From Bridesmaid to Bride

It was the stuff dreams were made of. On December 2nd 2007, myself and Shetty sped off towards Devanahalli to try our luck at “Intellect Explorer”, the quiz held as part of “Reboot 2007”, the yearly inter-corporate cultural competition.

The playing field was packed with the who’s who of the corporate world – Infosys, Wipro, Oracle, Logica etc., to name a few. The quiz had a three-tier format – a written prelims followed by semi-finals and a final. The preliminary was a tricky affair, where we had to answer 25 questions and managed to finish 8th out of 12 teams. However, we changed gears in the semifinals, cracking questions at will, to finish on top of the round.

The finals were a completely different ball game. We were against five of the best corporate teams in the business. The quiz started off with a long visual connect question consisting of 19 clues, which we managed to crack on the second set of clues, to gain 22 points. Things started going downhill from there on, as we were unable to crack the next 21 questions, as the other teams started to leave us behind. However, we still had a little fight left within us and stormed back with the connect round and the buzzer round. And then, with two questions to go, a look at the points table made us realize that we could not lose. We had finished first.

For many years, we were the bridesmaid, and not the bride. But on that day, we were not to be denied. This was our first ever First Place finish in an inter-corporate general quiz. The Dream has just begun….

A feeble attempt at creativity

Er..to err is...

India's number one news channel? Today this came up as a "news flash" on CNN IBN:


Am curious which of our heroines is worth 8 crores, and who seized her...

The Day the Earth stood still

At 9:30 pm, the power went off. To escape the mosquitoes, I went up to the terrace. The sky was lit up in dull red, as if the sun had just gone down on that extraordinary day. The fireworks were still lighting up the night sky. I stood and watched them, all the while contemplating the events on that day – the day the earth stood still.

9th March 1996: I still remember that day for what I missed – THAT match at Bangalore, when Ajay Jadeja rained sixes. A day long train journey to Chennai meant that I lost out on the action as the whole of India sat glued to the television. As we alighted at Perambur at 9:30 p.m., the roads were deserted. I attributed it to the unearthly hour at which we had disembarked. I was unaware of the drama that was unfolding in Bangalore. No sooner had the match ended than the city burst into life, with crackers exploding all over the sky.

On the 1st of March 2003, we had witnessed crazy fans on a rampage on MG Road, after Sachin Tendulkar took apart Shoaib Akhtar and Co at Centurion. Hence this time I knew what to expect. For those of my age, Sharjah remained a painful memory from the school days. Year after year, we would see India outplay all other teams to set up the final clash with Pakistan, only to surrender meekly on a Friday afternoon. Year after year, as that Friday dawned, we knew what the result would be even before the first ball was bowled. But this was not any other final – this was the World Cup and defeat was perhaps unpardonable for the die-hard cricket fan.

The most popular e-mail of today was that stupid “excuse to your PM” forward – the one with that the cat having a gun pointed at its chin, and the text “I want to watch the T20 Final. Please let me go home” - which I received at least 7 or 8 times. Early morning at 8 o’clock the office was not abuzz with excitement. Most people still thought the match would start at 9:30. As the day progressed, realization slowly dawned that the game was scheduled at 5:30 in the evening, which meant that most of employees would miss the whole game if they relied on the company shuttle. Volvo bus timings were suddenly in vogue. The trickle started sometime after lunch. A few early birds were already packing up for the day – perhaps showing sublime faith in the famed Bangalore traffic. By four o’clock, the trickle had turned into a steady stream. Enterprising souls who did not know how to spell c-r-i-c-k-e-t were also performing disappearing acts in the name of the game. Our floor, which houses 350-odd people, was half empty even before the magic hour of 5:00 p.m.

At 5:30 p.m., a long queue of vehicles was visible outside the office – an indication of how desperate people were to get home before the action began. I was stuck here in office for good, but thanks to an enterprising friend, I was able to watch the live match video on the net (beggars can’t be choosers). At 6:00 p.m., the lights on the floor were being switched off. This was a time when, on any normal day, you would find at least 100 people in office. But today, there were hardly 20 people around. The earth had indeed stood still before a game between two nations.

The SAPIENT cafeteria, which houses a television, was four floors up. But at the fall of each Pakistani wicket, I could hear the huge cheers of the crowd assembled there to watch the match. At 8:45 PM, the last nail was hammered into the coffin, and a huge roar erupted from somewhere – indications that the festivities would soon start. I packed up my belongings and headed home – unfortunately, along with everyone else who decided to stay back and watch the match at their workplace. It did not entirely come as a surprise that three out of the six preset FM channels in my car were playing the “Chak de India” song. Crackers were bursting in full throttle everywhere. Today, India will not sleep.

In 1983, cricket was not the religion it is now. Neither did we have a television, nor did I know what cricket was. It took this moment 24 years to arrive. Tomorrow the country would be draped in blue. Perhaps it would take another lifetime to witness another World Cup victory. But until then, when they meet each other on the streets, people would question: “Where were you on the 24th of September 2007 - The Day the Earth Stood Still?”

