Jamboree

Well elections are round the corner and somehow I just cant get enthused,notwithstanding Jago Re ads.Every time I read about the machinations of the political leaders or see their venal faces on the TV,I get a what I call the Titanic feeling...sinking.I feel a sense of hopelessness when I see corrupt regional leaders using every method to get that extra seat and vie for the PMs position.Every action is designed to prepetuate their own rule or of their progeny.Every decision is taken more often than not for personal enrichment.What was done furtively under cover of night before is now proudly displayed at mass rallies with gold crowns and garlands of currency.The fact that 125 of our MPs from a total of 543 have criminal cases filed against them is indicative of the muscle power of the goons and lumpen in the elections.Its shameful that the huge amounts being spent to woo voters includes not only underhand inducements but the use of public money to hand out freebies like TV sets,cellphones,clothes etc.In short the mantra is get into the chair by hook or by crook,all will be taken care of.The fact that the politicos refuse to take strict action against criminals and corruption belies their pious pronouncements that these are really abberations and the class as such is sincere and honest.I wonder where else in the world a criminal can stand for elections while behind bars,or represent the people with the background of a Mafia Don.
Of course its said the elections are free and open for all and everyone is welcome to try.There is the small matter of money..one would need 5-10 crores (1-2 million$) to even be noticed in the election process.And without protection ,try and get elected in UP or Bihar.So its pretty much an old boys club literally, with 70 and 80 year olds ruling the roost with their extended family filling in the supporting positions.
Finally with as many parties as there are permutations and combinations with the alphabets,how can democracy be healthy and in good shape? theres the BJD and JDS and BSP and SP.What about the DMK and the AIDMK.Dont forget the TMC and maybe the TDP.The TC is tying up with the C but not with the BJP.That leaves the NCP out but includes the JMM.And this is just the tip One needs a computer program to track the different permutations and combinations.Witness the CPI,followed by the CPIM,and that followed by the CPIML.For crying out loud!!!!
Will Ivote???? I dont know yet.

Gomkay

I once wrote a short story(never published) about my friend Sukhnath Munda,a dark,wiry,cunning tribal from Ranchi who also happened to be the village headman and Im guessing,around 50 years old.I was all of 6 when I met him and over the next 7 years he was probably my best friend.He created magical memories for me which I cherish to this day.Show me a little boy who has someone to show him the best fishing spots in the lakes and pond around where we stayed.The fact that I accidentally caught a duck is another story.Who can boast of a conjuror who within minutes creates a sturdy bow and arrows lethal enough to kill ?What mysteries he would talk about when we went tramping round the rice fields and hills.Im sure he made up many things,especially when we came upon heaps of animal bones left behind by predators or snake skins shed in moulting.But to my childish mind,nothing could be truer.I loved the old guy and I know that he had a very soft corner for me in his flinty heart.He wore thick,rough sandals made from old truck tyres and a white turban on his head with a jaunty tail which gave him the seal of authority.Oh yes he had a snow white moustache on his dark, leathery and noble face.That was briefly,Sukhnath.
Come friday and he could barely contain his excitement.For it was Market Day in town and he could therefore indulge in both his favorite pastimes,cock fighting and drinking Haria,the potent local rice liquor.I was never allowed to go with him by my stern grandmother.Drinking for her was akin to hobnobbing with the devil.Late in the evening I could hear him weaving his way to our house,high as a kite shouting out the name he used to call me..."Heyyyy Gomkay,I won today...Gomkayyyyyyyy" .It meant Little Chief.I would run down the road to meet him and would see the dead cockerel slung across his shoulder, which was his prize from the cockfight.He would have that sweet smell of Haria I remember so well like a happy cloud round him.In the background would be my grandmother shooting bolts of lightening at this dissipated heathen who was out to corrupt her grandson.I didnt care and would often hug him then just to get a good whiff of the Haria.
We left Ranchi after some years and I left a sobbing Sukhnath at the railway station..his face hidden in the tail of his turban.He died a few months before I visited Ranchi again,and walking down the village road in the dusk on that visit I could swear I saw him and heard him calling out .."Gomkay...I won Gomkay.Im so happy Gomkay."On my wall in a place of honour hangs a black and white picture of Sukhnath and me sitting and playing Ludo on an ancient stone table.The deep bond betwen us is obvious and will remain with me for the rest of my life.

Holi

Holi is over thank God.All our festivals have one thing in common,they are all loud,destructive and polluting.I really wonder why.For example,this Holi the children of the society decided (no doubt with their parents assent) to pelt each other with disgusting little plastic bags,rather than use the more traditional pichkaris.The bags are not only dangerous(people have lost their eyes) but create enormous litter.Also the fact that the thin plastic is totally illegal since it blocks drains and kills animals, makes for a really happy Holi for all.Im not sure I understand the psyche of the parents who allow their children to do this..and mind you these are the so called upper crust,intelligentsia of society.As far as sound is concerned,the new mantra is the louder the better.So in the next society they set up humongous speakers of a million watts and dance their hearts away,quite oblivious of the fact that the decibel level is killing,especially for the neighbourhood. Lest i forget,elsewhere trees,including protected mangroves are hacked down to light Holi fires the night before adding to pollution and reduction in our green cover.I wonder what it is in our genes that we tend to be loud,dirty,rude and generally obstreperous.Holi in the north is a nightmare,especially for women.And instead of improving civic sense its getting worse.If asked, people smile indulgently and say we are like that only!!! Oh well,on to the next festival.......

