Retrospective Series 13: When the Universe conspires

This weekend, an event had me traveling back in time and set my Retrospective bells ringing. As my little one gets to understand the concept of money, counting and addition, we (rather it was him) decided that it was time to get a piggy bank to collect pocket money earned or gifted. The exercise was pretty exciting for all parties involved because the little one was getting a big new responsibility with perks attached and the parents were reliving their own childhoods and were sharing stories with each other of their first piggy bank.

That brings me to my interesting flashback. My first piggy bank was miles away from looking like a piggy bank. You know what it looked like? It looked like a television...not the flat screen ones in case you were wondering; remember this was the 20th century. It was an old fashioned Cathode Ray Tube Television with a bug's antenna on top and a locked door at the back to take out the collection. The coins/notes went in through a slit on the top of the television.

Me the proud owner of the bank would wait for my allowances/gifts and other miscellaneous revenue sources to fill up my piggy bank. That was the easy part. The difficult part was the withdrawal. You see my parents treated it like it was their savings account and would want to make sure every purchase was transacted through them, in their presence and with enough documentation to prove that the purchase was indeed something they approved. But for a kid everything is a legit purchase isn't it? From the street corner cotton candy to the shaved ice to the tender green mangoes sold by the lady near the school grounds. Ah, green mangoes; now that is something mouth watering if enjoyed with a dash of salt and red pepper seasoning. Needless to say it was forbidden at home and talk of using the piggy bank stash to buy such things would have been suicidal at best.

So what could a sweet helpless little boy do? Its not like he could rob a bank or something now could he? Oh wait....

Now the bank(the piggy bank, for the unknowing internet trolls who are eagerly looking for a confessional from a bank robber) was located in my room and so scoping it out was very easy. I spent a couple of days examining the entire structural details of the piggy bank. The cover on the back was made of plastic with a simple lock that could be picked by an adult(or a smart kid) in a matter of seconds using a screwdriver or a geometric compass. (I learnt that later)

But novice bank robber that I was, I hadn't yet figured that out; So the only reasonable way to pry out some money was to hold the bank upside down and using my geometric compass hoodwink a couple of small coins through the slit on the top. After a couple of days of excruciatingly painful acrobatics with multiple instruments, I managed to retrieve a couple of coins that just barely added up to the cost of a tender green mango. I was so elated. I had managed to withdraw some dough without any evidence of tampering, no serious scratch marks or paint peels on the piggy bank and since my parents did not necessarily keep a running tally of the money inside the bank, they would be no wiser about the missing money.

The coins in my pocket, I was very eager to go to school the following Monday. I eagerly waited for lunch break, gulped down my lunch and ran out the school gate so that I could catch the vendor selling the mangoes. (You see unlike in the western world, I grew up in a place where hawking outside a school was tolerated to a certain degree)

I asked for a nice long mango, paid the money and ran back into the school grounds. Finding a shady spot under a secluded tree, I started working on my mango. I had barely relished the first bite when I spotted a black spot in the corner that I had just bitten into. A poke and a little exploratory prying of the mango's innards revealed a completely worm eaten and fungus filled mango in my hand. The emotion of the moment cannot be ever captured using any known human language. I was utterly devastated. Weeks worth of work had been spoiled by a worm. A measly ugly yucky worm. How dare it yank my chain this way? How could this happen? What had I done to deserve this? Oh wait...

That day I realized a naked truth long known to the ancient peoples of the world. The Universe does conspire. Whether you attribute it to God, the Jedi force, nature, plain old karma or just sheer molecular resonance, it does conspire. So the next time you think of doing something that is even half a shade shy of honest, think again.

Retrospective Series 12: Children of a Lesser God (Apologies to Randa Haines)

Everyone experiences certain incidents in their lives, that change them permanently one way or the other. One incident that I remember changed me and affects me to this day.
I was probably 9 when this incident occurred, but I may be off by a year or so. The sight of the boy is clear as day in my memory, despite all this time having passed. He was probably a couple of years older than me, tall, lean as a stick, bones sticking out; especially evident because he was completely naked. He was shivering from head to toe. I don't know how he came to our door that afternoon. My mom first saw him through the window and she ran to the door to find out what was happening. The boy managed to extend his hand and indicate that he was hungry. I saw tears well up in my mom's eyes as she dashed to the kitchen to get some food for the boy. I just stood there at the door, trying to understand what was happening. I had never encountered an incident like this in my protected life. What was going on here ? Why was the boy without clothes, why was he shivering ?

