Hello there!

It’s been ages since I even opened this page. My second attempt at blogging. Somewhere along the line I got addicted to Twitter. And it seems we are all back to square. With Musk ruining Twitter, and the sharing of sub-stack links on Twitter itself, it seems we have come a full circle.

But what prompted me to visit this website was a message from my brother. He had found an unfinished draft of a story about my commissioning sojourns along with his old documents, and had messaged me to ask whether I had the completed story. While I doubted it, the only place to check was here and I am back here.

The last time I wrote something on this website, I had just been to Berlin. I had not yet known the existence of the person whom I would start talking with in a few weeks, whom I would eventually marry and who is sleeping beside me as I type away at this late hour. And yes she will be happy to know that I am attempting to blog again.

I was back in Berlin last month. I didn’t get to board a double decker. I am older now, though neither wiser nor stronger. Most of my post on this blog were written when I was doing my masters. Now I am back to studies, albeit of the research kind- doing my PhD in robotics in the same state of NRW but from a different university – Bonn. In a sense, life has come full circle.

Maybe I will overcome my slothiness and keep writing more. Oder “plus les choses changent plus elles restent les mêmes”

Double deckers

Couple of weeks back, I travelled to Berlin for a weekend trip. The first sight I saw rekindled my childhood memories- a double decker bus. Yes, there are double decker buses, even in Dortmund, which ferry tourists on a city sightseeing tour. However double decker buses for public transport- well, that is a rare sight altogether. And Berlin had lots and lots of them. And I come from a city where double decker buses were part of my growing up. Red double decker buses, one of the innumerable things that makes Bombay my Gotham.

My earliest memory of double decker buses, though, is a fake one, an imagined memory. It is that of my brother with his usual perceptive observation as a toddler calling a double decker bus at the Ems Metal junction in Charkop as an Aa- Bus (whereas normal single decker buses were Ee- bus for him. The Aa denoting the half open jaw whereas the )

Ee bus denoted the horizontal radiator grills on the single deckers).  It was an imagined one because this story was narrated to us by our parents while reading out from the handbook that recorded our first words.

When we were growing up, double deckers were quite common- the 286 which linked Charkop to Kandivli Station and the 244 which linked Charkop to Borivali Station were, by default, double deckers.  Like many other things, double deckers set Bombay apart from the other Indian cities in the 90’s. And there were quirky sights associated with them. Be it the annual routine of cutting away hanging branches in an open double decker to seeing them make the 180 turn at the Charkop village circle, or the bell system which relayed from the upper deck to the driver or that oft repeated scene in Bombay movies- the hero running after the bus and boarding the large platform of the double decker.

While we normally preferred taking auto-rickshaws while traveling together as a family, traveling to Borivali Station was synonymous with 244. And traveling to Borivali Station with dad was synonymous with new clothes from the Goyal Shopping centre, restaurant food, balloons and toys. The ride back home on the upper deck with the air blowing in your face is something that I and my brother always enjoyed. Occasionally, we missed our alighting stop at Jai Ganga, as sometimes the upper deck conductor forgot to announce the stop. The memory of walking back home pointing out my friends’ apartments and my old school can easily ward off Dementors.

And then with dad’s passing away and our moving to a place which was far from school, the 244 became one of the buses for commuting to school. From being chaperoned to school by dad for a 5 minute walk in happier times to using  the public transport and looking after my younger brother, it represented a rite of passage. We have all heard of that famous Bombay cliche- that in Bombay, we form train friends. I never had train friends for I never traveled regularly in trains, eschewing them for buses. But I did form a new set of friends- bus friends, my classmates with whom I shared our rides to school. And during those days, we probably learnt our first lessons in cost benefit analysis- the comfort of seating in the double decker 244 versus the proximity of the single decker at the school gate.

And then during the summer holidays after ninth grade, the 244 became me and my friend’s ride to the coaching classes at Borivali Station. And we used to race to get to the top, to get the front row seats to experience the mildly cool yet strong draught that would blow through the open front windows, providing relief during the sweltering Bombay summer.

Slowly, double decker buses started vanishing. I don’t know when but one day the 244 became an ordinary single decker. While my first memory is an imagined one, I don’t even recollect when I traveled for the last time on a double decker 244.