Indian summer

What is it about the summer that makes us break out in a sweat? every one has an opinion ranging from "Thank God its not winter" to "I hate this f-----g heat".For me though summer is a mixed bag.I hate the humidity and the stickiness and would much rather freeze my butt off in New York.But not being able to do that frequently,I look for solace and succor in memories and the small mercies that summer sometimes brings.I remember well the lung busting football games in school during the hot months and drenched in sweat, the feel of a leathery tongue on palate at the end of a game,I would go to Pintos tuck shop and gasp out an entreaty for a bottle of lemonade.This was made by a local company called Frams( Framjees),in thick unattractive bottles.But it was chilled,nay frozen, under thick chunks of ice and had a taste which after a game could be likened to Ambrosia.The harsh,gassy ice cold liquid would be gulped down and every drop would be absorbed immediatly by the bodys thirsting molecules.Inevitably a second bottle would be savoured ...a bit slower though.Oh yes,lest I forget, each bottle cost 25paise!!! For the same price if I was so inclined,I could have a glorious mango ice fruit from Manjis flask.So good in the heat.And in case I was short of funds,I could have a flavoured strawberry ice fruit,which was nothing but finely crushed ice and flavor on a stick at half the price.Those tastes will remain as memories of summer.
For those who have not experienced water shortages,I cannot explain the joy of a copious cold shower in the heat.Victory Hotel was notoriously short of water and all of us tried to squeeze in baths and showers when there was running water which was for only a very short period everyday.Sometimes when I felt grungy and like the Incredible Heap didnt dare raise my arms over my head for too long,there would be a war cry..."Waters come!!!!".it was akin to the cry of the Israelites finding a spring in the desert.Inevitably there would be rush for the bathroom.At such times Sebastian in a magnanimous gesture would invite us to use his bathroom in the ground floor.Oh bliss,oh blessed water of life.The shower would be enjoyed and the grime and heat of yesterday sloughed off.Oh yes I must mention in an aside that Sebastians bathroom had one problem...Annie, his 5 year old daughter who was an inveterate voyeur.The bathroom door had small cracks about 2 feet off the floor,and if one looked closely during the shower,one could spot a beady eye watching in rapt facination.Not the best thing to happen during ones ablutions.A shout would drive her away,but inevitably after a few minutes the watcher would be back.She was an ugly little girl with a round face and in Sams words"cunning eyes".I never figured out her facination for looking at soapy,wet naked men.Maybe the fetish stayed with her into adulthood.But I never let that spoil the pleasure of the shower.Afterwards,feeling so human and fresh it was time to light up a well deserved cigarette.Amazing,the simple pleasures one can enjoy Annie or no Annie.

Oh Calcutta!!!!

Sorry about the gap in posting.Had to rush to Kolkata to meet my aunty Karuna.After her husband died over a year ago shes been living alone in her large South Kolkata flat with a host of servants and Moti.But its been a lonely grind even though her daughters have been coming down pretty frequently from the USA and I have been seeing her on and off.Afraid this ,and even the daily phone calls were not enough to ward off the demons of a suffocating solitude.Therefore I decided to get her back to Bombay and take it from there.Easier said than done though.Shutting down there was a tedious process and bringing her physically I called Operation HuffnPuff.She has difficulty walking because of bad knees and her 3rd floor flat inKolkata proved a huge barrier.Anyway in short, she was carried down in a chair,carried up to the plane,carried down and wheeled to car and carried up by elevator at my place.Moti her faithful man friday for 40 years followed by train and arrived 2 days later and duly got ripped off by a Mumbai cab driver.How predictable is that? Moti is a small bald man with a tiny moustache who is ageless.I remember him when I was in college and he was exactly the same.Estimates of his age have ranged from 65 to 100.No one knows.He had to come too because he has really no other family and he helps my aunty in 100s of different ways.The bad news is that Moti has views about food,shopping and eating which are almost impossible to change.For example send him to buy some vegetables from the coner shop,he will come back with that along with a bagful of fried fast food and soda which he will insist everyone eats.BTW my aunty is four feet ten in height and weighs 200 pounds.I know she has put on a good 10-15 pounds in the past year and counting.With her knees and high BP she needs to cut back some.But theres Moti to overcome.He reminds me of a Gnome who is terribly useful and at the same time horrendously frustrating.Maybe he is one.Hes a great cook of Bengali food and makes the most moutwatering fish with mustard.But woe betide you if u try and restrain his quantities or ingredients.Oh yes,he himself eats some weird stuff which is the wonderment of our Sunanda bai.Every day he mixes a chick pea powder called Chattu in Bengal,with water and drinks it.Then he has a spoonful of a herbal sweet sour mixture called Chawanprayash which promotes good health.After all that he consumes a big bowl of fried potato chips or something similar.So thats Moti.More of him later.Will sign off now and catch up later.Cheers

