Accident

The splendours of a vibrant evening as people return home after work; a cool breeze blows as the heat of the day gives way to a shady sky. People and cars pass by, each with possible anticipation in their mind that makes for an ambiance different from the rush of the morning. Walking down the sidewalk I looked ahead at the junction to Jayanagar 4th block bus station. Still not feeling completely well I ponder if I should get corn for a snack or not. I smile and think of a similar walk to the bus station in the halcyon days of my youth with similar traffic and feel. A lot is similar but the burden of work and responsibility has increased and the young face has given way to shoulders that carry responsibility. I hear a loud thud and a white Tata Innova suddenly swerves and charges towards me. My mind calm, having relived this scenario many times and my feet steadily waiting for all that is to come. If life is a long corridor and death merely a door, than I have touched this door many times without opening it.

One of the beauties and sad things about travel is that the more harrowing and painful an experience, the better are the stories with which come out of it. These occurrences become both narratives and memories that can terrify, impress, and dazzle friends back home but leave scars both physically and psychologically.

A red Honda Centra hitting a white Tata Innova on the side at a 90 degree led to the white vehicle hitting the sidewalk and touching my clothes as it stopped. Clearly not how I had anticipated the corn purchasing debate in my mind to be resolved but was happy that I was not hit. Both the drivers came out with their cell phones already dialing some unknown number contacting higher powers that could help them resolve this. I am quickly forgotten while close I am not hit and the attention shifts to the passengers who come out and observe. The red car has its left front light and side damaged while the white car has the area above its left tire pushed in. From afar the damage looks minimal but the internal mechanisms of both these light weight cars have been damaged. The white car is a private taxi carrying youths while the red car has a family and a small child.

There is no overly heightened plight for a muscle that may have been slightly pulled resulting in a multi million lawsuit, but instead the focus is the accident and resolving the matter as cars and people attempted to make their way around it. The cars are moved to the side of the road and soon there was a small crowd recreating the accident in conversation and giving their viewpoints that stretched from the construction of roads to the increase in traffic in the city. I am involved in this diatribe as people also inform and ask for my viewpoints to which I nod before walking away unscathed.

My only compensation is that, this will become a memory and my sense of reality of how most people live across the planet is once again usefully expanded. I am freed, for a moment, from an illusionary sense of safety and control. At the end travel brings us into closer contact with reality and liberates us from the ideas we impose on the rest of the world. Still, it’s not what I would recommend for every traveler. Let's see what tomorrow brings.

Confidence

With the vote of confidence looming that would change the political setup of the country and place India’s foreign policy on the back burner it made for a unique day. The coalition government headed by the Congress party faced a crisis as the left parties withdrew their support, resulting in Prime Minister Dr. Manmohan Singh calling for a trust vote, or vote of confidence on July 22nd. A negative outcome could precipitate early elections with the end of the current regime. In addition I was also not feeling well, with the possible attribution to the corn-manchurian and hot chips I had the day before. Than again it could be all the cold showers from the lack of electricity. Sitting at breakfast, I could not eat and auntie insisted that I take the day off, an act that I could not bring myself to do. Following the old adage of converting a negative situation into one that is positive, I spoke some Hindi movie lines about the burden of duty and pushed myself out of the couch and headed straight for the door as auntie smirked.

At work I fought the headaches and lethargy of a burgeoning fever as I watched live internet streaming of the debate in the Lok Sabha or lower house in the Parliament on NDTV. The quality of the stream combined with the frequent power cuts did not make the situation easier. The day was full of great discussion as we all pondered what would happen. This like every crisis invariably produced an onrush of sound bytes that ranged from being studious to ultimately banal as the day dragged on. Thus as the power would go out I would go into interview mode with my fist forming a mike and asking everyone from the driver to the administrator. Overall it brought joy and various theories for discussion, with concern that there may be demonstrations that could become riots if tensions were too high.

As for the debate, the Lok Sabha members speech would spiral into an obsessive duel in which each person would try to show their point of view with constant interruptions. With various speakers that came and went the attention was on the railway minister, a colourful man named Laloo Prasad Yadav known for his rustic speaking style of both Bhojpuri and Hindi replete with bucolic examples. He was in his elements and had the house in splits throughout his 35-minute speech. One of his most enduring quotes was a few lines from a song "Char saal pehle humey tumsey pyaar tha, aaj bhi hai aur kal bhi rahega" (we were in love four years ago, and so we will be today and tomorrow) bringing back memories of popular Dev Anand-Asha Parekh starrer Jab Pyar Kisi Se Hota Hai. Mr Yadav modified the years in the song to signal that relations with the Left will remain cordial.