In downtown Bombay, you still find double deckers but they are no longer the half open Aa buses. They have closed jaws and are more of an exception than the norm. I have always had this belief that the great cities should have double decker buses and tram lines. Well, Bombay lost its trams in the 1960s. Now the double deckers are becoming rare. Maybe it is a sign of the decay of my city…

Conflict of Interest

Today I read somewhere that in India, conflict of interest is a feature and not a flaw. I am not here to enumerate the various examples of such conflicts of interest that permeate our public life or comment on it. This post is, in a way, my attempt to express my admiration towards my friend who taught me how to avoid conflict of interest back in my college days.

I and my friend were quite active on the quiz, debate circuit in college and both of us were interested in working for the magazine. It so happened that I ended up being the magazine team head in our third year due to the rules for student council. And in our college atleast during those times the college magazine was an orphan child that very few wished to invest their time and resources in. Narrower loyalties towards departmental festivals and magazines took precedence.

In such a scenario, I was anxious that I should not miss out on any deserving applicants. I was personally asking fellow students to apply and I asked my friend to do as well. But my friend being who he was refused to even apply for the editorial board. Even though I had given him assurances that I would not give him any preference in the selection, he remained steadfast in his decision.

At that time I was, to be honest, a bit disappointed in his decision. While we ended up selecting a cracker of an editorial team, I misinterpreted his moral rectitude for stubbornness.

In a college magazine, where there is no remunerative benefit and most of the applicants are your acquaintances, this might seem over the top. But now I realise it is about the principle, not the real world consequences of it.

Sometimes a single act can teach you much more than hours of moral value education

A New Hope

The last two years have seen a churning in Indian politics on a scale last witnessed during the JP movement. Kejriwal, Hazare and co started the Lokpal movement which seized the imagination of the middle class fed up with the mounting corruption of the UPA2. And like the JP movement, it has given rise to a new political party- Aam Aadmi Party.

For the Aam Aadmi Party, it was a case of David versus two Goliaths. While it decimated one, the other has been left to lick its wounds. It was heartening to see Kejriwal and his broom wielding party-men emerge as the second largest party in Delhi. It is a seminal movement in Indian political history-while the JP movement had the backing of the towering Jayaprakash Narayan to ensure the formation of the Janata Party, it was Kejriwal minus Hazare that led to the formation of the AAP.

In a way it was befitting that they did not come to power. It is important that a new party learns to behave as a responsible opposition before it governs. AAP candidates have won riding on the discontent of the masses against corruption and mis-governance. Their campaign was high on rhetoric and finger pointing. However once the dust has settled down, it would be incumbent upon the MLAs of AAP to behave as responsible legislators and put their development plans in action.

I sincerely hope  that while Kejriwal is the rallying figure of the AAP, it does not descend into the personality and cult politics that is being practised by the Congress and the BJP. As a party founded on democratic principles, it must show more faith in institutions than personalities.

Eliminating corruption is important but so are the immediate needs of the masses. It would do well if AAP realises that the best example they can set for a corruption free polity is to remain clean even without the presence of a Delhi Lokpal to watch them. After all isn’t Ethics the obedience to the unenforceable?

As someone who has a pathological dislike of the communal politics played by the BJP and a complete lack of faith in the ability of the Congress to provide a semblance of governance, the AAP offers a refreshing change. 

I am not expecting AAP legislators to come up with the most brilliant schemes for constituency development or the most erudite exposition of laws. However if they can provide a more democratic, decentralised  relatively clean form of governance, I will take it. So will others

AAP- The aam aadmi will be watching you!

Mangattachan Tales- Folklore of Northern Kerala

When sleep used to evade me as a kid, my dad would narrate stories- mythology, folktales, epics et al. This is one such folktale of Northern Kerala narrated to me by him. It describes the feats of Mangattachan, the wise Prime Minister of the Samoodiri of Kozhikode.

Before the advent of the British, the Samoodiri (origin: Samoodrathiri meaning the overlord of the oceans) Raja of Kozhikode (Zamorin of Calicut) used to rule over the Malabar coast of Kerala. The kingdom of Calicut was the most powerful one in North-Central Kerala with trade ties with countries across the seas. The smaller states surrounding his kingdom accepted his suzerainty. However Kolathiri of Kolathanadu had a long standing feud with the Samoodiri.