Sebastian

Sorry about the gap,though Im not sure if anything is being read.Hell so what???? the words will remain in e-space for posterity,maybe to be seen a thousand years ahead by a race of evolved beings clever enough to download the eternal ether swirling around us.Todays topic is Sebastian D'Lima,my erstwhile landlord of Victory Hotel.Tall,heavy set,oily would describe him physically.In his 40s,Sebastian had cultivated a personality which was both unctuous and, what I would term as avuncular.He wore his trousers high ,belted above his generous belly and would stride around managing the establishment with its staff of 3.First there were the 2 waiters, Joesph Santa Maria and Cajetan Fernandes both in their 70s.Joesph,in some ways reminded me of Peter Sellers in disguise and used to have a running battle with us,the lodgers,whom he looked down upon.Cajetan on the other hand was like a small shrivelled mummy,few strands of grey on his bald head.He perenially looked unwell and we wrongly believed that he wouldnt last the week.In fact we often thought he was dead when having a nap .The last was John the cook,a villanous Dickinsonian figure who spent long hours in a huge, dark ,smoky kitchen preparing the most awful food for us while cooking up the most tantalising dishes for the paying customers in the restaurant.He would come out now and then for a smoke,his apron dirty and face sweaty,survey the clientale and return again.Oh yes,he was assisted by Mrs D'Lima,a humourless lady who had a face like a ball of dough with spectacles planted on a potato baglike flowered dress.The D'Lima family was rounded off by 5 children.Agnelo the eldest,a pleasant guy who went in and out of the kitchen and managed the customers in his fathers absense.Unfortunately he looked a lot like his mother...not that looking like his father would have helped!!!! there were 3 younger boys,all quite pleasant, and finally there was Annie the 5 year old who looked so much like her father(without the mousch of course).More about Annie later.
What Sebastian lacked in education(he worked as a cook when younger),he made up in plain savvy.He kept the right people in good spirits and often we would see Police Officers or Municipal officials being entertained lavishly with booze and food.He had cultivated this humble, "I am a simple man" facade which saw him overcome any hiccups which he inevitably faced.Every day he would put on a solar hat, get on his 1955 model Lambretta scooter and zoom round the city,shopping,meeting people and going to church.Oh yes the D'Lima family were extremely "pious".With us,the younger ,student lot Sebastian was more like a not too liked Uncle.He would always complain about the noise or the fact that we had asked the waiters for better food.The food ,ah the food.Brings a smile to my face.It was more or less the same things every day..fried eggs and bread in the morning.The eggs sometimes were suspiciously short of the white which we felt the cook was keeping aside for other stuff he would make.For lunch and dinner we would get a plate of curried meat with rice or bread.And here is where the temperatures rose.The meat,the origins of which were unknown, was often tough enough to resole your shoes with.I would often try and chew on it and leave a pile of uneaten cud on the plate,infuriating our friend Sam who was older and who having lived there longer,knew the art of survival.Oh yes we did get bananas for dessert and tea at7AM and 4PM.Sebastian would try and restore order by telling us that he bought the best meats for the kitchen and Johns cooking was close to cordon bleau.To mollify us he would (rarely) ask Joesph to serve us the special stew being made for the Mayor or a slice of dessert baked for the Colonel.His favourite line was that"full full colonels come to eat here" so how come, we,(who are not even half half corporals) dont appreciate the dish.But there were other moments too with Sebastian like when he whipped out his trusty voilin after a few drinks...but thats another story.Will continue another day...

Republic Day

Its the day after R-Day.Everything shuts down and the city takes a breather.I watched a bit of the Delhi parade,but now it looks repititive and dated.Somehow the display of military might for the benefit of the foreign janta has shades of days gone by,retrieved from the cupboard,dusted and put on display.Why cant we have a celebration of music and dance which involve the aam admi? why not a day of introspection when we can contemplate the last 60 years and put some true joy and fun in the proceedings? Im tired of the tacky floats and the tribal dances down Rajpath,the childrens faces tired and tense from having lined up since dawn for their 2 minutes of glory.Unfortunately things never change here for the better and there will always be dissenting voices.
Meantime life goes on for our brave Senas R-Day or no R-Day..this time its the Shri Ram one which has covered itself with saffron glory by beating up a few defenceless girls in a pub in Mangalore.I really wonder how much lower we can stoop and to what levels this process can take us.Looking at their faces I see hate,arrogance,venality and a desire to control.In spite of their vermillion streaks on forehead and saffron scarves,they are no better than the Nazi thugs in pre war Germany.At least the Nazis were willing to fight in the field against the enemy...these Senas crawl out at opportune moments from under rocks and slither in again when the heat gets too much.Meantime the Govt.in Karnataka does nothing with the leaders mouthing the usual inanities,making sure their allies are protected.What a shame for the nation........