Chasing Squirrels

Life is like an action movie. Everybody keeps chasing one thing or the other throughout their lives.

Some chase their dreams,
Some chase wealth.
Some chase glory,
While others chase skirts...

On September 1st, I spent the day chasing squirels and butterflies in Lal Bagh, Bangalore. The photographs I took were not so great, but was worth for the sheer effort.

Sunday, 26th August 2007, New Delhi: I was left speechless!

Another Tryst with Destiny

येह सदियों से बे-खौफ सहमी सी गलियाँ

ये मसली हुई अध्-खुली ज़द कलियाँ
ये बिकती हुई खोखली रंग-रालियाँ
जिन्हे नाज़ है हिंद पर वोह कहाँ हैं?

On 15th August 2007, India celebrated her 60th Independence Day, and every blogger worth his salt, wrote a blog on “what have we achieved, do we deserve our independence, India’s degradation in the last 60 years” and so on. Since there’s no use of flogging the dead horse, let me switch tracks to the other trend currently on – that of every Tom, Dick and Ravi jumping into the celebration bandwagon. Our team in the office was no exception – though some people felt we were perhaps a trifle late in catching the bus.

An enterprising soul by the name of Ramkumaar Shanker dreamed up the idea of ‘celebrating’ Independence Day. For starters, I didn’t know what one meant by that. For me, Independence Day was a painful memory from past – getting up early in the day, and being pushed off to school to attend the compulsory flag hoisting ceremony. During college, the day used to be sandwiched between the papers of the semester examinations. It was only off-late that independence days have been a pleasant experience every year, with a couple of us, 'good-for-nothing-so-called-brainies' heading off to Chennai for the Landmark Quiz (with success too – as I’ve already boasted an umpteen times on my blog). It was a disappointment to miss the opportunity this year, hence perhaps when a chance came begging to participate in the Independence Day celebrations, I decided to jump in. As they say, beggars can’t be choosers.

On Monday afternoon, we received an “Independence Day” e-mail that instructed, among other things, that we need to change our wallpapers, put up flags, dress up in ethnic clothes and whatever else। Changing the wallpaper was the easiest thing. The others, I was sure, would require some amount of coaxing. In spite of calls for volunteers for decorating the workplace, the team cubicles looked positively bland on Tuesday. A couple of us decided to take matters into our hands. Discussions started on where to buy flags from – whether to try the ITPL mall or Cosmos Mall. The objective seemed to be suspiciously on personal shopping rather than “Independence Day” shopping. Finally I, Venkat and Pragati hit the road in search of the flags. Within a few minutes, we had laid our hands on a huge cloth flag and a few plastic ones. The big one was hung up from the ceiling for everyone to look and admire, and the small ones were put up on all the cubicles. By afternoon a similar flag had come up in another team somewhere on the opposite. Those who couldn’t bother to do the same chose to shout “sour grapes” with their holier-than-thou attitude that hanging the flag from the ceiling was against the protocol (according to some newspaper they kept pointing to). It may not be according to the protocol, but is it a sin to be patriotic?

The biggest challenge of course, was to come on Thursday and Friday – that of cajoling people to come dressed up in ethnic wear। A “reminder” mail was duly sent। Somehow, the poor dhoti seemed to have failed to find favor with Ramkumaar Shanker and was soon discarded for the kurta. Venkat declared that he wanted to purchase a kurta that evening, and we immediately knew that the next he would not be appearing in a kurta. Come the d-day and I was decked up in a gaudy kurta. Ramkumaar Shanker had adorned himself in what (only) he called an ethnic kurta sparking off a team-wide argument about it’s ethnicity. All the ladies had also come decked up in saree and so-called ethnic salwar-kameez (Pragati too).

Umpteen photos were taken – both inside and outside the office (including one of Ram Shanker and Gulam sitting and holding hands like a happily married couple). There were more discussions and counter-discussions on where we should head for lunch. Finally one group headed for Pizza Hut, where as the other headed to US Pizza. How truly Indian! And thus ended the festivities, as we returned with bloated stomachs for what could be perhaps a good afternoon sleep.

So much for ethnicity, but what about the ‘celebration’? One might question why we did not sing the national anthem. Perhaps because someone might claim we broke some protocol if somebody misses a note while singing. But as we like to say, patriotism is all in the heart, and we like to celebrate it in our own way. And what about my Independence Day? I chose to spend it by myself, going on a drive till the Karnataka Border. It can’t get more independent than this.

