The Case of the Reckless Bus Driver

And so D*, you really thought I was unaffected by the terrorist attacks in Mumbai? No Sir... I WAS affected.

However I found that my thoughts were not aligned with the popular sentiments going around then, just in the aftermath of the attacks. The common emotions that I saw in people were fear, anxiety, rage, and an overwhelming feeling that "something must be done". My reactions were not on the same lines and probably that is why you thought that I was 'unaffected'. I was, so to say, differently affected.

One thing I did feel strongly was this: after the initial hullabaloo, we would ultimately forget. I found similar sentiments echoed elsewhere (I am quoting from Moushumi Palit's piece "Enough is Enough"):

All we care about is how does this impact me? So we continue to make tut-tuting noises about the spirit of Mumbai, nod our heads diligently to the “enough is enough” phrase that pops up each time, and just move on unconcerned, uncaring; each time, sinking back into the sea of apathy within hours of the tragedy, just glad it’s not us or our family members or friends…

..., I wonder why issues that really affect our life, our families, our safety like floods each year or recurring bomb blasts and the incompetence of the govt in dealing with these don’t make us angry. Why do we adjust to these? And worse, how long will we continue to do so?

Yes there are so many issues to which we turn a blind eye. Let us take up for example, the issue of rash bus driving in Kolkata. It would be an understatement to say that buses speed on the roads. In fact, buses actually race on the roads of Kolkata.

Say, we have a bus on route 221 which starts off from its' depot in Golpark at 2:10pm. For the first 15-20 minutes, the driver drives very very slowly. The drivers take all the time in the world to pick up people - regardless of whether they are standing at the bus stop or not. Someone from amongst the passengers regularly raises a voice - "Dada driver ki ghumiye porlo naaki? (Hey, is the driver asleep or what?)" To this, the bus conductors turn a deaf ear, an art that they have honed to perfection. This goes on for a while until the conductor gives the driver the signal they have been waiting for - the bus which left the depot 10 minutes after them has been spotted some distance behind them. And with this signal, the race begins.

The driver suddenly begins to drive like someone possessed. Overtaking from left and right, all horns blaring, the bus muscles its' way through traffic. During this race, the earlier concern shown for passengers boarding the bus (and now, also those alighting) is forgotten, putting those people in grave risk. Sometimes, the two buses catch up and go neck to neck for some time. In that moment, the drivers and the conductors curse at each other. And then one of the buses takes the lead and the race goes on.

It is during these mad races that many accidents have occurred - fatal in most cases. The news of the boy studying in Class 7, or the office-goer being mowed down by a bus while trying to cross the road, has become a regular feature of newspapers. No Mumbai type media coverage here. No being hooked to the TV for 2 days straight. These acts of violence happen in small dosages - the way to deal with these snippets of bad news is simple: first, feel sorry for the poor victims, next curse the authorities and finally, turn to the sports or comic page.

I wonder - why is it that a bus full of passengers are unable to control the behaviour of 1 reckless driver and his 1 or 2 equally irresponsible compatriots. Usually one of the passengers takes the initiative but he/she is never backed up by the others. The conductors usually silence the lone protester by use of arrogant and rough language and a great deal of confident arrogance. They seem to believe that what they are doing is right, and not having to face much retaliation, carry on doing so.

Why do not the authorities bring these people to book? One particular theory is that the bus drivers' union is allied with certain political parties, and this 'connection' renders them to be above the law.

Finally, for all those people who regularly say that "something needs to be done" - here is one issue which has remained unsolved for some time now. High time we get a solution, eh?

Image Credits: Maran http://umaipadam.blogspot.com

PS: While searching for the above image, I came across some interesting articles on the topic.
1. An incident where the public actually took some action
2. Fines proposed, but may not be effective

Going Hungry at the Tailgate

My appetite for attending an American football game had been sated after watching a couple of games at Virginia Tech's Lane Stadium. But there was something else linked with American football, that I wanted to experience and which one literally had to have an appetite for. I am talking about the Tailgate party. A tailgate is a cook-out, family get-together, friend's re-union, cocktail party rolled into one. And I got a chance to experience it very recently.

