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Thursday, December 20, 2012

Notes from India: Don’t Angry me


‘Don’t Angry me!’

My friend had advised me.

The advice was from the context of managing household help in India, ‘You will be surprised how effective it is … Just be stern and bossy and say the Rowdy Rathore dialog from time to time’

‘Don’t Angry me - is the mantra’

***

We were moving from Boston to Bangalore for a year.

‘One full year!’,  I was already counting the things to do, places to see and friends to visit. Having lived the USA for fourteen years, our bi-annual India trips were mostly a flurry of short stays with friends and family spread across five to six cities packed tightly in a three week schedule.  The pace at which things happened in those trips could put Flash Gordon to shame.   

I could almost feel my body relax as I conjured images of a fun filled, laid back pace at which we would get to really experience India.

‘Laid back and peaceful …’,the words floated through my head as I stood in front of the Villa surrounded by Palm, Gulmohor and  coconut trees  in a quiet gated community in the outskirts of Bangalore. This was going to by our home for the next year.

 ‘So we have a gardener, two housemaids, a cook and a driver ... all of them working at our place! ’ , my son remarked, ‘ I won’t have to put the garbage out ! ’, he beamed

‘And I won’t have to water the plants!’, my daughter chirped.

‘Yes’, my wife smiled’ that will give all of us a LOT of spare time, isn’t?’

***

‘So let me get this straight - the water is pumped to the house two times a day..’ , I was trying to keep my cool as I spoke with the person managing the water supply of our gated community.

Yes, two times – morning and evening’, the man nodded un-affirmatively.

‘We did not get the water in the evening’, I tried to explain.

Yes, it is only morning for your block sir’ the man nodded and shook his head again.

‘We are out of water ...’ I implored.

‘Please wait till morning, sir..’

“Don’t Angry me !”, my friends’ words rang through my head as I saw my only hope ride away in his Honda Activa.  I had the perfect Rowdy Rathore expression ready for him– only if he had glanced back.

The much awaited water did come in the morning. That is when we realized that the water pump had burned out since we did not know that the water storage was empty and had kept it running the earlier day.

‘No issues ... Electrician is just a call away’, I feigned a smile as my wife stood with a battalion of helpless house helps standing in attention behind her.  The gardener had the water hose in his hand to make a point I think.

The Electrician arrived sooner than I expected.  ‘ I have been working in this colony for ten years sir..’, he boasted, ‘ The security does not even ask for my ID – they recognize my bike’ , he said taking a strand of his mustache hair out of his nostril. He fixed the pump much sooner than I expected.

‘It is fixed ’,  he declared.

‘Can we turn it on?’

‘There is no electricity ..’

‘We have a UPS !’

‘The UPS does not drive 15 AMP circuits ..’, he gave me ‘you don’t  even know that !’ look.

‘So how do you know that it is fixed !’, I was trying to conjure up my Rowdy Rathore look even as the electrician started his bike and rode way into the dusty horizon. ‘ I know ..’ his voice seemed to echo across  time and space. 

The battalion of helpless house helps nodded their head affirmatively   - ‘He knows ..’  the silent message threw me out of balance.

I picked up my phone. ‘Mom , we need you in Bangalore. Now!  It is urgent!!’

***

It had been a few weeks since my Mom arrived. 

I was sitting on my Yoga mat in a quiet corner of the terrace. This corner is shaded by the coconut tree growing in the backyard.  Beautiful, southern-california-style-sunny morning.  Deep blue skies and a perfect 72 degree temperature.

‘Laid back and peaceful …  at last..’ , I thought as I lay down on the mat looking up at the sky through the coconut leaves.

I suddenly heard a rustling sound behind me that makes me jump up. Precariously perched on the coconut tree was our Cook. He was trying to cut out a bunch of coconuts with his kitchen knife “ Your mother has asked me to use fresh coconuts in the curry’, he said half apologetically.

Before I could respond, I head a clanging noise.  The society water supply guy stood on the top a twenty feet long bamboo ladder, peering into the overhead water tank. ‘The pump is working well Maaji – there is a lot of water in the tank ….’  I was amazed. I walked up the front of the house and my mother was standing on the Lawn. ‘Make sure that there is enough water in the tank …or else you will have to come again’ she fumed. ‘Don’t Angry me’

“Prune that Branch – don’t cut it !’ , she shouted at the gardener , who is sitting on a branch of the Gulmohor tree , visibly shaking. ‘ Leafs from that branch fall on the car …’either you fix that branch or start cleaning up the car everyday ..’ , she declared. ‘Don’t Angry me’

My attention shifted to yet another person participating in aerial acrobatics – this one was sitting on the highest point of the roof of the Villa. Straddling the top of the inverted V that framed the elegant edifice of the house. It was the electrician, putting Diwali lights. ’ I want the light to go through the point where you are sitting – and make the edge look sharp...do a good job otherwise I will make you climb up there again … ’, mother bellowed her commands. ‘Don’t Angry me’

I could almost hear silence floating across the air, punctuated with a silent ‘Don’t Angry me’ as the four men worked silently from their high altitude work spaces.