The Thin Red Line

It was wet all over. The sun came out only for a few minutes, before being covered by the dark clouds that had hung along for the whole day. The atmosphere was drenched. As I crossed the National Highway just outside our house in Cochin a huge red bus turned into the busy thoroughfare, in the process splashing a spray of muddy water onto the head of an innocent passer-by. The bus continued its dash along the road, as the poor soul was left fuming, trying to mop himself with a small handkerchief. He was not alone though. There were a few other hapless people who were given a not-so-pleasant evening shower by the “red devil”. But they just carried on walking, as if this were an everyday occurrence in their lives. And they were perhaps not off the mark, as this incident took me back to the days when I used to commute in these “red devils”. In this small city, which likes to call itself a metro, the red devils do carve out a path unto themselves.

Off late, so much has been said about the killer Blue Line buses in New Delhi. If my memory serves me correct, there used to be some notorious Red Line buses in the capital, when I was in school. It just goes on to prove that a change of color or design does not guarantee a change of fortunes (If you don’t believe me, take a look at Australia. They’ve changed the color of their cricket uniform umpteen times. But they still keep winning). The red line buses in Cochin may not have such an illustrious record as their counterparts in the capital, but they are not to be left behind. So what are these red devils? And what makes their appearance on the roads so much fearsome?

Technically speaking, these devils are blood red in color, with around six wheels (two in front and four at the back) – though not all of them on the ground at the same time – manufactured either by Tata or by Ashok Leyland (at least the majority of them). They are sometimes popularly called “Line Buses” (probably to distinguish them from the red dinosaurs that ply under the brand of “KSRTC” – the Kerala State Road Transport Corporation), thus rendering the name “red line” more or less apt. The earlier avatars used to be around 30 to 40 seaters, but as time has passed they’ve become shorter in length – perhaps in an attempt to try and squeeze into any available corners in the traffic - with probably around 20-30 available seats. The first few rows of seats are reserved for the fairer sex, though this does not hinter the men from occupying these seats from time to time. Most of them have outlandish names emblazoned either on the upper part of the front windshield or - as is the case with the older species - painted on a wooden board on the top. Most names would probably end with the suffix, “Mon” (meaning ‘son’) or “Mol” (meaning ‘daughter’), probably named after the little children of the owners. But once these monsters are let loose on the road, there is nothing innocent about them.

Most of these buses run on the Aluva-Ernakulam bus route. Even if they are allotted a different route, they somehow manipulate the authorities and get their route changed – for that is where the excitement lies. My first real encounter with these monsters was when I was in school and it required a 20 minute journey by bus every day. Being school kids we were entitled to the ‘bus concession’, which meant that we needed to pay only the paltry amount of 10 paise per journey – much to the fury of the bus personnel. Our purses used to be filled with (only) those flower-shaped coins, which have by now become extinct. At 3:55 when the school bell rang we would rush outside to the bus stop, and then would start an eager wait that would last, on some days, up to half an hour. Bus after bus would go past without stopping. If a poor soul who need to alight at that particular stop, the bus would stop, but not before covering a full kilometer further from the stop. And the passenger would also get a mouthful of abuses from the bus conductor. No sooner would a bus pass the stop, than we would start running after it, with the hope that it would stop within the next kilometer or so. At any moment, one could spot around 50-100 odd uniform-clad kids inside any given bus. The overweight bags on their shoulders would mean that they would get all kinds of curses from the elder passengers as they joust for space inside the buses.

The buses are permanently inhabited by three different species of creatures. The first of the species is the driver, who is more or less impervious of what is happening inside the bus. His sole aim is to get the bus from the source point to the destination point in the least possible time, using whatever nefarious tricks that he can pull out of his sleeve. With the first few rows being reserved for ladies, the driver is usually surrounded by school/college girls, which perhaps adds to his adrenaline rush. He is usually an expert in the “art of driving”, putting the likes of Michael Schumacher and Fernando Alonso to shame. Drivers usually suffer from color-blindness – an observation that stems from the fact that they cannot see traffic lights. The speed of driving is generally governed by the speed and rhythm (huh?) of the jarring music blaring out of the fossilized music system installed in the bus, and it goes without saying that he chooses the most outlandish music to torment the life of the passengers. Under him, the huge behemoth can achieve decelerations of 250 km/hr to 0 km/hr in a matter of just a couple of seconds – in the process throwing everyone inside (whether seated or standing) off balance. The reasons for this kind of deceleration is though, not known, since these incidents happen only on the rarest of occasions. This is due to the fact that, any obstacle on the road does not cause a deceleration in speed, but rather, results in either mowing down the obstacle with chilling efficiency or swerving at unimaginable speeds which again results in throwing everyone inside out of balance. To be fair to them, such incidents are always preceded by the blaring of a horn – the sounds of which bear some uncanny resemblance to the tribal cries of African cannibals – thus giving the victim a second or two to jump out of their way.