Coming home a little early to nurse myself, I took a combination of western medicine (tablets) and Indian faith (aarthi for nazar) followed by a nap that was quite uncomfortable as my body ached. Like the burgeoning tensions as the vote neared, my fever rose and went down in the evening. As I got up and attempted to straighten myself the news came in that the government had indeed survived the vote and would stay. It almost felt like my illness and the vote were linked. Probably a coincidence but my body and mind recovered as the day came to a conclusion.

Paying Guest

The Indian renting scenario includes an option known as PG or Paying Guest. In this arrangement a tenant or group of people live with a family in an extra room and share meals and space with them. In our denizen all five of us live in the third floor of a house owned by a couple in their 50s who live on the second floor. Affectionately called aunt and uncle, they have one daughter who is living with them as she is pregnant; in many places the daughter stays with the mother in many areas so that she is able to learn the complexities of childbirth and be at home with her family.

As for our flat it has two bedrooms, a large hallway, kitchen and bathroom. Anindya and I are in the last bedroom that has a balcony with the girls (Silvia, Christy and Abhinayan) in the adjourning room followed by the hall. The mattresses on the bed are Indian which by definition means harder and thinner mattresses that will not suit the western oriented sleeper.

I make my way downstairs every morning to get breakfast at 8:30am and dinner at 8:30 pm with a small packed lunch that I take to work. Hovering inside with a hum and greetings which never fails to amuse, time is always well spent as my inspired actions result auntie to proclaim that I am acting out what she sees on television soaps everyday. Our conversations have evolved with me asking about their day and auntie chiding uncle for all the hard work she does. In this serious yet light discussion I usually am the impartial viewer who manages to infuse humor to the situation and give them both due for their hard work. Overall it makes me feel like a member of this small Indian family. They still are under the impression that I am from India and I do not have the heart to break their heart about the simple Indian who lives with them, temporarily a member of their family.

Contract

The Indian movie going experience is truly a highlight, for as the world’s largest film making nation there is a variety of films projected everyday. With 12 million people going to the cinema on a daily basis entertainment is big business. Furthermore it is one of the only places where time is kept as the medium is one of reverence.

The main multiplex company is known as PVR or Priya Village Roadshow Cinema. By introducing the multiplex concept in India in the late 1990s, PVR Cinemas brought in a whole new paradigm shift to the cinema viewing experience: high class seating, state-of-the-art screens and audio-visual systems. The theatre is in a mall called Forum with 11 screens that sits grandly on top of a 5 storey shopping area. The pre-film advertisements in India are the same as anywhere else, product placements that ultimately get annoying with their repetitious and oft heard jingles, complete with scratches on screen showing its age and insignificance. Everyone knows the words but no one will repeat or sing it along out of embarrassment and displeasure. Purchasing food is made easy with an attendant ready with a menu coming through every isle asking if anything is needed.

I ventured into the movie hall to watch ‘The Dark Knight’ but due to availability watched ‘Contract’ instead. Directed by the maverick director Ram Gopal Varma (or RGV or Ramu as he is know by) the film dealt with his oft made topic of the underworld. Once considered the beacon of originality who made pseudo realist films on multi layered topics usually with the subject of the underworld, his star has faded with ill conceived concepts and a blotched remake of India’s most famous and successful film named Sholay (Flames).

As for ‘Contract’, the film was promoted as an attempt to show the nexus between terrorism and the underworld with the kitsch of usual elements thrown in. The opening scenes showed promise with an army commander confronting a Jehadi terrorist (played by Zakir Hussain, but not the tabla player), leading to a well scripted conversation centered on how a solider fighting for an imagined community called a nation, ultimately does not see or interact the very public he serves to protect and is just taking orders without thought. Thus how is he different from the militant or kills in the name of love for his faith. Though hardly a deep conversation, it placed a hope of things to come; especially the thinking of the misguided followers of militant movements.

However the film descended from explaining the nexus between the underworld and terrorism to a story of rivalry between the two gangs that controlled Bombay. The extreme close-ups and silence as the character reflects, which have been seen in most of RGV's recent movies, gave way to a loud noise behind me. Looking back I saw a viewer fast asleep and snoring. The public around him also aware, left him to his sleep while the movie picked up pace/sound thus drowning his snores.

As this was a Hindi movie there is a requisite 10 minute interval where we watch more ads. The concept of an interval is a requirement in India; even English movies are given a forced interval with the sentences and scenes half completed. The sleeping man continued to snore as the interval finished only to wake up when we were leaving. In India as the exits are at the back with the patron exiting a floor higher than he entered and goes down steps. Leaving the hall, I thought of the narrative with questions left unanswered and global terrorism being tackled by one man. Than again, it was a Hindi movie so plausibility should not be expected. I wish Mr Varma would call/email me so I could discuss a film concept with him.