Don’t Angry me was indeed the mantra !

Author’s Note:

‘Laid back and peaceful …’   hmmm not really (at least not yet). But helluva lot interesting. Especially for folks like me who have been out of India for some time. Please stay tuned for more adventures and reporting from the old home.

Saturday, July 7, 2012

The Tide Adventure



Prologue

‘The Sea is gone’

‘The Sea is gone ... no , really !!’

The little girl panted as she shook her mother awake.  The mother pulled herself out of the bed and drew the curtains, spilling early morning sunshine into the room. 

She squinted to look across the backyard that overlooked the bay of Fundy.  She could not believe her eyes!


Attack of the Crabs

Once upon a time, long long ago, there was a small little kingdom called Anrock near the Bay of Fundy.  The people in the kingdom were happy fishermen and women.  They would all work through the day and get together in the evening, sing and dance together.

Then one day, the kingdom was attacked by the ferocious crabs of the underland.  

Crabs of all shapes and sizes started crawling out of the ocean. Crabs of all forms - big ones with large claws and small ones with small pinchers and tiny ones with hairy spider like legs. Crabs of all colors –furious red ones, greedy greenish ones, lazy brown ones and the snooty blue ones.

They came out of the ocean in hoards, overrunning the fishing village. They gobbled up the fishing nets. They bit through the fishing boats making them sink into the bottom of the ocean. They even climbed up the roof of the houses and made big holes in them.  

The fisher folks had to run away from the villages. The ones those remained had to guard their houses round the clock. The men fought them with swords. Then women joined the fight trying to keep the Crabs away from their houses using pitchforks.  

But the creepy, crawly creatures kept on pouring out of the sea into the villages around the bay.  The fisher folks were losing the fight. The head of all the villages rode to the King’s castle.  
King Pembroke heard the plea of the unhappy subjects.  “The Crabs have attacked our villages, please help us …’, they pleaded.

The King was enraged.  He took out his deadliest sword, assembled his bravest soldiers, put on his strongest armor and rode on his fastest horse towards the Bay of Fundy.

Prince of Clams

King Pembroke had many friends who lived in the ocean. He knew that he would need their help to defeat the Crabs. So he stopped by the castle of the Prince of Clams.  

The prince lived in a castle that was different from all the other castles in the world - it was under the ground!  What looked like flat marshy seabed next to the Bay, was actually the roof of the huge castle.  Millions of clams stood guard of the Castle, keeping watch through tiny peepholes
.
‘I am here to see the Prince of Clams’, King Pembroke announced.  The section of the ocean floor he was standing in stared to move into the ground.  He was greeted by the cheerful clicky voice of the prince of Clam.

‘Good to see you my friend!’, the prince announced.  The prince knew about the Crabs. ‘They have come in from the underland’, he said somberly.

‘Can you help me?’, The King asked.

The clam clicked thoughtfully. He then clicked some more. ‘There is one person who can help you ‘ , he finally declared. The king waited expectantly as the clam clicked some more.

‘The God of the Sea – Poseidon’, the clam said after a pause, ‘ the God of the sea can tame the crabs. The crabs need the sea to survive …’

‘But I don’t know how to reach Poseidon …’ , King Pembroke  voice had a hint of dejection. He had heard about the legend of the God of sea who lived in deepest oceans – far far away from the bay of Fundy.
‘But I know someone who does! ’, the prince of Clam said with a cheerful click.

The Travelling Salmon

‘Yes , that is correct ‘ , the Atlantic Salmon said twitching his snout ‘ I have met Poseidon ...’ , he wiggled his tail and twitched his snout some more ‘ … met him several times …’ , he said in a calm monotonous tone.

Prince clam had told the King that the Travelling Salmon was back from his ocean trip. ‘The golly fellow comes back to the stream it was born in. Imagine, traveling to all those wonderful faraway places in another continent, only to come back here!’

‘The fish may be nuts,  but I tell you - he knows Poseidon. He has surely met him many times’, King Pembroke recalled  Prince Clam’s words as he stood near the Chamcook Lake talking to the Travelling Salmon. The lake was connected to the ocean by the winding Chamcook river , which plunged down a huge waterfall before merging into the bay. 

 ‘Seven times  ... I have met him seven times – once in each of my ocean trips ..’ , the travelling salmon continued ‘ In fact Poseidon  taught me how to jump up  that waterfall  - all twelve feet of it’ , The salmon flicked its tail in the direction of the waterfall.