My mom returned with some food in a disposable plate and gave it to the kid. He sat on our front porch and gobbled up the food so quickly that I still shudder when I think about how hungry he must have been. While he was eating my mom went back into the house and got him some of my used clothes. The rest of my memory is quite faded and I don't know what happened next. But one thing is sure, that day changed a certain part of me. The fact that I remember that incident to this day tells me that I was pretty much shaken up after coming face to face with some stark realities of life for so many kids; poverty, hunger, abandonment. I was blessed enough to be shielded from those realities all that while and when I was forced into such a situation, I could not fathom how something like that could exist.

Did I ask my mom after the boy had left ? What did I ask her ? Did she explain to me... that I think she did if I remember correctly. Did I understand ? I am pretty sure I did, though I am not sure if it lasted for more than a couple of days because a kid is easily overpowered with newer memories being formed, especially joyful ones.

I don't know what triggered my mind to think about this incident, but I tear up every time I think about it. Fast forward to the 21st century and what has changed ? Living in a developed nation, I don't ever see anything like that at least in front of my eyes. But inner cities in America, rural areas in India and China, and almost every city in Africa is probably witness to such incidents daily. A kid somewhere is woken up from a slumber that he was in. Faced with seeing a brethren of his stark naked, hungry and clutching to dear life. How can we proudly call ourselves human beings ? All the religions of the world and the holy men who profess to be messengers of their respective Gods, should be ashamed that we are still living in a world where we cannot care for our own children. All the leaders of the world should hang their head in shame, because we cannot feed our own children. And all the people of the world who have a meal at their table, should hang their head in shame because charity is unknown to them. Shame on us people. We can be better than this.

I have some links that I care about, read and see if it moves your heart.
One.org
Freedom from Hunger
Bread

Retrospective Series: Part 11: Greener on the other side.

Its been a bleak weekend so far, been drizzling since morning. Bit nippy for this time of May actually. Amidst such weather, a hair cut is what my restless mind has been focused on for the past week or so and so to put that nagging to rest, I decided that I should have a hair cut, weather not withstanding. Drove to the strip mall in my community, remembering that a new stylist had opened shop in the neighborhood. This was a nice opportunity to check them out. Walked up to the counter, a lady greeted me

"Hello"

"Hi !, I'd like a Haircut and Shampoo please"

"Sure, whatz your name ?"

"Be El Ay Hech"

Tap, tap, tappity tap...beep.

"Thanks, follow me please."



Followed the lady, plopped in her chair and I waited for her next question...absolutely certain of what it will be.

"What kind of a hair cut would you like ?"

"Blah , Blah , Blah, Blahhhh blaaaahh blah. Not spikey please !"

Small grin... and out comes the comb and the trimmer, and she gets to work on my hair.



I leaned back in the chair and my flash back switch immediately turned on. When I was growing up, precisely on the last Sunday of every month my dad would schedule a visit by the hair stylist (ahem, barber in cruder 20Th century parlance !!). The hair stylist would come home, with his kit, complete with scissors and comb, oily gel(that stank to high heavens actually) and all sorts of paraphernalia. The mystique was in figuring out what the next contraption would be used for. There was this little device with two handles that looked like a lawn mower, only smaller, as if shrunk in some scientific experiment. It went "Clippety clippety clop" when he used it to trim the sides. It was an old world equivalent of today's electric trimmers. A hand mirror positioned at an appropriate angle provided me the necessary view of the locks being discarded. A razor that was sharpened on a barber's stone, was the mechanism to trim of excess hair on the nape of the neck. Invariably that resulted in a cut on my nape and I hated that pain the most.