I knew that people arranged barbecues and brought food to Tailgates. I also imagined that if I were to roam around aimlessly at the Tailgate arena with an amiable expression on my face, I would surely be invited by some Tailgaters to sample their fare. It was with this hope, an empty stomach and the Grad student's well-known affinity to free food that I decided to venture into this great American mela.

And believe me, there was good food. And there were great smells. And God was witness to the extremely amiable expression on the face of a certain aimless wanderer. However that wanderer was to find out, much to his disappointment, that the American people intended to carry on chomping their food and guzzling their beer without any help from outsiders. In all decency I tried my best not to curse the chompers and the guzzlers, but if some people in that lot suffered from indigestion on the following day, then I would not blame myself too much.

Reflecting on that day's incident with a saner mind and a relatively less-empty stomach, the American people's behavior may be easily explained. Imagine Indian people out on a picnic at Botanical Gardens, Kolkata. Every group usually arranges for their own food. Considering that on one such picnic, I was busy tucking into some Tandoori chicken and Egg-Fried Rice from my lunch box, and I saw a well-dressed Chinese person roaming around clicking pictures, I would not think of offering that person my food. Instead I would be more intent on checking which of my cousins was not eating the Pantua so that I could stake first claim on it.


**

I realize that the Tailgate is quite an American festival. It is one of the traditions that are quite endearing and I did know of before I came here. Being curious, I read up about Tailgates and found the following interesting trivia from here:

1. The first Tailgate occurred when people came to watch the Battle of Bull Run. Yes, a real war (Not particularly endearing, this particular trivia).
   
2. 30% of Tailgaters never attend the football game (I would do that).

**

A must see: this slide-show on Tailgates put up by Time magazine.

Sun-Catchers

Cycle wheels are usually equipped with small pieces of translucent plastic which act as reflectors. At night, when car headlights fall on these, they reflect the light and thus drivers become aware of cyclists on the road. In the daytime, if the sun's rays fall at the correct angle on these, they look like bright pieces of stained glass. I named them as sun-catchers for the context of this piece.

I noticed the beauty of sun-catchers one Saturday afternoon. I was returning home after a hearty lunch. There was not much work to be done that weekend so I had all the time in my hands. I had just missed the bus and the next bus was due in half an hour. To while away the time, I leaned on something and started admiring the beauty of nature. The weather was that of a perfectly lazy summer afternoon. I could have stayed there forever.

It was then that I saw someone riding a bike and it was on that bike that I noticed the sun-catchers.

The sun's rays happened to be at the most appropriate angle. And as the wheels of the cycle turned, the two sun-catchers captured my attention. My gaze was drawn to them and other visible features in my field of view (the rims and spokes of the wheels, the cyclist, the background) faded away. And the bright pieces of plastic seemed to be moving like Siamese twins - conjoined by some invisible force. They rolled along ever so slowly - it was as if they too felt the lull of the lazy summer afternoon.

I felt elated to observe this harmonious motion. Unfortunately such elation is not found everyday - probably the conditions for being able to find beauty in the simplest of things are very stringent.

Image Credits: anataman

Turn Turn Turn

It was raining leaves today.

The wind picked up leaves
From the bough of almost naked trees
And strew these leaves around
According to its' many whims.

I was in the car
And the wind never touched me.
What struck me instead
Was the sight of a faraway tree
And the leaves floating towards me.

As if the magic spell of a lovely fairy
Was casting its' spell on me.

**

Later in the day
I was outside
Dipping my feet in rivers running below.

The wind was still up
And by this time
Most of the leaves were down below.

The wind was in no mood
To let the leaves rest.
A relentless architect - the wind.

And the leaves
Performed cartwheels
Appearing like gears turning round and round -
Naughty frolicsome energized.

In their combined entirety,
They formed gushing streams, torrents
Gullies, rivers
And flowed down alleys
And roads and walkways
Under the feet of men
And into the hearts of those who noticed.

**

PS:
The title was inspired by the following song (definitely recommended):

Youtube search link.

**

If you liked this, you will like:
And The Leaves That are Green
The Butterflies

There was something in that moment...

That day, I saw two spectacular sights. Sometime before, I had recounted the first one. Now let me tell you about the second sight I saw that day.

I saw a girl looking out of the window and talking on the phone.