 ‘Can you convey our message to Poseidon to help us? The Crabs are destroying the villages and they must be stopped! ‘ , the King made an earnest plea.

‘But the villagers have fished us to near extinction’, the salmon replied. A tinge of sadness accentuated its monotonous voice, ‘They have polluted the streams and built dams on the rivers that makes it impossible for us to come back to the places we were born in …’

‘Why should I help you and your villagers ...’ , the travelling Salmon stared at King Pembroke.
‘I will make sure you and your kind are protected ‘, The King did not bat his eyelids ‘ Even if you choose not to help me … Travelling salmon, that is a  word that I give to you today !’

The travelling salmon glided around the lake as several other salmon joined him. They looked very happy.  The salmon picked up speed and headed out towards the river ‘ I will help you ‘, it said jumping over a rapid.

‘How will I know that you have conveyed him our message?’, The king asked .

‘You will know’, the salmon said as it jumped down the waterfall.

The Sea is gone

‘The Sea is gone!!’

The little girl panted as she shook her mother awake.  The mother pulled herself out of the bed and drew the curtains, spilling early morning sunshine into the room. She squinted her eyes to look across the backyard that overlooked the bay of Fundy.  She could not believe he eyes!

She picked up the pitchfork that was carefully placed beside the door and cautiously walked out into the backyard of the house. The house was perched on top of a cliff overlooking the bay.

The sea was indeed gone!   And the crabs had gone away with it!  

Tears of joy welled into her eyes as she looked along the coastline which was lined with thousands of men, women and children, waving their swords and pitchforks into the air. A roar of cheer rang across the bay as the woman and her little girl joined in.

King Pembroke stood with the men and women and stared at the empty horizon.

‘You will know’

Epilogue  

The sea did come back. In six hours to be precise. The nasty Crabs of the underland did not come back with it. The Sea has been receding into the horizon twice a day since then – perhaps just to make sure that the crabs do not come back and terrorize the small little kingdom near the Bay of Fundy.

The breeding grounds of salmons are now protected in the Kingdom.


Authors Note:   Bay of Fundy in the Atlantic coast of North America is known for the highest tides in the world. The sea level drops by more than forty feet between the tides. The coastline recedes almost to the horizon in a lot of places leaving the coastal fishing towns somewhat embarrassed with their docks anchoring boats balanced on the dry ocean bed. Twice in a day, these quaint seaside towns would transform to (just) quaint towns overlooking vast expanse of ocean bed laden with silt and weeds.

I was sitting on the deck of a cottage in one such town, trying hard to get out of an obstinate writer’s block. The cottage (an amazing vacation rental) was perched on a cliff overlooking the Bay of Fundy in St Andrews, Canada. A path wound down from the cottage to the seashore where my kids were busy chasing crabs with enviable enthusiasm.  The crabs sought shelter in the receding sea that was fleeing with an amazing pace because of the low tide.

‘Keep an eye on the kids’; said my wife ‘I am going in to fix us some lunch’.

I nodded, fixing my gaze at the two children who were squealing with delight digging out crabs of all shapes and sizes from the ocean bed and putting them into a yellow bucket. ‘We will let them all go after we are done playing’, my seven year old daughter had assured me.
The kids went further and further away from the cliff as the ocean receded, almost as if they were chasing the ocean into a beating retreat. 

I had found my story!

Sunday, March 25, 2012

Stranded!



“Stranded!”

The word has an uncomfortable ring to it.  A combination of helplessness and uncertainty laced with despair. A few strands of excitement scattered here and there. And the painful attempt of the mind to believe that it is in control.

Yes I know that formula very well dear friends. I should have received an honorary doctorate in getting stranded – if that subject was of any academic interest.  If finding holes in illusion of certainty that the modern technological age has been striving to create, was a crime – then I would be behind the bars for life.

You don’t believe me do you? Well, how about I share some of my experiences and then the jury can decide.  And before I start , I want to reiterate that all these incidences are true.

****
Train is of course one of the most popular modes of transportation across the world. Especially in India where thousands of locomotives ferry millions of passengers every day, connecting cities and towns and villages to each other, it is a like the lifeline of the country. 

During my college days, it used to be my primary mode of transportation between my home and college.  Thought it was long ride – fifteen hours if the train was on time, I was lucky that there was a direct train to the city where my college was located in. The scheduled departure time for the train from my town was 9 PM but it used to be invariably a couple of hours late, arriving at the destination early afternoon the next day.The travels would take place mostly during college vacations. 

As the train passed through numerous towns, known faces from the college boarded the train - mostly acquaintances and an occasional friend.  We used to spend a lot of time standing near the open door of the coach, smoking and chatting, getting off and on the train at all the small stations that the train paused through.   Only when the coach attendant declared that it was time to close the door, we used to finally retire, usually sleeping through the rest of the journey.

