The Last Working Day

It was the last working day of the year.

The electricity failed early in the morning, leaving me with no option, but, to start my day with a cold shower. As I stood shivering, under the icy, needle-sharp spray, I KNEW, it was going to be one of those days.
Things, could, only go downhill from here.

And, I was right.

My blackberry, which had been choking out emails at sporadic intervals, all through the night, showed no signs of revival. It also had a host of smses, from friends and fellow workers, each, demanding to know where I had vanished to.
Airtel, it appeared, was taking the day off.

All a part of life in India, I told myself, trying to put a brave face on things.

Not that I was very perturbed.

With the Blackberry out of action, I could, now, spend a few extra moments, preening in front of the mirror.

But, as I carefully dotted the sunscreen, into warrior lines and patterns, all over my face, disaster struck. It suddenly hit me, that, I had not completed my tax investments for the year. And, we were on the last working day of the year, too.
Drat!!!
A cause for great concern, and, one which, left me with no choice, than, to make a quick stop at the bank, on my way to work.
After all, how long would a piddly little deposit take? I asked myself, a wee bit too optimistically.
15 minutes?
30 minutes?
Not more, right?

Well, my friends, it took a good 4 hours!!!

In all fairness, I guess, it would have taken as much time as I had estimated, if the power had not gone off, just as my number was about to be announced.

But, what I had not bargained on, was the UPS not swinging into action, right away.
Not my fault, I assure you.
After all, I was in a well known nationalised bank, whose advertisements in magazines and publications, often screamed out its technological proficiency!

But, minutes ticked by. Rivulets of sweat ran down my neck. And, nothing happened.
After, what seemed like an eternity, the UPS beeped faintly.
The lights flickered on.
And, the display board lit up.

Much to my horror, the board had reset itself, back to zero.
I desperately looked around for help.
For, someone to intervene, and, correct the dastardly display board.
But, no-one, as much as batted an eye-lid.

And, there was no recourse for me, but, to await my turn again.

I tapped my feet, as I waited. Frowned disapprovingly, at anyone who remotely looked like an official.
And, eventually, counted the numbers, flashing on the board, till I reached the one preceding mine.

As I readied my papers, and, counted my monies for the umpteenth time, Murphy struck again!
The UPS died out.

A collective sigh of dismay echoed around the room.
And, was followed, almost immediately, by a buzz of angry murmurs.
Some, angrily, made a beeline to the counters, to protest.
Others, scowled, and continued cribbing, to who ever would listen.

As I watched the hapless officials running around, pretty much, like a brood of Chicken Littles, I knew, I was in for a long wait.
After all, I had started my day, with a cold shower!!!

It took the bank, a good two hours, to arrive at a solution.
A Generator!!!
And, an announcement, directing the non-home customers to a branch nearby, to facilitate quicker services.

Yet another wave, of angry voices, swept across the room.
But, no one moved.
The prospect of light at the end of the tunnel, stayed our tongues.
And, our feet.

" We have waited for so long, so why not for some more time" muttered an old gentleman, by my side. "They must be insane, to think I am going out in the sun, without my work being done here."

In time, the power was back.
But, Murphy was not done for the morning.
This time, he reset the token machine, issuing a second round of tokens starting with 1, to the new customers walking into the bank.

In a matter of minutes, the seething floor had transformed into a battle ground!

On the one side, raged the furious, old customers, defiantly waving tokens numbering above 20, as a mark of their refusal to wait any longer. And, on the other side, were the new customers, brandishing their tokens, demanding to be served at once.

In the melee, an irate customer button-holed a customer relations manager.
" This is most unacceptable. How can you make your customers wait for 4 hours, just for simple banking services? Where are your systems? And, your back-ups? None of you even care. As soon as the power went off, all of you vanished into the back-office. No one was available to talk to the customers or try to solve the problem. How difficult is it to order a generator? Or, to ensure that people who have been waiting for so long, are served first? Knowing that there will be a rush today, don't you think you should have been better prepared for such situations?"

Much to my amazement, she bestowed a withering glance at the customer, before retorting
" It's all your fault. Why do you keep things for the last minute? Why do you not plan for emergencies? Right from the beginning of the year, you knew, 31st March is the last date for your deposit. You had all this time, and, did not bother to come. And now, you are getting angry because you did not think???'

Err, did anyone say India Shining?

A Right Royal Ride..