The most interesting part of the entire hair cut though, was the conversation. I would be asked everything that one could possibly ask a person. Right from what grade I was currently studying in, what were the subjects that I liked, to what I wanted to be when I grew up. I actually did not enjoy this invasion of privacy even then. (Talk of someone being far ahead of his times..ahem ahem ;) ). Anyway I put up with it because this person was an old barber that my dad considered to be good and good barbers were very far and few. So the 'Asian-guilt-and-duty' charm worked its way into me and I could never get myself to say anything against this person. All said and done, the task would take at least an hour. There was no rush. The world waited for the barber and so did we.



Years passed by and the barber retired, his son took over his reins and the son continued his dad's legacy. He watched me grow out of school, into college and beyond. But the conversation would always be very personal, I knew everything about his family and his home and he knew everything about my family and my life. Well almost everything. He still doesn't know about the dash of honey I would pour into the ant hill below the badam tree. You see I would love to see the ants signal each other and create a frenzy when they discovered food right at their doorstep..but then I digress and that is a topic for some other day.



After I moved out of home, I never got to hear about this barber. But sometimes on occasions such as this, I tend to remember those conversations.



"You like it ?"

The voice suddenly woke me up from my day dream.

The lady was smiling and looking at me expectantly. I noticed that she was finished with the hair cut and had even trimmed the sides.

"Yup, that looks perfect" I said.

She led me to the shampoo station and a couple of minutes later, I was standing at the front desk writing her a tip and bidding her good bye.

I checked the clock as I walked out and it was 20 minutes since I had come into the salon. I know the ladies are amazed at this, but a guy's hair cut does only take that long, if at all. I have had stylists finish it up in 10 minutes flat. I loved the chance to dream when my hair was being trimmed, something that I would long for growing up. This new stylist had let me be to myself and hadn't bothered me. My earlier stylist was a nice lady, but chatty like my old barber. When I moved from that place, I missed the conversations that I would have with her. We would exchange stories of our respective countries, our childhoods and our current life. The location was different but the conversations had a similar ring, something very personal. The fact that I am thinking about the conversations tells me that even though I had crossed over to the greener side with this new stylist, I had not liked the lack of conversations. The cliched grass is not greener on the other side, isn't it ? But I had to discover it for myself.

Retrospective Series: Part 10: Cold winters and early mornings

We've had a relatively mild winter this year. But things have suddenly changed for the worse in February. Tonight as I tap out these words, the mercury is hovering in the single digits outside. Its pretty warm and cozy inside, thanks to the central air conditioning. Yeah when I talk about single digits, I mean temperature measured in degrees Fahrenheit, so that would be about -20 degrees Celsius. Brrr.... ain't that cold ? Its snowing lightly too and the cold air is gonna make it stick and skid prone in the morning. Winter in North America, well at least the parts that really do have a winter, unlike the lucky folks living down in Hawaii or Florida for that matter, is not really a time to find the best of cheer. The streets empty out at sunset, which at this time of the year occurs between 4 and 5 pm. All our tropical plants have now been lugged indoors and are being kept alive by the heat of the central air. The lack of humidity does take a toll on the poor beings, especially the Jasmine and the curry plant, but we do compensate for the lack of moisture with an extra helping of mist and water for the roots. But one can tell that they are not in the best of their health, nor pleased with the cross they are made to bear.

Its not as if their human counterparts are any better off either. Especially the ones that were raised in tropical or temperate climes. I have a theory about these things. It proves itself over and over again, whenever I see a person in early fall wearing a thick fur coat, way too thick for his/her size and bulked up with all the padding inside. I think to myself...aha, this person is definitely new to a North American winter ! The reason is this. Once you get used to living in such climes, you rather quickly learn that the secret of staying warm in such weather is not in wearing the thickest coat that you can buy at the mall, but rather in the number of layers you wear. The more the number of layers inside, the warmer you feel. You see if I were to go on a tangent here and try to rationalize why that is the case, you would hear me explaining about the way heat is conducted in insulating mediums, and how every layer of insulation adds up, and also perhaps point to the science behind the thermos flask. In simple lay man terms, it is easier to explain that each layer of clothing, followed by air trapped between the layers, creates an insulating medium which in turn traps your own body heat and voila you have invented the worlds best space heater. I digress again.