That day, the train had arrived at the station right on time. This was the first time this happened since had been travelling to college. My coach was in the middle of the train, which was a good location to scout the train from.

Strangely enough I was not able to locate any friend in the train that night. I decided to retire for the night and stretched out on my berth. The sleeper coaches of the train provided seeping berths that were positioned one on top of other. Though it was a bit early for bedtime, I pulled the blanket over my head and dozed off.

I was jerked out of my deep slumber by a rumbling sound followed by loud screeching and a finally a jolt. The coach swayed so much amidst the noise that I had to peep out of the cozy blanket and looked at my watch  – it was 3 AM in the morning .Then I heard screams, something that I had never experienced in my twenty odd years of riding the train.

The train swayed dangerously with a deafening sound and came to a screeching halt. I got up, amidst screams of passengers who had been thrown out of their berths. As I made my way to the exit, I noticed that the entire coach was sloping towards the right.  I was one of the first ones to jump out of the coach into a dark and still night.

The coach I was travelling in was leaning at an angle on the tracks. It was really dark outside, we were in the middle of nowhere. The only thing that was visible was the faint outline of the tracks next to our train and a broken harness dangling from our coach. The harness was supposed  to be attached to the next coach. All the coaches after ours were missing - those coaches, most likely would be lying down toppled somewhere down the tracks.

I glanced down the deserted track and then nervously at the men standing next to me in the dark night.

I was  stranded!

****

‘Train accidents happen all the time’, a cynic jury member might say in an imaginary conversation with the author, ‘You just happened to be unlucky enough to be part of one ...’

‘How about a cross country motorcycle journey then?’, I  would respond, ‘ Will that make the cut ?’

The jury member might look at me with a skeptical gaze, ‘A motorcycle accident?’

‘No – that would be too easy’, I manage a smile. ‘How about getting stranded on the road – without any of the predictable stuff …  accident, falling sick , bandhs  ?’

I passed on to the cynic jury member a link to the story – Pulp Fiction Masaala.

****

‘Did it really happen?’ , the jury member asked after browsing through the story.

‘Yes, most of it’, I replied ‘ Of course what is life without  a little creative license ?’

‘ I have more stories ..’, I added eagerly ‘ There is one where I get  stranded because of  the train. And then I head out for a road trip and get stranded again!’  

‘Yes I have read that one in your blog ‘ , the jury member gave me a faint smile.

‘Do you have something that is different?’, she asked after a pause.

‘You bet I do!’ , I was eager to be absolved of my crime of finding holes in illusion of certainty that the modern technological age was trying to create.

****

So here is a different story that happens in a totally different part of the world.

Aircraft is of course one of the most popular modes of transportation across the world. Especially in USA  where thousands of aircrafts  ferry millions of passengers every day, connecting cities and towns to each other, it is a like the lifeline of the country. 

‘Don’t tell me you have been in a plane accident  ...’ , the jury member interrupted  with her eyes betraying  her attempt of  feigning a detached calmness.

‘No – no usual stuff ...’ , I smiled ‘ Here is how the story goes…’

I fly a lot as part of my work.  If you discount the instances of ego induced imaginary levitations, I still flew a lot and was in the elite clubs of most of the airlines.  Of course the perks of these travels – beside the complimentary fist class upgrades, glasses of champagnes and access to exclusive lounges at  the airports, was my near constant absence from the life of my family. But somehow I had played along with the illusion that elite mileage membership was a more than sufficient compensation for missing out on life.

Because of my frequent travels, I have had the good fortune of experiencing several adrenalin induced moments. Like getting splattered with the barf of my co traveler when our shuttle aircraft plummeted down due to an unusually large airpocket.  It was early in the morning and I swear I could have guessed the menu of the breakfast the guy had.

Then there was this incidence where the overtly panicked stewardess asked us to  put our head between our knees for an emergency landing. The aircraft landed on the runway lined with ambulances and fire trucks. But  that is not when I got stranded.

It was a balmy winter afternoon  in Boston (if you know the standards of balmy winter in New England) . The Sun was still shining brightly - the temperature was twenty degree F ( -6 Deg C).  I was travelling to Chicago - It was supposed to be snowing and much colder there.  My brother lives in Chicago and I would be staying with him for the night and go through a string of official meetings the next morning. It was a simple plan.

The air was unusually chilly when I got out of my car at the central parking of the Logan Airport. I hurried out of the car and rushed towards the terminal building.  The flight was on time.

After  the usual rounds of in-flight complimentary  champagne, I disembarked the plane at O Hare Airport in Chicago.  My brother was supposed to pick me up from the terminal. ‘ Call me when your flight lands – I will be there before you reach the terminal exit’  he had said.