The second species of creatures that inhabit these buses are called the ‘conductors’. The primary responsibility of these loquacious creatures is to abuse anyone who comes in front of their eyes, but they also handle the less important job of handing out tickets to whoever wants them. The reason why buses are so popular among the school and college students is due to the presence of this species, as they possess a vast vocabulary of abuses, and it gives the students a golden opportunity to learn what they are perhaps never taught at school. The conductor usually sports a khakhi shirt and a white dhoti, and carries a black bag, which has a huge appetite for money. The last assumption is made from the fact that if you do not tender the exact change for your journey, you would get the golden opportunity to hear some choice words of abuse. Once you are parted with all the loose change in your pockets, these coins and notes go into the black bag. If the next passenger confesses that he does not have any loose coins, the conductor immediately replies: “Sorry, I do not have any change” (though not exactly that polite). The only inference one can make is that the black bag has devoured whatever was put inside it.

The last and most interesting of the species is called the “kili” (which in Malayalam means ‘sparrow’). Nobody knows exactly as to the origin of the name. Some people say that the name is derived from the English term “Cleaner” since it is usually the job of the kilis to clean the bus (albeit superficially) once it has reached its destination. Others claim that it is due to the fact that they keep chirping like a sparrow and always keep blowing a whistle that they carry around. Their primary responsibility is to ensure that passengers get into and get off the bus, while it is still running. They are usually spotted inhabiting the footboard of the buses, standing across the narrow front door, so that ladies, who have to get in and get out of the bus, have to brush past them. In some buses, one might also come across an extra kili at the rear door (which is used by the gents), but with the advent of the smaller buses, this post has been rendered redundant, with the conductor taking up the responsibility of manning this door. The vocabulary of the kili is in no way inferior to that of the conductor, and he has the additional responsibility of using them at everyone outside the bus – at passer-bys, fellow “red-line” buses and any other vehicle on the road. Time and again, he does encroach on the territory of the conductors by heaping abuses on the passengers too. If by sheer ill-luck, you happen to be the only passenger to alight at a particular stop you can be sure to get a taste of his acid tongue for taking away the precious few seconds from their race time. It would serve you good to watch all those endless replays of athletics and swimming competitions on DD Sports, since you need to take up your position at the doorstep a few minutes before your stop arrives. As the bus rushes past your stop, get set, and…jump.

It’s been almost 10 years now, since I’ve stopped travelling in them regularly. But even the occasional brush with them has made me realize that not much has changed in their appearance and their behavior. The music has stopped (due to some law or ruling that buses plying inside the city should not play music), but nothing else seems to have been affected. But in spite of all these, there seems to be one vice that seems to have not touched these specified. In an age where every Tom Dick and Harry sports a cell phone, the bus drivers are yet to be seen brandishing one while driving. Perhaps that Thin Red Line would also be soon crossed. At least until then, enjoy your ride…

The Elixir of Life

A prime reason why, interviews should be listened to fully...

Ravi Shastri is interviewing Venkatesh Prasad and Robin Singh after the Trentbridge Test:

Shastri: "There's still work to be done in the outfield, isn't it?"
Singh: "Yeah, most of the guys in the team are on the older side, but we are working on it."

So much have been talked about Daniel Radcliffe's appearance at Lords', hunting for Sachin Tendulkar's autograph ("aila plane! nahin, jhadoo!" croaked Vinai Schenoi on hearing about it). Now, did the Indian think tank suddenly come across the Philosopher's Stone?

Coming back to life...

On 31st August 2005, my 13-day vacation was cut short to five days, since I had to return to Bangalore to attend a team outbound training program on September 1st. The following is an excerpt from my return journey from Alwaye (a suburb of Cochin) to Bangalore (This is the extended version of the article that came in our employee magazine, Kshitij).

5:30: On my way back: It will be a long day. A cherished desire for train spotting waits to be fulfilled. I have a whole five rolls of film ready for my trip.

7:00: Alwaye: An otherwise busy station is almost empty. The Calicut intercity waits at the platform as a few passengers frantically try for tickets. In no hurry myself; I let them go ahead of me.

7:45: Waking Up: It’s a long wait in the sleepy town waking up to a new morning. There’s scarcely a soul at the station. A few rays of the morning sun stream through the clouds. To my surprise, the train turns up on time, behind a screaming red-yellow engine.

7:50: A long wait: We pass by the Cochin International Airport. Unlike the railway station, it is a busy day here – there are two aircrafts taxiing on the runway, and a few others waiting patiently for their turn at the terminal.

8:11: Click! Click!: My first train sighting! A bright red WAP4 screams past. I get to work with my camera.

8:20: A little sunshine: After playing hide and seek in the clouds, the sun finally streaks through. The countryside is bathed in warm, golden sunshine.

8:22: Dhadak! Dhadak!: We scream through the countryside. The stretch between Alwaye and Thrissur is one of the most beautiful in this country. Dotted with green fields and sparkling rivers, we travel through a heavenly countryside, caressing the curves.