Coming back to the original intent of this post itself, I can already see tomorrow's events unfolding. It shall begin with a snow shoveling exercise to clear the driveway, an unavoidable part of winter. Especially if you want to avoid the fine and a reprimand from the home owners association, not to mention being sued by your neighbor because his cat slipped on the sliver of ice in your driveway while attempting to take a crap under the dried out pot of tropical fern. Then comes the scraping of snow now turned to ice, from the wind shield of the car parked outside the garage. A slow drive to work, making sure that not to slam the brakes too hard, careful with the gas on the inclines so as not to swerve and go skidding into the opposite lane and crashing into oncoming traffic. A regular winter's morning!

The reason I mention all this is because as it turns out, the coldest day growing up was when I would have to wake up at 5 AM in the morning to study for my exams. The only reason I did that was to please my mom, who along with millions of other contemporaries of her time, strongly believes that the eerie dawn hours are the best time for the brain to soak up information. I vehemently challenge that theory, if not for anything else, at least because according to MY brain, that is the best time when a person needs to get a little more snuggly into their pillows and snooze, curled up inside a cozy blanket or comforter. If the above mentioned paraphernalia aside, this also includes another warm body that would be an added bonus. Anyways I digress again. I would wake up, cover myself with a blanket, like a maharishi sitting for a penance, book on the bed and start to read. Couple of paragraphs into my reading, I would adjust the pillow ever so slightly so as to be able to lean in and still keep reading. The next paragraph would go a little bit slower. Soon the pillow would be on my chest, I would be upside down on my belly, the book in front of me, my legs up in the air and the next sentence would start to feel like a paragraph. A few minutes later, my head on the book, the blanket over my shoulders, a snore would be barely distinguishable. Alas, the eerie cold dawn had gotten its victim yet again. The temperature outside of course would be a balmy 20 degrees centigrade ! Talk of changed perspectives in life.

Retrospective Series : Part 9 : Malgudi Days - Swami and his friends

This weekend, we were watching a DVD rented from NetFlix called "Malgudi Days". Yes ! Yes ! the same Malgudi days... remember the Shankar Nag directed saga that derived its inspiration and stories from R. K. Narayan's collection of writings about a fictional town in Karnataka called 'Malgudi'. It frankly brought back some very fond memories of childhood. I would be riveted to the screen watching episodes of this series as they aired once a week. I don't remember the exact day of the week on which they aired, but Swami and his friends were a real thing those days.... its amazing how the human mind tries to find comparisons to its own real life surroundings when a good story is read or narrated. I would imagine myself with my buddies as we practised cricket in the open yard of my neigbour's home. The two neem trees in their courtyard were as scary as the banyan tree in front of swami's house. Girish karnad who in later episodes went on to portray Swami's dad was the epitome of strictness around school talk circles.

The real drive to watch all this came from a class that my mom took one day when I was in 7th or 8th grade. It was a lesson from our English text book and it was a short story excerpted from R. K. Narayan's book. It was called 'Swami and his friends' . The story was about how swami's dad chastises him for just playing cricket the whole of the summer without opening a single text book. He makes him clean the dust caked books and the story goes on about swami grumbling about all that...I forget the whole story, but that was so close to reality..because come on let's be real here...how many of us have really opened any text book during our summer vacation. I would open books...but they would be strictly limited to novels and short stories, if not comics. So the story couldn't be any more closer to home.

Anyways, I sincerely believe that this series by Shankar Nag was one of the most important milestones in the history of Indian television. It probably can be equated to some milestones like MASH airing on American television. The theme song is probably ingrained in the mind of every person of my generation. Even after so many years they bring back goose bumps when I watch it.

That's my two cents for the weekend.

Citations:

Malgudi days website
Wikipedia entry
Buy the book from Amazon
The Man (R. K. Narayan)

Retrospective Series: Part 8: The Trekkie

Its winter, so the hikes are down to a bare minimum. In spring, summer and fall, we make it a point to hike more frequently. The woods in this part of the country are amazing for trekkies. Although devoid of exotic creatures that might scare say someone trekking in the amazon jungles, they do make up for that with enough bugs that seem to have a particular penchant for my blood. No amount of deet seems to make any difference, while my wife hikes along, blissfully untouched by the nasty bugs. I console myself thinking, it must be the sweetness of my blood.. ahem.