Once when Kolathiri was paying a visit to Samoodiri, Samoodiri asked him ‘Kolathiri kathumo?’ Will Kolathiri burn? (thiri means wick). Kolathiri asked him in return ‘Sa moori kuthumo?’ Will the bull sting? (moori means bull). To which Samoodiri replied ‘Kolathiri kathiyaal samoori kuthum’ If Kolathiri burns then Samoodiri will sting

A few days later Samoodiri received an exquisitely carved treasure chest as a gift from Kolathiri. Now Mangattachan who was present during the meeting of the kings, remembered the conversation and  advised the guards to dip the chest in water before opening it. When they opened it was found to be full of now wet gunpowder explosives which would have gone off.

In return Samoodiri ordered a gift to be sent to Kolathiri on the advice of Mangattachan. News of how Mangattachan saved Samoodiri’s life had reached Kolathanadu. On receiving the gift Kolathiri’s Prime Minister decided to imitate Mangattachan and ordered the casket to be immersed in water. On opening, a swarm of bees emerged, extremely annoyed at being wet and stung Kolathiri and his courtiers hard.

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Once when Mangattchan was away, Samoodiri developed a serious ache in his right shoulder. Doctors and Hakims from places near and far tried to cure him but all efforts proved futile. When Kolathiri heard about Samoodiri’s condition, he sent his Chief Physician to treat Samoodiri. Kolathiri’s physician asked him to apply a wet towel on his right shoulder continuously. Miraculously his condition improved dramatically. Samoodiri showered gifts on him and sent his note of thanks to Kolathiri.

However when Mangattachan arrived back in Calicut, he realized that a grave mistake had been made. He understood that it was Goddess Lakhsmi (The Goddess of Prosperity and Wealth) playing her joyful dance on Samoodiri’s shoulder that caused his shoulder ache. Her blessings on Samoodiri had ensured that his kingdom remained prosperous and wealthy. Her satisfaction with the Samoodiri’s rule had cause her to start a dance on his shoulders. However applying a wet towel on the shoulder invites the bête noire of Lakshmi- Cheta Bhagavathi the evil Goddess and drives away Lakhsmi.

Mangattachan soon set out in search of Goddess Lakshmi. Finally with the sun setting he found a lady with a brilliant radiance around her walking through the streets of Kozhikode Angaadi (Calicut Bazaar). Despite the repeated entreaties of Mangattachan, Goddess Lakshmi was adamant on leaving Calicut. Mangattachan then relented but requested her to wait until he had returned back and extracted a promise that she would not leave until he came back.

Mangattachan then went one of the nearby temple ponds, removed his sword and stabbed himself. He sacrificed himself to ensure that the Goddess of Prosperity never left the Kingdom of Calicut.

 

Thamas

The town of Hardoi plunged into total darkness as soon as the clock had struck seven. Like any other Indian town, daily electricity cuts were a norm.  It was only during the village festival that the authorities made power available for the entire evening. The festival was however still a month away.  The SBI ATM with its backup generator shone through the darkness.  For another two hours the town of Hardoi would be transported to the dark ages.

He was hurriedly shutting down his grinding mill. He had been planning to buy a DG set with his savings but he had squandered it away, gambling in the village festival last year.  Soon he was cycling at top speed-it would take atleast half an hour to reach the outskirts of the village. He did not have to worry about any accidents- with the biting cold of January, the streets were completely deserted except for a few cycle rickshaw-wallas.

As soon as the lights had gone out, the baby had started crying violently. Nobody heard her as they lived far away from the town on the outskirts.  Her mother was helplessly trying to console the baby but she was afraid of the dark. And tonight it was pitch dark with amavasya.  As she lit up the greasy glassed lantern she reminded herself to polish it the next day. The baby’s wailings subsided and she went back to the kitchen to continue baking rotis.

She was so busy in the kitchen that she did not realize that he had come home and picked up the baby till she heard her giggling in the warmth of her daddy’s arms.  The baby was soon sleeping blissfully in his arms.  As she heaved a sigh of relief, he put the baby in the cradle and approached the mother. Bereft of her clothes, she was shivering with cold as the light from the lantern hardly provided any warmth. As they continued making love, the cold, the burning rotis didn’t matter. She was happy that he was here with them.

