Musings.....

As I was looking through my glass window, while my driver struggled through the traffic, I happened to observe a mother with her baby sitting inside a shanty atop a slab covering a wide roadside drain. The woman was dressed shabbily even though the white pearl neck piece that she wore was quite notable. The toddler sat in front of her and a plate separated the two of them. Though it was not in my line of sight, but the movements of her hands suggested that she was kneading flour and the baby was trying to imitate her action to the amusement of them both. A few meters ahead, in another similarly built shanty another family was having a meal. A young girl amongst them was entertaining herself by watching the traffic.

Don’t get me wrong, during this complete short episode, the human spirit and the similar high fundas didn’t cross my mind. Not for a moment did I think about the bond shared between the mother and her toddler or on any such noble theme. All that struck me was their poverty. I tried hard to imagine what they would be thinking at that moment. I wondered what would be their immediate wishes, aspirations and expectations from life.

My floating thoughts brought back the memories of an accident that occurred a few days back. A tractor trolley, laden with daily wage labourers, hit a speeding train at an unmanned level crossing. There were four causalities, four from a family lost their lives; the lone survivor was the bread earner who was now left with none to earn bread for. This made me think about the lives of these migrant labourers, who spend their days building castles for others and at nights take shelter in these makeshift shanties. Often they are people from far off ‘backward’ states who come to the cities in hopes of a better livelihood and in dreams of a better life. Do they get it? What are their limits? The least and the most they demand and yearn from life? What preoccupies them besides their daily needs (if at all they have the luxury of preoccupation)?

Indulging in such thoughts is not an issue, the main problem lies in calling these thoughts ‘musings’ and allowing oneself to glide over. Exploring further, the problem lies within me. I allow myself to raise the questions but do not allow myself to dive deeper to find the answers. The fact is that my own fake sense of honour prevents me from doing anything concrete. I and people like me need people like them, so that there is always someone available to clean up the filth we generate.

Right now, I am typing from amidst the comforts of a soft bed and an air-conditioned room. However, if fate presents before me a simple prospect of visiting one of these shanties and spending just five minutes with these people, I’ll for sure hesitate initially. Moreover, I am not sure if I’d eventually accept the offer. In all probabilities I need to broaden my mindset first, before I make another attempt to understand something about which my inner most fears tell me to be wary off.

Kandla: Through my looking glass :-)

Yahan hawa nahi dhool chalti hai

Yahan dhool dhool nahi namak hoti hai.....

I have never before come across topography as this and though many people might disagree and grumble, but I find it very enchanting.

Bright skies with patches of white cotton balls; shallow; very shallow swampy ponds on either side of the roads. The vision occasionally blocked by farms of closely built tanks. Few scattered buildings; some abandoned, some rebuilt and some unaffected by the tectonic plates underneath. The horizon displaying shades of grey, skeletons of dinosaur like cranes and of course small heaps of salt displaying shades of white and grey. This is what greets my eyes as I travel down NH 8A. My fellow companions on the highway are mostly trucks of varying stature.

A railway track crosses my path twice and on one particular occasion I found a goods train and myself taking a stroll on the road together, quite literally so. The different varieties of goods wagon that I encounter during my travels, seem to be my husband's scheme for giving me a better understanding of his job.

The picturesque landscape is made even more so by the annual migrants; Flamingos. Beautiful white coloured birds display their true colours when they take off. Strange though it seems but their feathers are a beautiful red from underneath.

Even though each and every inch of land here is reclaimed, and therefore planned, yet it gives me a feeling of wilderness. Looking at it for long seems to put me into a trance and I find myself transforming into a fly on the wall. The undulating topography, the swamps, the bushes, the soil, the salt pans, the roads, the tanks, the piping – Kandla very aptly reflects the never ending tussle between nature and mankind.

Floating through these scenes and thoughts, I am usually busy in ‘backseat photography’ and often a thought crosses my mind, ‘I feel like a princess of pre-independence days travelling in air conditioned luxuries clicking shots of ‘everyday routines’ of commoners, while the ‘commoners’ toil away in sun and dirt for their livelihood.’

However my sham royalty doesn’t last for long. As I near my destination and a particular manufacturing plant becomes more and more discerning, my driver takes a right turn and brings me to my own heaps of sands, morrum and abandoned property which had once been glorious. With a thud I am thrown back to reality and my looking glass slips inside by purse as silently as it came out when I started my short trip.