I dug into pocket retrieve my cell phone.  The phone was not there!  Then I realized that I did not recall turning the phone off before the phone took off.   My cell phone was in my car that was parked at Boston Airport !

I looked at the eyes of the cynic jury, who did not seem to be impressed by the turn of events.

‘So what – you just forgot your cell phone … is that all?’ , she seemed to be underwhelmed.

That day I realized the extent I had got used to the technological props.  I did not remember my brother’s cell phone number. Or his address – I had his address stored in my contact information in my cell phone. All I recalled that he lived in the Lake shore drive opposite to Lake Michigan on the eighteenth floor of a beautiful building that had a swimming pool on the terrace.

A combination of helplessness and uncertainty laced with despair crept up on my mind. A few strands of excitement scattered here and there in the mix. My mind made a painful attempt to believe that it is in control as I called my home from a pay phone.

‘So you got your brother’s address and phone number from your wife ?’ , my heartless jury remarked  nonchalantly.

I tried to. There was no one at home as my call kept on hitting the answering machine. I did not remember my wife’s cell phone number - her office had switched over to a new carrier last month and she had a new number which had not registered in my memory. 

It was snowing outside  and the temperature was minus 15 deg centigrade. I stood on the curbside thinking about my brother who was waiting for my call so that he could come and pick me up at the airport. I could not take a taxi to his place because I did not remember his address.

I was stranded!

****

‘So what is your point?’ , the imaginary jury asked after a long pause , ‘ Is it that the things that you take so much for granted – the safety net – it is a mere illusion ?’

Frankly, I was just hoping for some sympathy. But my jury’s philosophical inference sounded reasonable.  I nodded affirmatively.

‘But you did survive all the strandings  ... didn’t you ?’ , she asked  with a smile.

I recalled that I had walked for about a mile after the train accident when we saw fire from a distance. Several coaches lay toppled on the tracks and the passengers had lit up warning bonfires. Some of the passengers were helping the train staff in attending to the injured.  After what seemed to be a very long wait, a train passed on the track parallel to ours – we had stopped that train and made our way to the next station.

I had hailed a taxi at O’Hare. It had started to snow. ‘Please drive towards the Lake Shore dive … by the way do you have a cell phone?‘ I had asked the cab driver. I left a message on the home answering machine ‘Left my cell phone in the car. Stranded in Chicago – please call me at 347 564 3422’.   I had my brother’s address when I was a mile away from his home.

I did not want to tell her about the countless other times that I had felt that I was stranded but I had survived the stranding.  

‘We all survive the strandings’, I winked at my imaginary jury.

Saturday, February 25, 2012

Time Travel with Tintin



‘How was it ?’ I had asked my eleven year son as  we walked out out  the multiplex after watching The Adventures Tintin.
  
‘Loved it !’, he had replied with a grin , ‘Can you get me all the comics, please ! you have read them all, haven't you  ?’

It had taken some convincing to get him interested in the blond boyish looking character who had been my favorite comic book hero since I was his age.

The crown jewel of my comics’ collection, Tintin had made his way up on favorite list. Herge’s illustrations would take me to the far away lands – Africa, Tibet, Middle East, America and even to the Moon!

‘How about we read them together?’ I had suggested. 

***

A pile of Tintin comics lay in front of us. I had ordered several of them from Amazon.  There were a few from my childhood collection - these masterpieces were still clad in the newspaper jackets that I had put on them to save them from the rampage of time.

‘Careful’, I  said as my son unwrapped the Jacket  to reveal the colorful front page of Tintin and the Picaros – the hilarious plot that was set amongst imaginary  Banana republic’s of South America.  He settled down into the couch diving into the land of General Alcazar.

The yellowing newspaper jackets lay on the floor. I picked up one which was almost brittle with age.
“Times of India Sunday, June 15, 1986” said the fading letters on the header, just above smiling faces of Kapildev and Ravi Shastri  who were popping a bottle of champagne.  

I carefully unwrapped other  newspaper jackets  - they were all  within a couple of years.

‘Scooch over ‘ I nudged my son from my favorite spot on the couch and settled down with a cup of tea and twenty five year old newspapers.

‘I thought you were going to read Tintin with me …’ , my son complained.

But I had already set out on a time travel that took me back more than twenty five years – when I was almost as old as my son.  

****

I don’t read newspapers. I think that they are the best way to ruin your morning. I believe that if the news is important - it would always find you.  Today, news from a Sunday morning about twenty five years ago had found me.

“End for Ron , Blonde for Mikhail predicted” , the international  news section had a piece covering an astrologers  prediction  that Ronald Regan would resign over Iran arms scandal and Mikhail Gorbochov would fall in love with a 19 year old  air hostess.  ‘Most Astrologers predict that next year would be disastrous ’ the article concluded. ‘Not much of a change there‘, I chuckled. 