8:51: Thrissur: A delicious breakfast of home-made idlis. We pull out of Thrissur. Whatever crowd was there in the train is no longer there. We glide past the slums that dot the trackside in Thrissur. It’s morning – time for the children to have their bath. Under the cascading water, they are dancing gleefully, oblivious of whatever the future may have in store for them.

8:52: A home for four years: Punkunnam, a suburb of Thrissur, with a small railway station, neglected by most super-fast trains. My home for four years during childhood. The station where I nurtured my love for trains and travel has barely changed, except for the odd fruit stall.

9:01: Coffee: They call it coffee. So do I – since I’ve paid for it.

9:10: Picture Perfect: The sun is shining again. I can see the hills coming closer. It’s time to take out my camera. Oh dear! It’s so lovely! Why am I going back?


9:11: Ghostly Sentinels: We pass through a couple of hills. It’s not yet autumn, but the trees are bare to the bark. They loom up like ghostly sentinels guarding the forest.

9:35: The great river: Bharatapuzha – Kerala’s longest river! A river which has spawned many a story and inspired many an artiste now lies as an expanse of sand – the victim of years of neglect and cruelty!

9:45: Shoranur: A small and sleepy town where nothing happens. The biggest landmark here is the sprawling railway junction, on the banks of the great river. As we wait for the 20-minute reversal stop, I notice a small shrine in the middle of the platform. It’s just a stone, nestling under a tree. But you can see a garland around it, with a teeka on its forehead. Does it teach me a lesson? Perhaps in the midst of all our toil in our daily life, we still can find God hidden somewhere!

10:15: Scarecrows dressed for the night: We are gliding on a green carpet. Fields stretch from the tracks to the hills in the distance. It is almost the harvest season. I can see the crops swaying in the wind. On the other side, the great river winds its way along with us. I also spy the occasional scarecrows, dressed in various outlandish costumes – one even in a night dress. Fashion designers in the making?


10:22: Speeding through: Ottappalam: One glance at the station will make people wonder why all trains stop here – well, almost all! Today we speed past at full throttle. A sight to behold!

10:36: Old Age: On the outskirts of Palghat lies the quaint little village of Parli. A row of old double storey houses, with tiled roofs and tiny verandahs, line the tracks. It’s a wonder that these haven’t been replaced by ugly concrete structures.

10:46: “Palghat Junction welcomes you”: The cloudy sky broods over Palghat Junction as we pull in. The first words that you hear as you enter the station is the pleasant announcement welcoming you, as well as information on the trains expected in the next few hours – something that is common to all railway stations on this division. Palghat, or Palakkad as it is known, puts me in a trance. Towards the South of the station, at the foot of the Western Ghats and the now-dry Kalpathy river lies the village of the same name. Kalpathy, the village made famous by the so-called “Palakkad Iyers”. We visit this place – my father’s ancestral home – every year. I can imagine the afternoon breeze sifting through the scorched road that leads down the hill. Rows of houses connected to each other by common walls line the roadside. The ladies of the house would have finished their cooking and would be engaged in heated discussions on Tamil serials (In olden days, it would have been on how much tamarind should ideally be used for preparing sambar, or what happened to that girl from the village who ran away with the guy she loved, but television has changed everything). I am completely enamored by its beauty. I wish I could get off the train.

11:00: Into the gap: A maze of tracks lead the way out of Palghat Juction. A few kilometers away, I can see the mountains. Their immense peaks are covered by a tablecloth cloud. Coconut groves reach up to the base of these mountains. The houses go by slowly, their gardens full of beautiful violet flowers.

11:13: Tiger-faces: Passing through Kanjikode. Two tiger-face WAG7s stare at me, heading a long goods train. After zipping through the station, we head towards the looming Walayar Ghats – the most beautiful part of our journey. On one side lies the sprawling plain of the Palghat Gap, while on the other, the looming mastiffs of the Western Ghats. A small stream of water trickles down the rock face, forming a tiny waterfall. A cloud runs ahead to cover the naked face of the rock. Soon, we are aside the mountains. Drool over the scene while it lasts!

11:20: Middle of the forest: From the scenic mountains and plains, we are in the midst of the dense Walayar forest. Above the noise made by the train, you can still hear the birds chirping away merrily. An old woman walks along the lonely forest trail, gathering wood for an evening meal.

11:24: Familiar frontiers: We pass through Walayar. The Malabar Cements factory towers over the small station, in the middle of the forest. National Highway 47, which runs parallel to us, is jammed with trucks trying to get past the Border Check Post of Kerala. In spite of all these, there is an uneasy silence in the air, punctured only by the rickety sound of the train. Soon we will pass above the small stream, which separates the states of Kerala and Tamil Nadu.

11:38: End of roll: It’s only three and a half hours since I started, but I’ve finished the roll in my camera! – and more than two thirds of the photos do not feature any trains. We are passing through the open Tamil Nadu countryside. The mountains are coming closer to us.