Yes let me repeat - I saw a girl talking on the phone while looking out of the window. And that's what I saw. That's exactly what I saw.

Now what the hell is earth-shattering time-halting spectacular about that, you might ask.

So to defend my statement, let me tell you what I really saw.

They say a painting tells a hundred stories. In a window in the building opposite my house, it was a painting that was formed that day. Who was the artist that day? God? Life? Whoever the painter was, the painting was really good.

Firstly, for benefit of painting the picture in the reader's mind, the physical setting of this scene must be well described. This window in the building opposite my house is rectangular and fairly large. A field whose length is neither too less nor too large separates these two buildings. Thus the sight that I saw was not too distant from me, and yet I remained an unobtrusive spectator.

The time of the day was important - the sun was setting and the bright yet soft light of approaching dusk bathed the window from the west. The blinds were drawn up almost completely at this window, and their contribution to the painting were a few white lines across the top. The visible back of a book-case filled up the right corner of the painting. And the back of a book-case, however nice the collection of books arranged in the front may be, is just plain wood or card-board.

These were the prosaic parts of the painting. And then in the left side of the frame, there was the girl . The girl was pretty - which was a fortunate thing. And yet, it was not the main thing. The important part was the story that her eyes told. (And this is like saying that a movie was great and that the heroine was very beautiful. The two things are independent, and if they co-exist together, that's just a great thing.)

Of course, I could not see her eyes up close. Yet, there was something in the way in which she stared out into the horizon, that said a lot. The girl was talking to someone on the phone - and at that instant, she was probably listening. Her look was one of absolute peace and calmness. Maybe I imagined things but I was sure she was talking to her beloved. There was love in that stare; the eyes, as they gazed out through the window, were hopeful of a bright and happy future. And in that moment, the sun's glorious presence seemed to be a fitting tribute to the moment. Possibly the sun's rays carried a message from her lover.

I saw the painting for a fleeting instant. Yet it got etched into my memory. I remember it with the fondness with which I remember seeing other spectacles of nature, other creations of God. Why? Because what I witnessed that day was nothing else but Man's greatest creation, a creation more primal and important than window-blinds or book-cases or cell-phones, - Love.

Creating Notes with Silence

I was sitting in the balcony with the laptop on my lap,
thoughts in my mind forming words on the screen.
The time was evening,
and while us "unnatural" beings
turned on lights and tubes,
the rest of the natural order was ending the day.

This town of mine, this town where I live,
is kind.
People live here, but the sounds of nature can still be heard.
And silence, when presented, is not disturbed.

That day, it was the silence that screamed out to me.
A faint hum, though -
that of birds chirping,
emanated from far corners,
and merged with the silence.

Suddenly ,

the canvas of the sky
was painted with the passage of a flock of birds.
I saw them -
every soldier steady and firm,
every motion synchronized,
every path identical.

As they weaved their magical path,
astounding onlookers but attracting none -
not a single sound escaped their regiment.
And the tranquility of the moment was not broken.

Truly,
the greatest silent orchestra was performed that day.


PS: This poem describes one of the two sights that I saw that day.

Tagged

Here's my addition to this list of those moments of life that make life what it is... Beautiful.

i.
Sitting on the grass - Dejected
Then spotting a squirrel playing nearby.

ii.
Waking up to a beautiful dream.

iii.
Beautiful weather - a splendid day
A spring in your step
And for some reason
Yet incoherent in your mind,
You are on top of the world
And suddenly
The song on the shuffle
Mirrors your exact sentiments.

iv.
Chance meeting with girl
Whose thoughts makes your heart skip a beat.

v.
And she smiles at you.

vi.
Cycling downhill
Down down down...
Wind places people time
Rush past.
And you are unstoppable -
You are born free.

Blowing in the Wind

The fatigue seeps in
As the journey goes on
And the cool breeze of a rainy day
Sweeps in through the window
To ruffle my hair.

I despair -
I came home to sleep
In my mother's lap
And let her weave dreams
While caressing my hair.

And yet I find myself
Beckoned to actions
Of no visible joy.

And then,
To derive solace
I adopt the following belief -
Those are Mom's blessings
Which are blowing in the wind.