Time

At a young age, we have difficulty adhering to it, in our youth and prime years we race against it struggling to meet deadlines and commitments, and when old we find it very difficult to pass by. ‘Time’ has always been an elusive concept for it shapes and controls much of what we do. We hold people who have mastered it and those who have withdrawn from its everyday constraints with great respect. Much has been written about it by great writers but like the concept of ‘love’ it is never fully understood with every generation giving its own interpretations. There is even a condition where the patient fears 'time' itself known as chronophobia.

Like everyone else I too attempt to follow time and balance the thin line between adhering to schedules and following it religiously. While we can avoid it at some spheres, in the working world our schedules are dictated by the concept of time. I remember in a young age my father telling me a story about my grandfather. Working in colonial India my grandfather reported to work a little earlier than his starting time on a daily basis. A believer in punctuality and any unexpected occurrences on the way, he accounted for the unexpected in order to reach work on time. Aware of this ideal, when on a particular day when a higher ranking person did not show up on time, the supervisor who needed the work started, promoted my grandfather and asked him to take on this new role.

My father told me this story with pride as he too was a ardent follower of time especially when it came to work. We know now that when it comes to working, with the advent of technology and work ethics, tasks can be completed based on style and speed. However there is still respect allocated for timeliness.

In India today, the concept of time is hard to follow for many. Try making any appointment or going to an office on time and you will find yourself waiting endlessly due to a plethora of reasons ranging from late meetings to traffic woes. Regardless of this I have made a habit to come to work on time and leave when the office closes. I never thought of this as any sort of achievement but just adhering to a schedule. As I have work related to both UNICEF and my university I also have not taken any days off or trips though it is allowed. With my teammates in Delhi and Kerala I sat in the office researching in the afternoon.

Imagine my surprise and shock when I was called to the head office and suddenly introduced to guests both from the NGO sector and UNICEF. After introductions the director of the NGO (who I have only have had limited conversation with) and other staff lauded for my ability to come on time and maintaining discipline in schedule. Not used to receiving compliments it was a truly humbling experience that I could be held in high regard for following time and being there. It was awkward yet rewarding as I thought about how happy my mother would have been.

Bhutta

The onlooker’s eyes were one of curiosity. As I stood relaxed, the man visibly ambivalent of what he should do took another step forward. Realizing his predicament I thought why not take on this role as well. Reveling in precision I lifted the corn and flicked it up in the air.

Standing at the bus station after the end of the work, I awaited my bus to Lalbagh only to be drawn away by the roasting smell of corn. My eyes found the stall located towards the end of the bus stop and I made my way to the vendor. With the green leafs pealed, the vendor roasted bright yellow sweet corn in a large metal bowl with ember coals. The husked corn cob was roasted until about half the kernels were blackened. When a customer came he would warm it by placing it on the coals, frantically fanning the cart-top coal fire, and finishing with a dressing of squeezed lime and chilly powder which were rubbed on the kernels.

With gleam I purchased the corn on the cob or ‘bhutta’ giving the vendor a 20 rupee note. As he did not have the right change, he asked the coconut vendor beside him with no avail. Still determined he crossed the busy street leaving me standing at the stall. It was a busy time of day and crossing the road, would take time. Left at the stall I placed my hot bhutta on the husked leaves and rested with ease. With my frame and dressing style it could be confusing if I was the vendor or another customer. When the aforementioned person in the beginning of the narrative made his way towards me I thought why not.

In a jocose manner I took my corn sitting on the stall with style, flicked it in the air and caught it and chomped down on some kernels before placing it back on the stall. Taking charge I told the customer in Hindi that the smaller corns were 7 rupees and the larger ones were 8. Than I proceeded to show him the difference and told him that the quality was quite good. The man still confused by my visage and role thought about what to do while I nonchalantly ate again. As the customer made his choice the vendor returned to see my in my new role. Both impressed and happy by my proprietorship gave a smile and my change. I said goodbye and headed to my bus while the customer even more confused now attempted to understand who exactly I was.

Darkness

As I stepped to climb the coconut tree the office administrator came out and smiled. He was as perturbed as I was but I seemed to be making the best of the situation. Powerless days are becoming the order of the day. With power shortages taking place, different parts of the city have been affected by intermittent power supply. The worst part for many is that it is unscheduled, and goes out about four times a day.

With an increased consumption around 30 percent since last year combined with maintenance at the thermal power station, electricity has become a scarce resource. If this was not enough re-alignment of pipelines means no water pumping from today till Saturday making 60 areas of the city rely on self sufficiency and conservation from their roof tanks.

Any work on the computer now has to be saved at short intervals as electricity could go at any time. As for me I keep trying to make the best of the situation by talking to people in the office about topics ranging from politics to development. It is a hassle not to have power but we make the best of it and carry on.