He however had to go back-the load shedding period was coming to an end. His grinding mill could not draw much power during daytime and had to operate mostly in the night.  He had a quick meal and dressed up. He kissed the mother and the baby goodbye and left them for the night.

As the lights came back, she was lost in thoughts, hoping she could do something about it. However she knew even this was more than she had hoped for. While the kids on the streets shouted the usual cries of joy she wished for the darkness.

Soon there was a knock on the door. ‘Janki, I am home’. Her husband had returned from his day shift as a security guard at the local factory.

Critical Thinking

Recently I was reading my friend’s faculty fellowship essay where she had stressed a lot on critical thinking as an important quality she would like to develop in her future students.  That got me thinking. The education system in India does not encourage critical thinking. In fact we are taught from an early age to never question your parents, teachers and elders.  I was lucky that my dad had always had encouraged me to question and argue with my teachers- this had resulted in one of the teachers remarking that I was an attention seeker!

Servitude and deference are considered to be desirable qualities in students in the Indian culture. This has led to them accepting the knowledge that is imparted to them without questioning its veracity or unbiased nature. In fact I would go on to claim that the various Oriental cultures display these common traits.

The lack of critical reasoning abilities limits our capacity to explore new realms and conceive new ideas. That’s precisely the reason why we will never see a Facebook or a Google taking birth in an IIT even if they are as well funded as the best universities in the world. The ‘Why’s’ are more important than the ‘How’s’.

One of the most disturbing consequences of this mentality is the emergence of a middle class youth steeped in orthodox values which have been subliminally messaged into them since childhood. It’s a funny sight when you see young managers in India commissioning a machine at a so called shubhmuhurat  (at unearthly hours) only to see the system break down at times. It is acceptable when movie stars and cricketers quirky superstitions. But it’s not funny when many scientists and engineers at our top institutes blindly follow and encourage orthodox beliefs and quackery.

When was the first time you did a formal critical analysis of an issue? For many of us it would have been during our GRE preparation. We as a society are at a threshold where we have to come up with new ideas and tools to take advantage of our demographic dividend. It is not just the Industrial Revolution that enabled the Western World to emerge as a modern society. Renaissance and Reformation were the two movements that played the most important role in giving birth to new ideas about life, equality and liberty. 

My dad used to say that it is good to know science but more important to have scientific temper. Now I know what he meant.  

Rosgullas

He was observing the cute little kid with a small white pagdi. He then quickly searched for the paper where he had noted down the address of K C Das. The last time he had been to Calcutta he was no more than 10 years old. He still remembered the tram ride he had with his dad. Then his dad had taken him to this shop which had a wide variety of sweets. He could still hear those loud Bengali voices and smell the deliciously sweet rosgullas.

Exactly a week back he was in office at this hour and he had started making plans for the weekend. However two hours later he was back home packing his bags. He was taking the afternoon flight to Calcutta. He had wanted to visit again the city he had seen as a kid. The flight had got delayed. He didn’t like Calcutta Airport. He didn’t like the dirty men’s restrooms. The yellow cabs revolted him. He had to take the early morning train next day to Noamundi.  He knew he would spend time in the city on his way back. That was why he had volunteered when others had expressed reluctance to take up the project. However the 10 year old kid in him had not allowed the romanticism associated with the city to die away.  

As he got down at Noamundi, the emptiness of the place struck him hard. He wanted to finish the project and return back home. He had finished his assignment two days in advance. He was lucky to have got a First Class train ticket on the way back at such short notice.

He was congratulating himself on his luck. The annual Calcutta Book Fair had opened yesterday. The theme this year was Russia. He had always wanted to lay his hands on Dostoyevsky’s Crime and Punishment. But his searches among the famed bookstalls on the footpaths of Fort Bombay had been futile.

He had dozed off into a nap when the imagery of the K C Das shop near the Tramway depot he had as a kid flashed before him. Then he felt a severe jolt and saw what he felt was a red-stained rosgulla. That was the last thing he would ever see.