All through the past few months, I have watched the world around me fret and worry about the recession. And tighten their purse strings which, in my rather uninformed opinion, can only aggravate the situation. The recession is taking its toll on the morale and good humour of the vast majority. So it is with no great enthusiasm that I trudge out to work each morning.

My bad humour is mostly rooted in the fact that I am not a morning person. I tend to amble around in senseless circles till about 11 a.m by when the steaming mugs of near-black coffee would begin to disperse the fog in my mind.

This morning was no different. I stood groggily on the pavement outside my flat - caffeine deprived & clueless about the next logical course of action. I was weighed down on the one side by a giant laptop bag stuffed with paraphernalia, most of which I wasn't sure I needed but retained all the same. On the other side, dangled my plump snack bag which threatened to burst at its seams any moment. I was mentally redundant but continued to struggle valiantly to find my bearings in the sunny, noisy world around me.

The need of the hour was a ride to work, I decided. And no sooner had I identified the need, I spotted the solution in the distance, noisily chugging my way .

Sporting my best smile, I raised my hand to flag down the rickshaw. But my hand was arrested mid air by the sight of strange rays of light which seemed to emanate from within the rickshaw. As I squinted and blinked moronically, the glinting tuk-tuk glided to a stop right in front of me..Much like an alien carriage.
A beaming waif, sporting a faint growth of fuzz on his chin, beckoned invitingly at me as I continued to gape rudely at his vehicle.

A good whole moment of unabashed staring brought home the realisation that the glint which almost seared my eyeballs was no part of an alien space ship. Nor was it metal cargo being transported to an unknown destination.

It was, believe it or not, a giant Taj Mahal crafted in steel. And even worse, it had a picture of Aishwarya Rai-Bachan in mujra finery, plastered across its facade.

As I stared mutely at the apparition in front of me, the waif once again waved me in cheerfully.

You will only make a spectacle of yourself

warned the voices in my head

Imagine, riding into work seated on a red velvet mughal throne with the Taj Mahal almost on your lap? How much more ridiculous can you look?

For once, the voices made sense.

I could almost visualise the expressions of barely concealed glee on the faces of my colleagues if I was spotted in this contraption. But lady luck was obviously out for an extended coffee break, for there was no other transport in sight. Clearly it was my day for strange experiences of the historical kind and so gritting my teeth, I gingerly clambered in.

Up close and personal, the Taj Mahal was horrendous!!!

If it sported a star on its facade, the inside of the monument was no less stellar. Through the little windows, I could see a cheerful yellow sun with golden rays and white clouds!!! And the icing on the cake was its spired dome which bore the reflection of an illuminated Spiderman who hung off the ceiling of the rickshaw.
As I absorbed the scenario in front of me, I noticed that I had company!.
Flanking me on either side was a Hindu king who seemed more engrossed in wrestling with a giant toothless tiger than make conversation with me. But to make up for the sporting royal, there was the Bollywood hunk Sanjay Dutt looking a little hung-over from his dopey days.

As we regally made our way through the crowded roads, the waif -Rafeeq -flicked his wrist swiftly and suddenly, the entire rickshaw was flooded with high decibel but still inaudible strains of music encased in much static.I suspect it was Shehnai and suffered the cacophony with the vain hope that Rafeeq's periodic thumping on the sound box would prove effective. But eventually, my poor ear drums pleaded for reprieve and I had no choice but to insist that he turn off the music.

I reached work a good hour late....Not surprising when one considers the speed at which the rickshaw ambled forward. As I alighted at my destination, I could not resist asking Rafeeq if I could take pictures of his rather unique vehicle.

" Madam, you like? I fixed it only last week...I get Taj Mahal cheaper..Good time now to modify auto...Customer also enjoy...I have even sent picture to Udaya TV...Maybe they show on TV" Intoned the visibly puffed up Rafeeq as I clicked away on my handheld. But the best was yet to come "...Madam, you see my auto at night, with its inside lights on...It looks very nice.." And then, with a sudden note of hope in his voice "I pick you this evening from office? No extra charge? Then you take more photos? "

As I politely declined the gracious offer, suppressing the shudder that it evoked in me, I could not help but applaud the spirit of this humble auto driver who looked at the problem and saw only the opportunity it held out to him.

Perhaps there is a lesson in there for all of us who are still moaning and griping about the times we live in!!!

