel and take rest. Come on, rest for nine long hours was not what I needed. Yeah, agreed that I had got up as early as 4:30 in the morning to catch the 6:15 train, but do you need nine hours to make up for the lack of sleep? So, I decided that the only productive use of my time would be to roam around the city, so famous for historical monuments. I enquired at the tourism help desk and much to my dismay, was informed that Taj Mahal, the prime attraction of Agra was closed for visitors since it was a Friday. "What could I do if my meeting is scheduled on a Friday?", I asked myself. I didnt schedule it and neither was I aware of this weekly off. But, I was told, a glimpse of the member of new seven wonders of the world could be caught from the backside, across the remains of a once voluminous River Yamuna; which was no less than seeing the monument from the front. And all the other monuments were there, which could be visited before sunset. Hey, I had no plans to fool around alone in an unknown city till sunset! So, without wasting any further time, I walked out of the railway station, hired a car, explained my situation to the driver and plunged into the city straightaway. Oh, I hired a camera, obviously. I could not collect one due to the shortage of time, but you can procure one on hire in tourist places. My driver was a soft spoken man who took me to the farthest point, Sikandra, the tomb of Akbar. I overwhelmed him by asking him to come along with me. I appointed him as my photographer and heneceforth, all I did was pose! We visited the major monuments because time in hand was short, had a sumptuous lunch and found a hotel for myself to catch a solid hour of sleep. I sent the driver to return the camera while I prepared for the meeting by dint of which I was present in Agra. The rest of the story is short; my presentation was a grand success and I wrapped up the meeting in record time as I had to catch the seven o' clock train.

This would indeed be a trip to remember!!!

Member of Traffic Assembly?

2006-08-07T16:30:00.003+05:30

An architect that I originally am, it was a part of my daily routine to yell unnecessarily at a mason, hard at work. It would be highly possible that the poor man may be more enriched than myself in terms of experience, or at least, may not be wrong at all – I did whatever I did just to keep him on his toes and also to assert my authority to some extent. Similar was my experience when I went on a round of supervising the traffic surveys during a project in Orissa in the hot sun, although it was early January.

It was a long and uncertain process of identification of survey locations, planning and scheduling just for the sake of it because in the back of your mind you are more than convinced that your schedule is bound to go haywire for some reason or the other, and then on top of it, the disbursement of funds which happens through a number of channels in restricted installments in spite of your most justified requirements.

I was lucky to discover a very enterprising tea stall owner who turned out to be a well connected person who just arranged for enumerators out of the blue, that too with a minimum education level of 9th Standard, in as many numbers as I could demand. I wanted batches of people in shifts in locations separated by distances ranging from 10 –70 km, and bingo, there they were. He turned out to be a Genie out of Alladin’s magic lamp for me. On the day we actually started the traffic surveys, I reached the site early with survey formats, clip boards, etc…and one should have seen the reception I was given! The moment I stepped out of the car, a group of people separated and made way for me as if I was the local councillor on a pre-election visit. I also played up to my suddenly imposed new role quite well, beginning with refusing to sit when all of them were standing, in an attempt to pull the emotional string. However, I made good use of the chair by dumping whatever material I was carrying. A list of names of the assembled people were handed to me, and I, quite unsure of what exactly to do with it, took a sort of attendance in an effort to familiarize myself with the faces. It was just impossible, I knew, but still. Then I handed out few survey formats in the crowd and held up one to explain it in detail. I could obviously not speak the local language, but I could understand it and it was enough to impress the crowd. After my delivery in the national language, somebody from the crowd along with the very smart tea stall shopkeeper stepped out of the crowd and translated my speech in Oriya.

Imagine the vote-requesting politician who tries to sell his future plans, which in reality, he would forget after winning the elections. His plans are borrowed from some unknown source and do not meet the needs of the municipality or any locality, because the politician is actually unaware of them. Moreover, he himself does not speak the local dialect since he is not one of the crowd, but a foreigner attempting to hoodwink the people. He gets away with his false promises because the language does not appeal to his audience and then it is left to the translator to goof up something and cover up the fallacies as far as possible. Now imagine my situation. I was trying to explain something completely off beat to my group of enumerators, that too in a language which neither I nor the people speak too well. I did invite questions from the audience, knowing very well that none was likely to come.

Quite unsure of the achievement of my self employed enumerator cum translators, I pulled two people out of the crowd randomly, identified locations for them to be seated, allotted directions of traffic movement to each one, and gave a beaming smile at the rest of the lot. It was then a muffled unrest started among them, including the separated two. Lots of questions started pouring in, this time in Hindi, mostly regarding duty hours and breaks for refreshments, and of course, payment. So back I went to my politician role. I answered all questions satisfactorily, putting special effort to include few phrases from my mother tongue which are reasonably similar to their Oriya version. That was something I should have avoided, because it resulted in a “rebombardment” of the same questions in the local language. Luckily my translators came to my rescue. Then I again did the process of deploying the selected two and explaining their task to them.

As I was about to move, suddenly a man came and joined the crowd. He was introduced to me by one of the group as a fellow-enumerator. Although dismayed for having to repeat the entire process, I granted him a special one to one explanation of the format and without waiting for his questions, hurriedly packed the remaining lot in the car to transport them to another location. I was careful to leave behind a man on so-called supervising duty, which in technical terms, simply means reserve duty.

Having gone through the deployment process, I embarked on a super human task of supervision over all the locations. I got myself driven back slightly ahead of the initial location and having comfortably parked the car in the shade of a tree, performed the act of volume count for half an hour. I went back to my enumerators, compared my count with theirs, and although they were quite similar, I gave them a big and completely unnecessary verbal thrashing, glorifying the ignorable difference that an anomaly of two cycles can make. It reminded me of my other professional version, from where our story took off.