The headline news in all the newspapers the next day was the bombing of the Barbil Howrah Janshatabdi on Republic Day.

The Girl on the Train

I heard her before I saw her.  And then I saw her spotless white sport shoes.

I had made many a train journeys through various parts of the country. And yet it was on the last trip in India for the next two years that I met the proverbial Girl on the Train.

When I heard her sweet voice, I looked up to find a bespectacled girl dressed in a grey top with blue jeans trying to fit her family’s luggage under the seats.

The next day we talked and talked. She could dance, she could sing. She loved Harry Potter. She liked Julius Caesar. She liked to talk about food. She liked train journeys. She loved to see the train when the tracks curve. She knew which station the engine change takes place. She offered the delightfully tasty Mysore Paks her mom had made.

We talked and talked till she got down. I bade her goodbye and saw her receding into the crowd for one last time.

She got engaged two days later-The girl I met on the train.

A Tale of Two Festivals

Today is Dhanteras, the beginning of Deepavali in India. Deepavali is the most widely celebrated festival in India with almost all of North and Western India and large swathes of Eastern and South India observing it in some form. As a kid Diwali meant crackers, sweets and a nice vacation. I used to especially look forward to eating loads of Kaju Katli during Diwali. As years passed, I stopped bursting crackers. Sweets were no longer a Diwali specialty. The enthusiastic eager with which I used to look forward to Diwali died down. While the essence of Deepavali- the row of earthen lamps still captivates me, there was a certain part of me that really did not like it. The atom bombs had become ever more deafening, the city used to be in a perpetual smog, the sparklers and flower pots were passe. Louder the better had become the motto of Diwali. 

This Diwali I am not at home, not even in India. When you are in a country like Germany you won’t realise that Diwali had arrived. As is wont, nostalgia has a knack of adding a tinge of crimson to make those distant memories look rosier. So yeah I do miss those diyas, shankarpaans, karanji…

I went today to the Köln Carnival at Köln, Germany. The carnival opens at the eleventh minute of the eleventh hour of the eleventh month ever year. The enthusiasm with which people turned out for the carnival was mind blogging. The regional express was so crowded that while nothing can beat the 8 o’clock Virar fast, it could give the Mumbai Local trains a run for its money. People had turned up in all imaginable and imagination defying varieties of masquerades. Name a character from pop culture and you would find it in that sea of revellers which had swamped Köln- Batman, Joker, Jack Sparrow, Swat teams, popes, cardinals, astronauts, slutty nurses, Harry Potter… the list could go on.

Like any other German festival, it is incomplete without beer. What I have observed till now is you combine beer with football or festival and it is easy to rouse the animal instincts in the otherwise law abiding folks. Bottles were being thrown and crushed in the streets.  It was as if the streets of Köln had turned into one big pub. The normally quiet unassuming guys had turned loud and garrulous.

However the difference that I saw was in the was the state (the authorities) ensured that things did not get out of hand. The streets were being constantly swept to clear the glass debris. There were barricades to ensure that over-crowding of the main carnival area was prevented. While there was definitely crowding, it was still possible to navigate the streets. While the carnival was going on at the Dom side of the Hauptbahnhof, the opposite side bore no signs of it. It was peaceful, empty and quiet. 

The Köln carnival also drove home the point that you don’t need the cloak of religion and mythology to celebrate. I have always held the view that festivals are nothing but a legitimate excuse to celebrate. Ultimately most festivals were pagan in origin- celebrating the bounty of nature and life. However as paganism gave way to organised religion, religious connotations were added to provide an exception to the otherwise strict chaste lives that most beliefs propagate. A festival unhinged from the religious past also enables everyone to celebrate it as he or she pleases. However there would be many who would deride such carnivals a sign of the decadence of our times. So while that is a matter of individual perspective, what is undeniable is that they  provide the same quantum of happiness to the revelers.

So while Indian festivals may or may not be better than the western ones in terms of their  legends, morals or the diversity in celebrations, we can certainly learn from the Germans when it comes to organising festivals. Then we will not have stampedes and fires in Kumbh Melas, we will not read about how many people lost their lost their eyes after Holi or how many damaged their limbs after Gopal Kala. 

Wishing everyone a Happy Diwali!