My dream place to work…..

My dream place to work…..

Where work matters, and people don’t

Where system matters and whims don’t

Where work speaks and people don’t

Where to work is not foolish

Where not to work is not pardonable

Where system defines the process, and not gets defined by it

Where correct means matter more than the result they achieve

Where responsibility is owned and not just the chair

Where acts are appreciated and not just the position

Where system cries and people listen

Where to endorse the system is not treason

Where the worthy gets the reward

Where sincerity and hard work are not scorned

Where performance is measured by competency

Where work is assigned as per capability

Where pleasing the management is no requisite

Where maintaining contacts is only for receptionists

Where the fair opportunists don’t get undeserving opportunities

Where a vigilant watch is kept and not gifted

Where such dreams are nurtured and not ridiculed

Where all this is not just a fantasy

Where all this takes shape of reality

And last but not the least…………

Where my alarm doesn’t ring when I am dreaming

Yet another road crash............

Road accidents are a very common feature on Indian thoroughfares. Without getting into the statistics and its subsequent analysis, I can easily vouch for having passed by at least 10 such causalities 'blocking' the traffic and umpteen no. of injured people lying in similar state, in less than 26 years of my existence. This is when I do not work for traffic regulatory bodies and have never been associated with medicos. Nor do I happen to be an avid traveler. I have always come across these cases on my way from my home to school/ college or work.

The point to ponder is not about the when, where and how preceeding these incidents, but the actions taken by the silent passer-by's including me. Without the least amount of any pride in my act and ironically without much of remorse as well, I clearly remember myself staring at the 'victims' with great amount of shock, awe and pity, as long as my eye sight would permit, but without the least intent of stopping down to offer help of any sort. Okay, let me not paint myself as a brute, I might have helped a person here and there, but right now I am referring to strictly accident cases; cases where it is actually a matter of life and death and where, without any choice, a hefty portion of the responsibility falls on strangers like me who just happen to be at the 'wrong place' at the wrong (or may be right) time.

The point I am trying to raise out here is about the way we carry ourselves when face to face with emergency situations. Is it not so that in most of the cases we find ways to convince ourselves sufficiently to subdue to the guilt feeling? The practical mind almost always manages to overrule the emotional heart. And, with conviction about the 'only option we had' feeling, we manage to walk off without even a glance in the 'wrong' direction.

'Right' and 'wrong' are very perspective terms and it all comes down to how we interpret the situation. But don't you think that we have had too much of this 'chalta hai' attitude. How long can we continue turning a blind eye towards the system anomalies? For how long are we going to stay unconnected and unconcerned with everything happening around us concluding with a single one liner 'it’s none of my business’? This society is by us as much as we are by this society. If we are not going to make an effort for sorting up the matters, trust me no one else will. We are not living in a fairy land. Are we? No angel is going to come when we are all asleep and make everything right with a flick of a wand.

I spent the last twelve months of my life building a system, while trying to improve the quality of construction. I tried hard to understand my system's needs. I fought hard against the personal whims and interests of many others. Screaming from the bottom of the pyramid, in many occasions, my voice was lost in the chaos, but something told me to continue fighting. Eventually, after being forced to compromise on almost all the issues, to accept sub standard work and to call it my own, the system was eventually commissioned three months back.

To watch those lifeless sheets of metal turn into a functional machine was absolutely enthralling. My nervousness during commissioning and happiness thereafter matched that of a mother waiting for her child's board result. Though I felt on top of the world to see my system running, yet the happiness was marred by guilt and depression about the quality I had managed to deliver. I had perhaps managed to make 0.0000001% of difference to the system. And this was after having a new fight almost every single day during last one year. What efficiency!

Anyways, post commissioning, I took a long leave, fulfilling my life's biggest dream. On my return, the sight of my 'ex-site' made my heart bleed. The feeling of helplessness is back and I see my panels crying and their cries falling on deaf ears just like mine did.

I have once again become a 'passer - by' and the helpless accident victim is blocking the traffic on the main road. Like others, I too have started closing my eyes when faced with the 'unwanted' situations. My well wishers tell me to count my days and have a peaceful transfer and when the 'emotional' heart gets too difficult to handle, the practical mind knows sufficient methods to divert the topic altogether.