This trek fever is nothing new. I remember the time when devoid of the internet, summer holidays were filled with loads of free time and nothing much to do. One such day in the summer of 88 found me hatching a plan for a biking trek with my buddies from school. Actually both of them were juniors of mine in school, but they usually ended up hanging out at my place (supposedly to study) in the evenings. The destination planned was a shrub and eucalyptus grove that doubled as a wild life sanctuary on the outskirts of town. In fact it was a conserved wild life sanctuary that was home to two rare species, the 'Black Buck' and the 'Great Indian Bustard'.

Fuelled by the dream of emulating heroes from child hood novels like the Hardy boys or one of the characters in Enid Blyton's novels 'The Famous Five' or 'The Secret Seven', we were three dudes on rickety bikes(The pedalled variety) with a mission. In very Don Quixotic style, our mission was to spot the rare black buck or even rarer bustard on a day trip that would take us deep into the forest and back.

Our moms packed us a picnic spread, the contents of which I forget. We biked some 5 km before we reached the outskirts of the forest. It was dry, featureless, dusty and completely devoid of any signs of life. The little spots of asphalt that existed underneath us till then quickly disappeared as we went deeper into the forest. We struggled to pedal on the gravel as it wreaked havoc on the flimsy tires. Remember this was not the fancy 'All Terrain Bike' that is so common these days. It was a bike from the days when the concept of gears was unheard of(At least in the town that I grew up in). While pedalling up an incline, one is going at it alone, with no help from the gears.

After maybe half an hour or so of biking we decided to leave the wide road and enter the forest at a trail head. How we decided to do that is quite scary, now that I think about it. We had no map whatsoever of the forest, and none of us had been there before, so the first trail head we saw prompted us to make a quick choice. And for those of you who have hiked in US forests, a trail head might sound very appealing. This was no such trail head. It had no markings, no indicators. The only reason we discovered that it was a trail head was because of the slight depression in the ground from all the foot falls.

A form of shrub called the 'Lantana' is a common feature in the deccan plateau. The thorns are long pointed needles that can cut a toe or finger and probably even sever it. The reason I mention it is because the trails are usually littered with fallen thorns like these. In most cases much of the path is fenced on both sides with this wild shrub. The last thing you want is to be biking straight into such a welcoming arm. But that is exactly what we did, as we biked along the trail's curved and meandering route, practically oblivious to the danger.

Hardly five minutes down the path and we heard a loud 'splat' and a hiss. It was our friend 'Lantana' piercing through my friend's bike tires. So after a few helpless glances at each other, our biking expedition turned into a bike pushing expedition.

An hour or so deep into the forest, we found a clearing to have our first break, spread out our munchables and tried to admire the dusty beauty or lack thereof of the surrouding thickets. The eucalyptus trees added a medicinal fragrance to the surrounding air, especially during the flowering season. Other than the patchy shade from these trees and the occasional twirp from an unknown bird, we were in absolute wilderness country. As dry as Sub Saharan Africa. Our hopes of seeing deer, and the bustard were already on the wane.

Dragging ourselves and the bikes from the spot, we went on deeper, came up to a fork in the trail, not knowing which one to take, just randomly picked one and went trotting along. Another hour, a couple of bottles of water later, we were still aimlessly wandering around with no animals or anything green in sight. Very soon the trail seemed to breakup into many forks and then merge and then break up again. After a while we had no clue about how we would trace our way back. We did not have bread crumbs either to leave a track, like Hansel and Gretel.

We soon came upon an artificial watering hole meant for the animals. It was bone dry with cracks in its clay bed. We had our lunch and soon started again on our trail, not wanting to think about retracing our path back. We even talked about the worst case scenarios if we could'nt get back to town before sun down. Would they send a search party ? Would we be able to survive on the rations we had ? The thrill of being lost and the dangers of it was hitting us at the same time. We didn't know if we had to be excited or panic about it.

Shoe laces undone, dust covered, we soon came upon a hillock and decided to climb atop to get a better view of the surroundings. What we saw was probably one of the best sights of the day. The hillock sloped down and opened out into vast farm land. And out there beyond the fields we saw a narrow asphalted road and beyond that a hamlet with smoke stacks sticking out. We had no idea what the village was called nor if we had walked into another dimension of space. We were just overjoyed to have found fellow humanity.