11:40: The dancing men: Ettimadai – Once a broken down station, now spruced up because of the sprawling campus of the Engineering Institute nestled into the hills behind it. An omnipresent tablecloth obscures the hill top. A group of students are performing some sort of calisthenics on the terrace of one of the hostels. Perhaps some kind of a noon-time ritual. A small temple adorns an adjoining hill-top, announcing that you are now in Tamil Nadu.

11:47: A Cemented Presence: We zip past the huge Madukkarai Cements factory. It’s a chalky white environment. Even the rooftops of the adjoining houses have become permanently ashen, as if in a gloomy ghostly world.

11:49: Yaadein Yaad Aati Hai: The iron horse slows down to a trot after steaming past Podanur. We are approaching Coimbatore Junction! Old memories keep flooding back. The few years when my father was stationed here, the summer vacations I spent here as a kid, I remember all those!

12:00: Coimbatore: The end of my first leg of the journey, I take out my cell phone and find that it has been switched off. As I turn in on, I hear the familiar beep of an SMS – perhaps one of those “Dear Karnataka subscriber, Airtel wishes you…blah blah blah” messages. To my surprise, it turns out to be a Good Morning wish from my friend. Alas! Too late to wish her back by any standards…

12:15: Basic Necessities: My stomach screams for attention, and I oblige with a delicious helping of “Thayir Saadam”. I love this place!

12:30: Time to waste: Two hours to go for my next train. I spend some time composing questions for my next quiz. Fed up with it soon, I decide to explore the vast, but generally empty station. There’s a small crowd waiting for the Coimbatore-Chennai Kovai Express.

12:45: Cleanliness & Godliness: They say cleanliness is next to godliness. The Indian Railways seem to be on a drive to keep the station clean. On every empty track you can see a railway employee, cleaning the place with a powerful jet of water. In another half an hour, the next train will come in and leave, and he will have to start his job again!

13:15: The Beehive: The station is suddenly abuzz like a beehive! I look ahead and spot the Bangalore-Coimbatore Inter City Express smoking in. This will now double as the Kovai Express to Chennai. In barely a few minutes, the train is full, and everything is quiet again. Thankfully, it is a weekday. On a weekend, you would need to push your way through here.

13:55: Gaadi Bula Rahi Hai: The Inter City Express to Bangalore hoots its way in from Chennai. The absence of much of a crowd helps my cause in obtaining a window seat. I’m on my way again!

14:25: An age old city: Those who’ve been to Coimbatore know that it is a hugely expanding textile centre. However, pulling out of the station gives you a contrasting image of the city. The train takes you through some remaining vestiges of the old city. You can see the long closed-down gate of the Somasundaram Mill. A dilapidated road passes underneath the track. It’s cracked at several places and no longer in use…

14:38: Steeped in tradition: ….Huge “Kolams” dot the courtyards of the old houses. It is afternoon now, but the designs are still fresh from the morning, when you wake up hearing the devotional hymns blaring out from the nearby temples.

14:46: Pal do pal ka saath: My fellow travelers are an old couple from Palakkad. They are sleeping peacefully in each other’s arms, as a gentle breeze caresses an otherwise hot afternoon. A momentary glance through the opposite window, gives me a glimpse of the impending storm. Black ominous clouds gather, threatening to spoil this idyllic bliss.

15:10: Déjà vu: The storm breaks in a torrent over the town of Tiruppur. Travelers waiting for our train are caught helpless in the downpour. Looking out of the window, I can barely make out the adjacent track. I’m transported back a couple of years when traveling in the same train, I encountered a similar ferocious storm at Salem.

15:23: A sea of mud and water: What was a couple of hours ago a thoroughfare is now a sea of water and mud. Cars and buses are floating in the road nearby. The result of nature’s fury or man’s neglect?

15:30: The rain has relented at last. I open the window. Small drops are still dripping from the window sill. The smell of the damp earth fills the air.
15:33: She’s really attractive…and her long hair is lovely! With a glance back, she walks away into the adjoining coach…

15:42: My dil goes mmmm…: There’s still rain in the air…a cool breeze blows…I lean on to the window and start humming…

15:51: The heat is on: Whatever happened to the rain? A hot and dry wind blows as we pull into Erode Junction.

16:11: The divide: Kaveri! A bone of contention that divides two states; a lifeline for many who depend on her and worship her as a goddess. Today, she’s swollen to her full by the rains, and flows angrily with twirling currents, as we thunder over her on the long bridge.


16:25: Anangur, a small station in the middle of nowhere…You wouldn’t give a second place to this place as you pass through. But today, it has transformed itself into a different world. A group of children dressed in white and blue is returning home from school. A game of cricket is on nearby. A group of men sit under a tree on the platform, engrossed in a game of cards. A couple of women are gathering sticks, perhaps to light a stove, discussing among themselves what to cook. To add to this environment, a distant sandstone hill glows red in the evening sun.