'Can you turn off the TV please ?' my son requested, his eyes glued to the comic. The TV was showing a documentary on Tibetans and their struggle to get freedom. I turned it off and placed the remote on the coffee table.

My attention drifted to the small section in the Sunday newspaper that said “Today’s TV”  with the Sunday morning programs that I used to wait an entire week for.  The listing was next to an advertisement for black and white television sets.  Mickey and Donald show was at 10 AM, followed by the kids soap 'Ek do Teen chaar' and then the celebrated Rajani at 12:15 PM.

My eyes would be glued to the black and white television showing programs ranging from Mickey and Donald’s show to the feisty Rajani – the vigilant housewife on a mission to fight against social issues under a semi-comical setting.

The Sunday Feature Film was V Shantaram’s  Jhanak Jhanak Payal Baaje – which I recalled  even after twenty five years. It had been a painful movie to sit through at that time with its unending string of dances. 

“Last ‘Rajani’ today” declared an article just below the listing that said that Mudra Communications would not be making any new episodes of the celebrated TV serial. The last episode of Rajani at 12:15 pm.

I sat up excited. I still remembered that Sunday afternoon very clearly ! My mother had not stopped complaining  about the end of her favorite TV program. "Why do they stop the good programs?' . "They should privatize the TV broadcasting", my dad had quipped in. 

The time travel was getting real . It wasn't an general day from the past that was reading about. It was a day that I could relate to now. A day that I had memories about !

A quick glance at the weather section which was just under the TV listing – it was 43 deg C (110 F)  in Delhi. I cringed recalling the hot June afternoons. Tar roads would burn and almost feel soft under the shoes due to the heat . A blast of dry westerly winds , or Loo blowing from the deserts of Rajasthan could almost vaporize you.

****

The economic section had news about Reliance Industries setting up a new company for a massive petrochemical project in Hazira, Gujrat. 


The company was to be named Reliance Petrochemicals. The company went on to become a household name in India and played a key role in shaping up Reliance Industries into an industrial behemoth. The owner of the company is now the second richest person in Asia and ninth richest in the world.


Scattered around the pages were advertisements -  relics of commercial art with amusing copy writing. "Visit before or after marriage and regain health vigor and vitality", declared the advertisement of the celebrated Sablok Clinic - made famous but the wall graffiti advertisement campaign along the railway tracks of  Delhi.


A huge quarter page advertisement of Siva Computers was filled up with a rate card of PC's  with different configurations. The state of the art AT-386  was priced at Rs 1,40,00 (~$3000). 


'Times have indeed changed', I thought, as I looked at the advertisement with an amused grin. 


'How about some news ?', I opened the newspaper to peek into the inside pages. 


This section was relatively well preserved and I shifted my attention to the headlines sprinkled across the pages.  


I was Amazed by what I found there !


****


I could not believe that these headlines were from a newspaper that was twenty five years old. These headlines could pass as "News" even today.



Israel, Palestine, India. Pakistan, Kashmir .. the dates had changed but the stories were the same.


'Uneasy calm in Lhasa', said another headline - that talked about the unrest in Tibet. 


'Wait a minute .. didn't I see that on the TV just now..' , sat up flicking the TV on. The program was still on - throwing light on Tibetans and their struggle to get freedom.

'Perhaps the times have not changed that much after all ...'  I sighed as I fixed my gaze at the television which was showing interviews related to the 2008 Tibetan unrest which had ended in rioting, looting and killing.

****

‘Hey !  I thought you were going to read Tintin with me …’ , my son complained as he saw me watching the television. I switched the television off and turned my gaze towards the stack of Tintin comics on the coffee table. "Tintin in Tibet" was on top of the pile.

A smile spread across my face. Colorful images of Tibet and Himalayas that that Herge had conjured in the comic book flashed in my mind - the monasteries, the levitating monks, the colorful kites and  the snow clad landscapes. The images were in stark contrast to the fossilized reality. The fossilized reality that had not changed after twenty five years.

I picked up the Tinitin comic, stretched out next to my son and dived into the land of Tintin. I was happy that things had not changed there as well.

Saturday, February 4, 2012

Smart Robots





Authors Note :   


"The strength of your writing is that it has honesty ... but you have to work on the length of your stories",  was my writing Guru's  feedback. "Cut ruthlessly on multiple reads till a point that you feel not a single word can now be removed", she said.


So I thought of a story that needed a lot of honesty. And tried to communicate it in the least possible words ..


Planet Omega-3 was inhabited by smart robots.

These robots ran on a heuristic program - a program that could learn. The robots became more intelligent over time and started performing new and cool stuff. They even evolved their forms to new cool forms to help them perform new and cool stuff.