When we reached the hamlet we asked around and realized that it was a cobbler's village on the outskirts of our town, on the same road that we had taken just that morning. In fact, all the while we thought we were "lost" in the forest, we were just walking back towards town, except that it was through the forest trail instead of the road. We got our flat tire repaired and rode back home, feeling elated that we had averted a major disaster. The fact that we did not even see a sparrow, made no difference to us. The fact of the matter was we had come out of an adventure however trivial it might sound now. At that point, we were pretty embarrased to talk about it amongst ourselves. The topic was never mentioned among friends and no one heard us rattling out the adventure the way I am blogging about it now. But in retrospect, I realized that we tend to associate more value to the destination than the journey. Maybe this was another of life's lesson, to tell us we should'nt.

Retrospective Series : Part 7 : Christmas Cheer

Driving down the road towards our home, we are engulfed on both sides by brightly lit bushes, trees, snowmen, santa, the occasional train model, even a wierd looking cartoonish blob that remotely resembles a christmas tree. The edges of the homes are covered in dainty little yellow lights, mixed with blinking purples and red and green. The couple of snow falls that we have had since early december, add the final touch to the Christmas feel as romanticized in the children's books that we all grew up reading. Turn on the radio and almost every FM station you tune into has a rock, jazz, country or classical version of the christmas carols blaring. Yes, it definitely feels like Christmas. In fact, by the time its the 26th of December, you are thankful that this overload of cheer is finally done with.

I write this as we are busy preparing a plum cake (baked at home, indian style) for our Christmas party. As I was mixing the dough, I was reminded of christmases long gone by. Christmas was definitely a unique experience growing up, because in a town comprising of 3 christian families, the neighbours definitely were very curious about this wierd celebration during the cold winter months. The church from a nearby town would send down its choir for the Carol singing and the kids from the neighbourhood gathered to hear the orchestra on the move. I would be practically terrified of the attention this yearly display brought onto our family. My parents cherished it because it probably reminded them of their childhood growing up amidst church and carol singing. No such luck for me as I dreaded the questions my friends in the neigbourhood would ask me the next day. "So who was the fat guy in the funny suit ?" "Is he related to you guys ?"

Two things that I eagerly waited for during this season was the baking of the cake and the Christmas tree. I would be the errand guy, buttering the pan, grinding up the spices, getting the zest out of the orange rind, cleaning and drying out the raisins. Then of course after the cake mix was poured, I would have the honor of cleaning out the mixing bowl with my fingers. Today in hindsight, that would have been considered a health hazard because of the raw eggs in the mix, but then when you are a kid, its "Bacterium - Step aside - Big daddy is coming over."

Decorating the Christmas tree was a saga of its own. Consider this; In the middle of a temperate deccan plateau, a fir, pine or spruce was almost unheard of. So what does one do ? The alternative, a conifer that is grown as a hedge tree in homes and parks. The first evergreen conifer that we used as a Christmas tree was literally stolen from a park. (I was not involved in the actual stealing by the way..nor were anyone from my direct family. Somehow the tree was found lying in our backyard, probably left there by Santa's elves... wink wink.) After that christmas we planted our own evergreen conifer in the yard to use as a live christmas tree. Ok, now that we had solved the problem of finding a tree, what about the decorations ? Unlike our current Christmas tree in front of the bay window, which we decorated by buying a truck load of buntings and lights from Home Depot, my childhood trees were decorated with improvised glitter. We made do with sparkly streamers and little string lights. Painted cubes of thermocol made up the gifts hanging from the branches. The brightly colored eggs were missing and little balloons took their place. Kids and adults from the entire neighbourhood would come home to take a peek at the christmas tree. No one had seen such a tree other than in movies or in books.

As tonight's cake bakes, the aroma is definitely kicking up some old memories. Hot cake fresh from the oven is something to die for even without memories attached to them.

Before signing off for the long weekend, may this be a merry Christmas for everyone. May there be peace on earth. May the coming New Year be a pivotal year in everyone's lives, may all our dreams turn into reality, may there be less suffering and misery in the world and above everything else, may we all strive to be better human beings. God bless.