[Written while traveling. During my Kolkata trip, June 2008]

The Correct Mood for Writing

According to Old Chinese proverb, there is a correct mood for the art of writing. “Now then”…According to other Old Chinese proverbs, there are in fact correct moods for every pleasurable activity possible to man. For drinking tea. For listening to music. For conversation among friends. And so on.

But we are here to talk about the art of writing. And let us not digress from that.

If we were to dissect the procedure of writing a piece into its’ various constituent parts, we would end up with some of the following –
Event 1: Idea ‘creeps into/overwhelms faculties of’ the writer’s mind.
Event 2: The idea crawls out of mental confines into tangible reality of words.
Event 3: Slash-slash, Cut-cut, Swish and swoosh… Editing.
Event 4: Writer makes someone read it.

Now the question is: Which one of these parts is the most important part of the writing procedure?

Of course, I have absolutely no answer to that question. So why the long premise, one might ask. Well, recently, I experienced a good-writing-mood day. And to best explain the dynamics of this writer’s mind at that time, a sequential dissection of the writing procedure was essential.

On that opportune day, I was in the middle of enacting ‘Act 2’ (or lamely, ‘Event 2’) of the writing procedure. What was the mood in which I was doing that?
(1.) Tired… Extremely so.
(2.) Lonely… Having rejected an offer of going out with some friends.
(3.) Looking for something worthwhile to do.

As it turns out, it wasn’t a good mood that I was in. Yet turned out to be a wise choice to keep writing at that time.

And what was the location of the enactment? Balcony facing South. Sitting on Plastic chair. Looking up to wide expanse of sky to East and West (i.e. when not writing).

Hence the writing continued. Words were being strung together to exhibit an idea whose advent in my mind had occurred previously. Words having the power of uplifting one’s spirit – I felt the meter of my soul rising Up… Up…Up.

And that was the moment when ideas kept coming to my mind. Subjects for future writing, usually so elusive to find, kept presenting themselves. I looked up once and was presented with a sight of immense beauty. A mental note followed – “Must write about this.” Then, a few moments later… another sight. Would I, on another day, and in another mood, have given thought to it? No. But that day I did.

I realized that this was the mood for creation – for the first Act of the great theater of writing. When one’s mood is uplifted, only then, one can appreciate the true beauty of life – of the life that is presented to us on a platter – every day, and at every moment. One but has to know how to spot it.

And what were the two sights, you might ask? Dear friend, let that be reserved for another occasion.

[Image Credits].

PS: [9/22/08] Have managed to pen down one of them. Here.
[10/11/08] The second one is penned down here

And The Leaves That are Green...

Different things strike different people differently. An obvious statement, eh? Yet the tidings of an idle Saturday afternoon compel me to spend my energies in the current relevance of this trite and commonplace remark.

The event was a single occurrence – the completion of one year at Blacksburg. One year of Ph.D… Ah! How much we harp about our own affairs. As if a Ph.D. is the greatest thing on earth.

But I am deviating from the topic. Let me return. One year got over. And there were many things that reminded me of this.

Firstly, the date. 4th August 2008. Exactly one year ago, A and I had landed at Blacksburg. Exactly one year ago, I had lost sleep fearing the loss of my passport. Exactly one year ago, I had made a phone-call back home from a roadside payphone. One year henceforth, memories kept peeping in. Yet life went on as usual on this year's date. The day’s events had their toll and memories remained more-or-less dormant.

Another day... The trickle of new students. Soon turning into high tide. Maps in hand. Keen faces. Joie-de-vivre. Greetings at bus stops. Making plans to play. Invitations for dinner. Meeting seniors. But the seniors have gone through it all. They smile knowingly… “Been there done that”. Life goes on… some people are always starting afresh at a given point of time. At the same time, others think they are stuck in a rut.

Then another day… Registering for classes for the new semester. Going through old notes. Old mails. Old books. Old plans. Newcomers searching for room 2040. Those who searched classrooms once observe patiently, to help if asked. It’s time for them to make new plans.

But all the above occurrences faintly whispered into my mind. Speaking the same thing – “Year ended. Year begins.” At best, some of these were at the decibel level of polite conversations i.e. they were not loud; they were civil, beginning and ending with the permission of both parties involved – the occurrences and my mind in this case. And then one day, the loud blaring announcement ensued. So sudden that I was caught unawares – left speechless for a moment.

