Sunday, 26th August 2007, New Delhi: I was left speechless!
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Monday, August 20, 2007
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?
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.
Friday, August 03, 2007
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…
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…
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