16: 32: We crawl to a stop at Sankaridurg, a sleepy little village with a station bigger than itself. Underneath the tracks, a road leads to the village square, which houses a few shops, most of them closed. In the distance, the bare hills glow in the sun. The whole place looks as if taken out of a Bollywood movie.

17:03: Thodi si Pet Pooja – Arrival at Salem Junction. I feast myself to some vegetable cutlets. Delicious enough to satisfy my hunger, but pale in comparison to those we used to get in the University Canteen during my college days. The late evening sun bathes the platform with his golden hue. The place is filled with small saplings – thanks to an group called the Salem tree lovers or something.

17:11: Avenues, wells and ayyanarkoils: The last leg of our journey is on…the single line from Salem to Bangalore is dotted by the huge ayyanarkoils, which guard the villages in these parts. This is a landscape filled with tree-lined avenues and wells.

17:45: In the middle of nowhere: Muttampatti, a small and beautiful station, almost in the middle of nowhere. We have just climbed up the Deccan Plateau. On one side of the station, the tracks move down the hills into the plain below, where as on the other, they curve onto the forest beyond. As we proceed, I spot a small stream flowing alongside the road that follows us. Soon, the road is no longer visible. It has transformed into a forest trail. If not for the train, you wouldn’t believe that you were in the midst of a civilized land.

18:10: The last rites: Dharmapuri. The climb is over. The sun is setting on the opposite side, casting his fiery glow on everything. In the distance, the mountain tops are ablaze in the evening light. Rejoice O Nature! You have just performed the last rites on my sad, short vacation.

21:00: The train has stopped at Baiyyappanahalli. What started off as an anticipated long day had ended abruptly! I get down here with a heavy heart. Tomorrow will be a new day, a new trip… Back to hearing and giving IT-related fundas! Is this the life we are longing for? Today, I saw my country as I want to see it. I saw a life which I would love to live. I’m now back in the life I’m living. After today, I’m none the wiser!

The Early Bird catches the worm

The cell phone beeped exactly at 4:00 in the morning. I had set an alarm to be woken up early. I was alone at home, and today was the 21st of July, 2007. The big day for book lovers – the release of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows was merely a few hours away. I lay there in bed for a long time, wondering whether it was an extravagance to rise early and drive all the way. I had pre-ordered my copy, and hence could always go and collect it later. At 4:30, I finally got up with the firm intention of collecting my copy at the earliest.

The book was scheduled to be released at 5:30 in the morning. The drive to Landmark was extremely pleasant, due to the fact that they were hardly any vehicles on the Outer Ring Road. At 5:00 in the morning, The Forum Mall looked quiet and eerie, lit up in dim fluorescent lights. A few cars were already lining up outside. On the second floor, a queue of 100-odd had already formed. To my surprise, there were not many kids around. The crowd seemed to be made up, mostly of crazy potter enthusiasts like me. Some of them were seated there from 9:00 pm the previous day.

Coffee was being served to those in the line – though it never reached me – and ‘Sweet World’, the candy shop opposite to Landmark, showed great enterprise, as they immediately opened up to lure the kids who had turned up. The middle-aged lady standing beside me in the queue seemed quite surprised to see so many people, and confessed that she had expected to just walk in and collect the books. She had come there with her little niece, who called up her mother to boast that she was actually standing in a queue to pick up her book. The little girl, Shreya, was soon in the limelight, as a few reporters who had turned up there came running to interview her about the usual stuff: “Are you a big fan of Harry Potter? Since how long have you been reading the books? Who’s your favorite character? Blah blah blah” The kid seemed to be quite excited at all the attention. “You’ve been interviewed by ‘The Hindu’! Now that’s not something that happens in you hometown. Does it? Let’s tell your mother about this!” exclaimed her aunt.

At 5:40 a.m. – ten minutes after the “scheduled launch” – a girl came out of the store, microphone in hand, and started blabbering something. For a moment I wondered whether it was parseltongue since I couldn’t decipher anything she was saying, but a minute she stopped, realizing finally that the microphone was switching. She again started off in a drooling fashion: “Goood Mooorneeeng everyone!” Thankfully, the guys sitting in the front of the queue decided not to show off their frustration, and responded with a gentle ‘good morning’. The shock came soon though: “the book will be released exactly at 6:30”: she drooled on. The news was greeted by a collective groan. What followed was a barrage of questions as to why there is a 1 hour delay, when the book was to be released at 5:30. Quite confident with her, the girl continued: “Well, the launch of the book has been put off by 1 hour worldwide!” Very unwise thing to do…Within minutes, cell phones were out, and all of them had proved her wrong. “JK Rowling has finished her public reading of the book!” retorted one of the guys, dressed up as if he were on a camping trip. Thankfully, one of the store assistants had the common sense to come out and pull the girl in. Soon enough, a chant started out among the assembled: “530! 530! 530!”