I was on the phone talking with my parents. I had stepped out of the building and was sitting on a ledge. Though I was talking with my parents, I confessed to them that my mind was elsewhere. There were so many people outside and I kept watching them. This was so unlike the summer days when one felt like being the solitary researcher on campus. It was a big change and my eyes were taking time getting used to this. But it was an expected change.

And then it happened… While my eyes wandered here and there, they hit upon a sight so totally unexpected that all my senses stopped there for a moment. One single tree amongst the hundreds of trees in my field of view had changed colors. Completely. And almost overnight. I had not noticed it previously. I was forced to nod my head in disbelief – “Yes. The year was actually over.” I had to tell my friends about this – I was sure they would not believe me. I felt like being the first person to notice this phenomenal transformation. Other occurrences could be brushed aside but this was staring you in the face – one could not ignore it.

Later while writing this piece, I am reminded of the Simon and Garfunkel song, “Time hurries on… And the leaves that are green turn to brown.”


Youtube search for the same song.

PS: Here are some interesting pics for Autumn: 1, 2 and the following is a pic of roughly the same area which I saw that day. This pic was taken by my room-mate A. More of his pictures are at
http://www.flickr.com/photos/arnab-ocean/.

Bon Appetit

When you take in your daily spoonful
Of milk, cereal, care and worry
Do you remember the people
Who do not worry while eating -
They worry about it.

When having dinner
With egos, quarrels and tiffs
Sitting around you
Do you remember the people
Locked in prison cells
For someone's fault or theirs.
They too have dinner
But with walls for company.

While music to the ears
Pleases some people no more,
Artillery and gunshots
Abuse and injustice
Wails and stifled cries
Are all that some others get.

----

This image is very relevant to the poem. Please do visit.

Meanwhile, I am waiting for permission from the artist to add his/her image on my blog.

Separated... United

The following came up in two totally different moods. Yet I am publishing them together.

-------

How good it feels
To hold you tight
And fall asleep.

=====

Everything that can go wrong
Is going wrong.
Aah! Murphy's Law.
That means there is hope.

=====

PS: While thinking about a title for this post, I remembered the phrase "Two of a Kind". It turned out that my understanding was incorrect.

The definition is:
Very similar individuals or things, as in Patrice and John are two of a kind--they're true hiking enthusiasts.
[Reference]

How To Read a Book in Ten Days

No... this post is not about speed-reading. It just talks about the different speeds at which different people read books.

Many of my friends often tell me that when they pick up a book, they cannot put it down before completing it. I however am not able to do that. Because of that, I finish much fewer books. And sometimes, that makes me feel at a disadvantage to these "pick-up-and-finish-it-off " kind of readers.

Recently, I completed reading "Atlas Shrugged" by Ayn Rand. I read that book over about 3 months - during which time I completed another book, gave my end-semester exams, traveled to Washington DC, traveled to India... To cut the list short, it would suffice to say that I put the book down many a times. In fact, there definitely were times when I did not feel like picking the book again.

So that was my style of reading the book. However I fail to see any other suitable way of reading it.

During all the time when I was not literally "reading" the book, but was still reading the book (as in when answering the question, "What book are you reading these days?"), I used to live with the characters of the book. Unlike many bestsellers, this book did not have a racy plot to keep one hooked as to what the next event would be. But the characters were strong - so strong that I could feel their presence in my daily life. Many a times, I wondered how Hank Rearden would have reacted to the situations I faced. Or another time, was I being like Jim Taggart when I did something despicable. There were moments when I would feel down and then half an hour of reading the book would turn my emotional "wheel of fortune" by 180 degrees. The same happened in the other direction too.

In sumary, I cannot think of a way by which I could have felt these feelings if I had read this book in one go.

Presently I am reading "Midnight's Children" by Salman Rushdie. Saleem Sinai - another beautifully sketched character. And the many others who happen to be in his life. None of them are spectacular people - each of them are riddled by great defects of character or spirit. But that makes them lifelike. These days, I return to Saleem's world when I am alone. Every time, I spend very little time with them. Yet it feels like time well spent.