The Radio's Gone Ga Ga

There used to be a time when the radio was the primary mass medium and its performers -artists par excellence- known for their dramatic flair as much as their oratorical skills. I have heard old timers reminisce about the mass hysteria generated by the broadcast of Wells's War of the Worlds...MacArthur's address after the surrender of Japan...And the speeches of stalwarts like Churchill, Nehru & Roosevelt, which infused strength and purpose into the marrow of their nations. Perhaps, it was the time of a generation that was particular about qualitative content as well as the form, structure and presentation of language. Quite unlike the modern day.

I do not know how many people actually listen to the radio these days.....I mean really, really listen........ I know I don't.

It is very rarely that I tune into the radio...Almost never in Chennai, where Tamil is the language of choice for the various FM channels and therefore, tends to seem repetitive and rather monotonous to my ear. I find the radio channels in Bangalore to be a lot more cosmopolitan in their repertoire. But even so, I only seem to tune in when stuck in a traffic snarl and have no means of entertaining myself.

Like last evening. It had been pouring cats and dogs since afternoon. The roads were jam packed. As I sweated it out with a hundred other commuters in the interminable traffic snarl, I mindlessly flipped on the radio and got FM 94. something.

Under normal circumstances, I would have been lost in my thoughts and oblivious to the prattle of the RJs. But yesterday, for once, my attention was caught by what sounded very much like alienese in fast-forward. A few minutes of concentrated effort revealed it to be the frantic babbling of a young lady who was frenetically racing through her English-Hindi-Kannada lines at Mach 1, pausing only to emit high pitched squeaks and rasping gasps at periodic intervals. Had I not known better, I might have imagined that the presenter was at the very least hyperventilating if not choking to death in her studio. I considered surfing for a saner and less disturbing channel , but from my driver's assurances that I would find nothing better on any other radio station, I gathered that alienese was the new language of the radio.

I must admit that I had to admire the RJ's ability to switch between languages without loosing the flow of thoughts. But my poor, tired grey cells were not up to the sustained decoding of alienese and so I decided to switch off until the music came on. But, as with all the good things in life, I had to wait. For right after the manic RJ, came a series of jingles which could only be categorised as noise and more noise. All right, I concede, some of them had some gibberish verse as well!

I counted to 10 hoping for some melodious reprieve but instead, on came a certain Mr. Ganta Singh who rambled ponderously on a telephone call to, of all things, a hair transplant center!!!

" Hay-lo, is this the blah-blah baal center?" [baal = hindi for hair]

" yes"

" Aaaah, I wanted to know if you use real baal or artificial baal?"

" real baal"

" So you use real baal...Do YOU have real baal?"

" Why are you asking me such questions??"

" But tell me, do you have real baal?"

" I do have real baal..."

"Have you seen the movie Saawariya?"

" Sawariya? Yes I have"

"The heroine in that movie had lots of baal...Her father also has lots of baal all over his body. Do you know how many baals are there in an over?"

The writers at FM 94.something probably thought this was amusing but my funny bone remained impervious to the charms of Ganta Singh. His banter was so incredibly moronic that it surprised me the Sikhs had not taken umbrage at the station's verbal caricature of their ilk and resorted to rioting on the streets.

Fortunately for me, the station decided to quit while it was ahead and finally came blessed relief in the form of music. But the pattern was set for the 2 hour drive back home.

Just as I would begin to unwind with the music, the manic RJ and her cohorts would pop up with their steady stream of rapid-fire nonsense. And by the time I alighted at my destination, I had heard very little music thanks to the likes of Chamrajpet Charles, the Sultan School of Speeches and the Zombie time keeper.

I must confess that, following on the heels of Ghanta Singh, Chamrajpet Charles with his Anglo-Indian accent and borderline lewdness was tolerable. But, the Sultaaaan Skooool of Speeches which followed Singh and Charles proved to be the final straw that broke my nerve. Contrary to its name, the School offered no tips what so ever on public speaking or declamation. The act comprised of a whole minute of heavy, hoarse breathing interspersed with an orgasmic voice which ranted inaudibly about rising hem-lines and dropping neck-lines!!!

It took me a scalding hot shower and a good whole hour of classic rock on VH1 to get over the trauma inflicted by Ghanta Singh and his tribe. As I lay in the dark drowsily mumbling the chorus of Radio Ga Ga, for the first time, I truly understood the sentiment which inspired this legendary song...

"....You had your time, you had the power

You've yet to have your finest hour ....Radio -- Radio..."

And until the finest hour arrives, I will most definitely be carrying CDs!!!