The girl was not content yet. She came out soon enough and announced: “Penguin has released the book at 5:30 itself, and you have to wait till the stock reaches our outlet from the warehouse, and as soon as it reaches here, we’ll open up”. Somebody questioned back about whether they had considered the traffic jams in Bangalore. Before the girl could answer, the shop assistant had reappeared and pulled her back in. The crowd decided to amuse themselves, and started an airplane race. Soon the place was filled with paper airplanes whizzing past your nose. Amused at the scene, Headlines Today decided to make the most out of it, and set up their equipment to record the whole thing. The anchor started screeching and shrieking as to how, she had never seen “such an atmosphere” so early in the morning. There was some stupid contest going on. We were given sheets of paper to fill up some puzzles and submit for a lucky draw. Some of the guys were eagerly filling up the forms. I took one glance at the sheet and threw it into the wastepaper bin.

Finally at 6:15 the doors opened. There was no mad rush to go inside. It took almost five minutes for me to get inside and pick up my copy. There were some excited shrieks – not from any of the kids, mind you – from some of the ladies: “I can’t believe it! It’s finally in my hand!" As Obelix might have said, "These Muggles are crazy!" “Breakfast” (as they said) had been arranged for everyone – it consisted of one pastry, and a small triangular piece of sandwich. I sat there reading my copy, until I finished the whole of the first chapter. The book was 600-odd pages long – a relief when compared to “The Order of the Phoenix”. It was going to be a long day…and perhaps long nights, for there were miles to read before I sleep.

Unko yeh shikayat hai ke hum kuchh nahin kehte...

Immortal words from the movie "Adalat" by Rajendra Krishan, sung even more beautifully by Lata Mangeshkar.

Words keep drying up in my throat. I can't bring myself to speak too often. Perhaps it is time that I stopped speaking and just write...write...until the pen breaks.

Kahne Ko Bahut Kuchh Tha Agar, Kahne Pe Aate
Duniya Ki Inaayat Hai Ke Ham, Kuch Nahin Kahate

The Pearl of the Danube: A Photo Essay

----------------------------------------------

Life has a bright side and a dark side. The old buildings of Vaci ut are highlighted in the afternoon sunlight.

----------------------------------------------

Huge lamps dot the sides of the Szechernyi Lanchid. At 9 p.m., they are switched on en-masse...

----------------------------------------------

...and the result is this. The Lanchid, lit up in full glory.

----------------------------------------------

A monument for the unsung brave, who gave their life for the freedom of others. The House of Terror, Andrassy Road.

----------------------------------------------

The Heroes Square, lit up in splendor at night.

----------------------------------------------

Wonder why there's so many MacDonald's symbols around? Because, this is one of the most beautiful MacDonald's outlets in the world. At Nyugati Palyaudvar, the Western Railway Station.

----------------------------------------------

The seat of power and the scene of so many power struggles. The Hungarian Parliament House, as seen from the Buda Palace.

----------------------------------------------

They're not as famous as Picasso, Rembrandt or Van Gogh, but Hungary has contributed many a genuis painter. "The Sleeping Woman", a painting by a Hungarian artist, hangs in the National Gallery.

----------------------------------------------

When darkness descends into life, pray to God Almighty (St. Anne's Church, Batthyany Ter).

----------------------------------------------

The colourful and enchanting glass windows of the Matthias Church, Castle District.

----------------------------------------------

A lone tram ploughs along the banks of the Danube on the Buda side.

----------------------------------------------

For those of you who like to say, "It happens only in India", disfiguring beautiful monuments is not a monopoly of the Indians. Graffiti adorns the massive and neglected gates of the Buda Palace.

----------------------------------------------

The bridges on the Danube (Gellert Hill).

----------------------------------------------

Time stands still on the Danube Promenade.

----------------------------------------------

Music is the best source of entertainment for some. For others, it is a way of life (Fisherman's Bastion, Buda).

----------------------------------------------

The little princess waits for ever on the Danube Promenade...

----------------------------------------------

...where as this little princess cannot wait to finish her ice cream (Vorosmarty Ter).

----------------------------------------------

Buses, trams, boats and the Metro. But she's got the best possible ride in town (Danube Promenade).

----------------------------------------------

Spring's gone and summer is here. The fading flowers are reflected on the windows of the Buda Palace.

----------------------------------------------

The Soviets left long back, but there's still some Red left over here (Robinson's, City Park).

----------------------------------------------

A little girl picks flowers for her mother. Life's so comfortable...(St. Gyorgyi Tere, Buda Palace).

----------------------------------------------

...not for this little one though. Life's never comfortable if you are a pawn on a chessboard (Buda Palace).

----------------------------------------------

Generation Gap. An old couple watch youngsters enjoy the evening (Deak Ferenc Ter).

----------------------------------------------

The long way home (The Citadel).

----------------------------------------------

End of the day, as the sun sets in the backdrop of the Buda Castle

----------------------------------------------