One of my friends gets surprised that I have still not finished the book. But I think that finishing the book would mean bidding farewell to these people. And probably that's why I do not hurry the affair.

PS:

1. While writing the post, two books came to my mind which were the complete antitheses of my above stated idea. One which I actually finished in 2 days. But I do not find the Hero of the book, whatwashisname, returning to my life at any time. The book - Dan Brown's Da Vinci Code.

Another book, an autobiography(?), after going through the first few pages of which, I wondered how the person writing it was only having righteous thoughts in his mind from the day he was born. Or was he downright lying by not stating everything on his mind. An injustice for an autobiography I thought and hence I did not finish the book. The book - A P J Abdul Kalam's "Wings of Fire"

2. In the interim period (i.e between the initiation of this post and its' final publication), I chanced upon a post by a fellow blogger. I cannot tell you how happy I felt to find my sentiments mirrored by another.












Caption: "Immersed"

Inspirations

Recently, two dialogues from two different movies struck me as inspiring. Quoting them here.

1>> The last line in the trailer of "Flash of Genius" goes as follows

"Makes you wonder what makes a man succesful?

Brains? Talent?

Maybe it's some other thing."

The trailer:

Flash of Genius

2>> From the movie "Kung Fu Panda":

"Yesterday is history
Tomorrow is a mystery
But today is a gift
That is why it is called present."

Who says you can't talk sense and be funny at the same time?

The British are the way they are...

Here's a hilariously written article that I chanced upon recently. It's about how Londoners welcome the summer after a cold spell of winter. And how they get crazy if the summer gets too oppressive (which is something we Indians are regularly used to.)

I'll quote the lines which were highlighted in the original article - they'll give you an idea about the article. A good two lines surely - at least they made me read the article.

"The British are the way they are because our climate is damp, dour and undemonstrative"

"If we consistently had summers like they have in Rio, we wouldn't just grow bananas, we'd go bananas"

On the Look Out

I always maintained that watching English movie trailers is a fantastic way to pass your time. Regardless of whether the movie is good or not, trailers are always 100% entertainment. The Apple Trailers website is a cool place to get to see a lot of trailers. Posted on my entertainment blog are a few which caught my eye when I visited the site for the first time yesterday.

Kid

Kid

Smiles back at me

Aloo chaat in hand

Watching cars pass by.

Inhaling fumes all day

As he dishes out his fare

To hungry wayfarers.

His smile is real

But his life is not.
















(written during my Kolkata trip in June 2008)

The Need To Live

Dementia.

Cancer.

Angioplasty.

Paralysis.

Stroke.
‘She is bedridden for a year.’

‘But it is good that he did not suffer too much.’

‘Which hospital?’

‘Visiting hours?’

‘Her eyes were completely blank.

She didn’t even notice that we were there.’
In a city of ten million people,

Death is a daily occurrence.

But every so often,

A child is born.

And all one needs

To restore the will to live

Is to stare with wonder

At the smile of a child.








(written 24th June 2008, during my Kolkata trip)

Haiku

Here are two samples of Haiku that I came up with - the first one is inspired by a prayer book that I read.

**

Bring me to that moment
where I am at peace.
And let me remain there.
**

I found the secret of living -
In one go,
let it all go.
**

Toothpaste

The sight of the twisted toothpaste at my friend’s place reminded me of my mom. By habit, I always follow instructions while squeezing paste out of a tube – "squeeze from bottom upwards". This results in the tube always having a uniform shape. However, back when I was in school and had just started having my own room and toilet, there were days when my mom would use my tube of paste. And on those days, the effect on the toothpaste tube would be devastatingly different. It would look stricken by some disease, with many contortions here and there. In one day, my mom would distort all my efforts at uniformity.

I tried to bear with my mom’s habit at first. But later, I took a strict stand – if she was to use my paste, she would have to use it my way. After repeated reminders, my mom finally learned to use toothpaste in my fashion.

That was years ago. I now wonder how my mom would have felt when her little child, who she had taught to walk, eat, talk, even brush, started scolding her about the proper usage of a toothpaste.
















PS: This pic came up in Google Images when I searched for "toothpaste". I just had to post it. I thought that the following caption would create a nice connection with the above post:
"With its' twists and turns, life goes on..."