Catch 'Em Young

It was just another day at work. I sat in my 'conquered' cubicle, pretty much like the proverbial camel, mulling over a project plan for a forthcoming event. Ideas flowed fluidly, gliding with ease over the gravel bed of reason...Words eagerly tripped one over the other, as my inspired fingers raced to keep pace with my thoughts. I was a woman possessed and it was, to put it mildly, a very pleasant place to be in. A lot like basking on the sun kissed beaches of a tropical paradise with an extravagant frothy cocktail in one hand and a gripping book in the other!!!
But unfortunately for me, this happy state of affairs was not to last. ..
"Rekz, there is a call for you......" yelled my colleague from the next cubicle " It is from the Hare Rama Hare Krishna people"
* eyebrows and ears perked up all around me*
My colleague can barely conceal her surprise nor can the many other ears, which seem to have sprouted miraculously on the walls around me! Not that I blamed them. The last thing anyone would associate with me is an affiliation to a religious organisation.
Sure I do have my own brand of spirituality and commune frequently with God, but my conversations with the powers that be are not conducted within the preview of any religion. Sighing, I walk over to my neighbour's cubicle to find out what ISKON could possibly want with a pagan like me...
" Hello...Is this Rekha Nair?"
I reply in the affirmative.
" Hare Krishna"
Now how do I respond to that, I wondered. Various possibilities flit across my mind - Namaste.. Shalom Aleichem..Hail Mary..Om Namah Shivaya.. But, even before I could run through my mental list of greetings to pick one which would best represent my spirituality, the lady forged ahead..
" Madam, would you like to contribute to our programme..we want to give books and magazines to people "
A Literacy Campaign!!!....While I had heard of and was highly appreciative of ISKON's Food Programmes for under-privileged children in schools, that they also ran literacy programmes was news to me. It wasn't that I objected. Oh no, I didn't. I am all in favour of any organisation, regardless of its religious orientation, which would help raise the learning curve of the uneducated millions in our Country.
" Madam, we will give spiritual books and magazines to children and to prisoners so they will become better people"
The little gears in my head came to a screeching halt.This was not a literacy programme...It sounded more like a recruitment drive to me!!!
'You want to distribute your literature to underprivileged children? The books and magazines which ISKON publishes? But why? "
" Oh yes, it will be ISKON books and magazines...we want to do this for the children so that they will find God, learn values and become good human beings"
" What makes you think that they don't have a God already? Or values for that matter? Or that they are not good human beings?"
" You see, many of them are from poor houses. Their fathers are normally drunkards, who beat them and their mothers every evening. These children live in poverty and most of the time, there is no one to take care of them or teach them good things...So we would like to help them"
" But surely, their mothers will teach them to pray and about God. Don't you feel ISKON can utilise the funds to help improve their lives? From what you have just said, it would seem that the problem is poverty and not a lack of religious instruction. So, wouldn't it be better if you gave children books that would help them learn something useful or conduct employment oriented courses or try recruit volunteers who will spend time helping these children plan their futures?"
" Well Madam, we are already running the Akshaya Patra Scheme which feeds many children each day....Now, we would now like to spread word of Krishna in the same schools"
" To be honest, I think your 'Feed the Hungry Child' scheme is wonderful because it fills hungry bellies. But, I am not very sure of your 'Propagate ISKON Movement".... I am a firm believer in the 'Teach a man to fish and feed him for a lifetime' philosophy and think that ISKON as a organisation can do a lot more good if they focused on equipping under privileged children with life-skills "
"But madam, are you not a Hindu? It is not wrong for us to spread the teachings from our sacred books and about our Gods....People from other religions do it...So why should we not?"
Obviously the young lady is an ardent member of the 'Hinduism Bachao#' movement, which sincerely believes that all other religions have a single purpose to their existence - To augment their numbers in multiples either by large scale conversion or by sustained procreation!
" But why should we? Others may or may not be doing so...But does that mean we should also mimic them? Why should we also get on the "My God is better than Your God' bandwagon? Do we really need to foster our perceived religious differences on the children?"
" No, no Madam, you have misunderstood...If we do not spread Hinduism and keep it strong in the hearts of the followers, we will soon die out...Madam, we will become like the Jews before the birth of Israel!!! "
* deep sigh*
" My dear girl, we come from a country which has religion oozing out of almost every little Galli## and screams at us from a gazillion commercial signboards. It is integrated into our daily lives..So how can Hinduism or any other religion for that matter just fade away? Considering that we live in a secular country, don't you think religions should be promoting a little more tolerance, mutual respect and responsibility, rather than try drive the religious wedge deeper into young impressionable minds?"
But, it would seem that I was not making the smallest of dents on her Hare Rama Hare Krishna Armour.
" If you don't want to contribute to our program, just say so..I am not willing to compromise my mission listening to your words"
Indeed it would seem that there ain't no such thing as free lunches in this world..Not even when the Gods ordain it!!!