One day a robot’s program became over optimized and created a virus.

The virus made the robot perform not so cool stuff, while its program continued to believe that it was performing cool stuff. 

The virus spread to other robots and the number of infected robots increased steadily.

***

Then one day a robot downloaded a vaccine program from an unknown source. 

The incidences of vaccine downloads started happening at regular intervals. These robots were known as savior robots.

The savior robots cleared the virus from a large number of infected robots they came in contact with. 

The vaccinated robots could once see the difference between what was cool and what was not.

***

But several of these vaccinated robots caught the virus back again. 

Most of them were the ones who got organized in big groups to set up vaccination camps for other infected robots. These robots relapsed with a resistant strain of virus - vaccine for which had not surfaced yet.

The gap between infected and vaccinated robots continues to grow in the planet Omega-3.


THE END 


Saturday, January 7, 2012

Mariposa


Can you write a story for me ?’, my six year old daughter asked, ‘An awesome butterfly story ...’


She loved butterflies, ‘ I want to be a butterfly when I grow up’ , she  would say.

‘What do you want in the story ...?’, I smiled.

‘An awesome princess. Lots of awesome Monarch butterflies. Not too many words and a lot of pictures…’


So I tried to find out more about the Monarch butterflies. And I was amazed by what I found out !


Once upon a time, long long ago, there was a beautiful princess, who lived in a beautiful palace that was in a beautiful kingdom nestled around beautiful mountains of central Mexico.  Her name was Mariposa.

The princess loved butterflies. ‘I want to be a butterfly when I grow up’, the princess would say.

‘You will be a queen when you grow up , my dear’, the King would laugh.

‘No I want to become a beautiful butterfly and fly away!’  

***

One day the King got a message from another kingdom that was far far away.

‘Help us ! The mighty tribes of South are going to attack us in the Harvest season ! Please send your army to help ’

‘But your  kingdom is so far far  away …’, The king said ‘ How will my army reach there in time ?’

The King did not send help.

Next year, the King got a message from another kingdom that was far away.

 ‘Help us ! The mighty tribes of South are going to attack us in the Harvest season ! Please send your army to help ’

‘But your kingdom is so far away …’, The king said ‘ How will my army reach there in time ?’

The King did not send help.

Next year, the King got a message from the mighty tribes of South.

‘We are going to attack you in the Harvest season !’

 The King was sad. The mighty tribes of South had a big big army. He would need help.

‘But I have helped nobody so why will other’s help me ?’  

***

‘We can ask help from the mighty tribes of the North’ , the queen suggested .
   
The King and the Queen were sitting under the royal Oak  tree in the royal garden. Princess Mariposa was chasing butterflies that were flying around the garden.

 ‘You are right my Queen. The Harvest season is only four months away. I will go to them personally and ask for help.  ’

‘My princess Mariposa …’, the King  said to his daughter, ‘Take care of your mother while I am away’

 Mariposa nodded as a Monarch butterfly settled gently on her head.

That night, the King and his sixteen strongest soldiers headed north on their fastest horses.

Two months passed but the King did not return.

***

‘The harvest season is so close!’, the queen thought  impatiently, ‘And there is still no word from the King !!'

The Queen and Mariposa were sitting under the royal Oak tree in the royal garden. The oak tree was Marposa’s favorite tree . The tree always had a lot of Monarch butterflies fluttering around  it.

Mariposa  held her mothers hand gently to comfort her.

‘What if the King does not return with help before the harvest season ?’ 

‘The Northen Tribes  are so far far  away …’, The queen  muttered sadly ‘ How will they reach there in time ?’

The queen began to sob. She got up and hurried back into the palace, hiding her tears.

Mariposa sat under the royal Oak tree. She was also very sad. She missed her father.

‘I wish I was a butterfly’, she thought as a tear dropped down her rosy cheek ‘ I would fly to the Northern tribes  … and find my father!‘

‘You will get what you wish, dear ..’ , a gentle voice came from above her.

She looked up. There was no one.

‘W-Who are you ?’, she asked , looking around her.

‘It is me dear …  the Oak tree  !’

***

The magical Oak tree told Mariposa that it could turn her into a butterfly !

‘I will give you a magical word..’, the tree whispered, ‘Hold the hands of someone you love and say the word ...  you will turn into a butterfly !’

Mariposa’s eyes gleamed with delight.

‘What is the magical word ?’

‘It is - IAM'

Mariposa ran inside the palace to her mother’s chamber.

‘Mother I will be back soon ’, she said holding her mother’s hand.

IAM!’, she said softly and turned into a beautiful Monarch butterfly

***

Mariposa fluttered out of the window into the royal gardens. She was greeted cheerfully by all her butterfly friends. The Oak tree gave her a smile.