# Bachao = Save
## Gallis = Little Street ways

Bangalore's Blasts Defused???

This afternoon, right about lunch time, just as a large number of the denizens in the city were smacking their lips in anticipation of a much-looked-forward-to meal, Bangalore was mildly shaken by a series of bomb blasts. Nothing normally comes in between my food and me. So, I first heard of the blasts long after lunch was done and only when my karmic sibling, Pradeep, called to check if I was back from my morning's jaunt in town. Much to my disgust, he could give me no more news than that there had been 6 blasts in the city because apparently the NDTV news site stubbornly refused to open out the lead story. Trust technology to falter in my hour of need!!!
Agog with curiosity, I marched in search of a television set to find out the gory details and found one at the end of the corridor, with a buzzing crowd already around it .
As I listened to a rather frenetic news reporter repeat his lines over and over again at a speed which defied sound, a colleague snorted in disdain " 6 bombs, one victim and a few injured??? Must have been a local wanna-be terrorist!!!...Someone who wrapped up left over Diwali crackers and, when no one was watching, shoved it in any which deserted place he found!!!.. I tell you, we are damn lucky to be living in this country where a lot of people can't be bothered to think or plan or execute meticulously!!!....Had it been a locally planned bombing in Iraq or US or anywhere else in the world, each bomb would have had a hit rate of 50-100"
I take a moment off from the sleepy dogs and the beaming corpulent faces on screen to digest his words. He does have a point in that, how can 6 bombs not claim more lives than one? My train of thought comes to a screeching halt as the phone begins to ring. A friend from the land down under. The loss of a ear doesn't seem to faze my colleague, who continues to hold court
" And look at those bumbling cops....they are just prancing back and forth, preening and posing for the cameras...no wonder they have nothing to report other than the basic information!!!...These guys haven't the faintest clue as to what they are looking for and imagine allowing the news crew to walk all over the place..They will only contaminate the evidence and finally, to placate the people, will cook a story assigning the responsibility to the L.T.T.E or the Naxals or the LeT.."
The calls keep pouring in, some from people stuck right in the heart of the troubled zones. I am touched that so many love me but I am also rather surprised to see urgent news flashes about networks in Bangalore being jammed. Seriously, what did those bozos know???? Here, my ears were beginning to burn from the steady stream of calls while the idiot box was telling me that networks all over Bangalore were jammed ??? Just as it was telling me, and the rest of the world, to buy their theory that a few piddly little bombs amount to a 'rocked' and tottering Bangalore??
I decide to ditch the chattering crowd, the eloquent orator and some pompous guy on telly, for the less vocal and equally informative offerings thrown up by Google Search. So, an hour later, after having waded through many dramatic headlines and news alerts, I had to concede that my colleague did have a point when he spoke about the amateur terrorist and the poor quality of planning and execution...
Apparently most of the bombs were 'planted' randomly near bus stops and traffic islands, without serious intent to kill. There only seemed to be one semi-serious plant which claimed a life and seriously injured two others - Although most of the news channels were still arguing about the casualties. All the others, contrary to media reports, were just big bangs with a lot of hot air. Now, why on earth would anyone would waste time and energy, making and planting little baby bombs whose impact, so to speak, was to accelerate heart beats for a few hours and ruin every one's Friday evening? And although the preening bomb experts and sleepy dogs on T.V were unable to explain the who, why, and how's of the bombs, the ubiquitous Laskhar e Toiba's name along with SIMI was doing the rounds as possible culprits.
I do not know about the SIMI's involvement, but I do wish the Toiba thugs are tuned into India or World News tonight... because I bet my last shiny penny that the LeT killing machines would probably line up and commit suicide in droves if they heard of the ignoble blasts which was being laid at their doorstep!!!





Disclaimer: This post intends no disrespect to the memories of the victim/s of the Bangalore blasts nor does it mean to denigrate their passing away in anyway. Life is precious, and my prayers go with the families of the bereaved.