‘Which way should I fly to reach the mighty tribes of the North ?’, she asked excitedly.

‘That way my dear', said the Oak tree pointing with a branch,' But it will take you many many days to reach there ..'

‘My friends will help you find your way ..’, it said,  ‘..the first one is the sun - just listen to what he has to say and you will  stay on course.

‘What if the sun gets hidden by the clouds?’ , Mariposa asked.

‘Then listen to the sky. The sky knows what the sun has to say. It will convey its message’,  the tree smiled.

‘And what if the entire sky is covered with clouds ?’

‘Wait. Don’t fly’, the oak tree smiled,’ The clouds will eventually go away. Then you fly again !’

***

Mariposa rose up in the warm air. Up and up and up.

She listened to the sun and kept fluttering her colorful wings towards the direction it asked her to. 

Sometimes It was a bit difficult to hear the sun as it moved across the sky, getting obscured by the clouds. But then the blue sky conveyed sun’s message to Mariposa.

On the days when the entire sky was covered with clouds, she waited patiently for the clouds  to clear – just enough to get a glimpse of the blue sky.

She kept on flying for days and days, resting occasionally to snack on milkweed plants.

‘I have to get back with help before the harvest season!’ , she thought with her eyes trained towards the northern  horizons.

Then one day, the Sun told her in a cheerful voice.

‘You are there ! ’

***
The huge kingdom of the mighty northern tribes lay sprawled under her. As far as her eyes could see.

And then she saw her father! He was standing in front of a big group of warriors.

‘Help us ! The mighty tribes of South are going to attack us in the Harvest season ! Please send your army to help us’, said the King.

‘But your kingdom is so far far away …’, A big northern warrior said with a booming voice ' ..how will our  army reach there in time ?’

‘We can find a way if we want to …’ , the King appealed.

‘There is no way we can reach your kingdom in one month ... even with the fastest horses ..’, the big northern warrior replied ‘ It took you more than two months to reach here with just sixteen soldiers. We have one hundred and sixty thousand  ...’

The king looked down, crestfallen. He recalled the appeal for help he had received from other Kings – the messages he had ignored because he did not try hard enough to help.

‘The Chief is right. How can I get one hundred and sixty thousand soldiers to my kingdom in one month’

Just then he saw a beautiful butterfly descend from the sky. She flapped her wings and settled down on the King’s right ear.

‘Its me father - Mariposa’, she whispered.

***
‘I know a way to get the warriors to our Kingdom before the harvest season’, Mariposa  whispered excitedly.

‘Make them hold the hand of the person they love and say the magical word  …’, She said settling down on his fingers. She then told her father the story of the Oak tree and how she got here.

The mighty northern tribes believed that the butterflies were the spirits of their ancestors. ‘It is a good omen’, the big northern warrior said to the King, ‘We will help you - tell us what to do’

‘Get your best warriors – along with a person he loves’ , The king said with a twinkle in his eyes.

Soon the vast expanse of the northern plains was covered with the mightiest of the warriors, each with a loved member of their family.

‘Repeat after me’, the King said as Mariposa settled down gently on his hand.

IAM!’

***
One hundred and sixty thousand and eighteen butterflies rose up in the chilly northern air.  Up and up and up.

‘Listen to the sun’, the King Monarch ‘s voice rang in the air ,’And the blue sky’

The butterflies flew southwards. Sometimes It was a bit difficult to hear the Sun as it moved across the sky , getting obscured by the clouds. But then the sky conveyed sun’s message.

On the days when the entire sky was covered with clouds, they waited patiently for the clouds to clear – just enough to get a glimpse of the blue sky.

They  kept on flying for days and days, resting occasionally to snack on milkweed plants.

Then one day, the Sun told them in a cheerful voice.

‘You are there! ’

The people of the beautiful kingdom nestled around the beautiful mountains of central Mexico were amazed to see thousands of beautiful butterflies descending from the sky just before the harvest season.

THE END

Authors Note:    


Yes, the butterflies did turn back into warriors and defeated the mighty tribes of South  :)

The residents of the kingdom nestled around the mountains of central Mexico still get millions of colorful visitors every year. The migration of millions of Monarch butterflies from Northern US and Southern Canada to central Mexico continues to amaze everyone.


About four hundred million of them travel more than three thousand miles every year to an area less than seventy square miles in central Mexico ! 


How do they do it ? Well it is still a puzzle, and researchers are trying to figure out all aspects of the migration. Of course, Sun , Sky and sensors in the butterflies are involved  (more)

I also discovered some amazing facts like the  people in the region have welcomed the arrival of monarchs since pre-Hispanic times. In the language of the native Purépecha Indians, the monarch butterfly is called the harvester butterfly, because they descend from the skies just before the harvest season (more )

So ... how did it all start ? I wondered.
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