All of us are waiting for the patients to become critical enough to need specialists attending them. ‘Prevention is better than cure’ we sure have never heard this one! You tell me, have you ever seen people coming forward to help a victim who manages to stand erect within 5 minutes of the incident!

On a day like Today :)

“Hi! My invisible, nonexistent, imaginary readers!

(And oh yess! I do acknowledge your presence as well, my dear forced readers)”

This is how I started this post some five days back while in office. My mind is just sooooo full of thoughts. (But then, is this not always the case?) Anyways, after realising that I had been away from the blogging world since too long, I was desperate to make a return and wanted to do it with a bang. I dreamt of writing a piece titled ‘I am back’.

While I was at it, I read a news paper article about how number of bloggers was dwindling with the increasing popularity of tweeters and facebookers. The article had compared statistics of 2006 with 2010 and since I had chanced upon blogging in 2010 only, therefore I thought about penning down my ‘counterview’ on this issue. I started the ‘bhumika’ of this article, however while the first para was still in its infancy, the right combination of mood+time began to elude me. As time continued to pass, more and more ideas started getting a foothold on my mind’s platform. After moulding perceptions by giving peep view of snaps of my balcony view and enjoying a pleasant (though not warm) afternoon therein, I decided to shift the focus of my ‘big’ article to the musings that had thus resulted. However, once again laziness conquered all and yet another day came to a close without the article doing the same.

The above event log finally brings me to ‘my current situation’. First of all a piece of information: today is 14^th February 2011. Technically, it is the seventh Valentine’s Day of our life ever since we became ‘we’ and also our ‘two month’ marriage anniversary, if we decide to celebrate that. However, reality bites. Well right now, I am not exactly feeling let down or anything. In fact, I have become quite used to the concept of no V day celebrations. Don’t get me wrong, we haven’t embraced the ‘anti v day campaign’ as such. It’s just that ever since we became a couple, we have never had a chance to be free and together on February the 14^th. Very frankly, since I have never tasted it, therefore I never miss it as such.

That said, it doesn’t mean that the vexing ways of the great IR fail to irritate me. Don’t term me biased, instead please evaluate my point rationally; were they laying the foundation of the great Gymkhana or were they starting the conspiracy against any lovers there might be associated with the great Gym. Anyways, it’s an old lamentation, no use reciting it again. To think of it, I really don’t know if there is anything in particular that I would like to do to celebrate this day. Living in cities like Panipat and Gandhidham helps damsels like me. Add to it, living in remote locations, surrounded by Haryanvi fields in near about ‘dead’ townships helps the case even more. I guess if I remove television connectivity, I will not even know (forget whining) that today is anything other than a Monday which is yet another stupid day to go to office. I would have probably felt bad had I spent the day in a metro like city where the malls and markets would probably be a shade of red and heart shaped red balloons would be hanging decoratively from the ceilings of the restaurants.

Anyways, imagination is a pretty tricky thing. Within moments, it can take us on long flights and then with an equal ease drop us on ground with a singular ‘thud’. So let me not give wings to mine. The list of ‘what if’s is endless and that of facts is very concise. The fact remains, had Aks and I been together right now, then that would have added to my happiness as well as to another reason for ‘no post today as well’. To say the least, at times, to reconcile to one’s fate is perhaps the best decision to make. :D

Toffees: The New Currency of India

A few days back, I was busy finishing some grocery shopping when I came across (once again) the latest currency of modern India - little chunks of sweetened chocolate filled caramel covered in attractive shimmering wrappers. Okay, I am probably being a little biased by classifying all toffees under the éclairs variety, but the point I am trying to make is that while progressing towards the much hyped 21^st century, it seems that we are finally ready (mentally and economically) to adopt some of the efficiently effective customs developed during the Indus Valley Civilization of bygone years.

This was not the first time that I had received some toffees when I was actually expecting some coins, but it sure was one of those few times when I decided to give the shopkeepers a taste of their own medicine. It so happened that at a shop I had to pay 13 bucks and the guy behind the counter returned 2 éclairs along with an INR fiver. After a while I was at yet another shop and was expected to shell out 23 bucks. Though I had the requisite amount of change in my wallet, but I was slightly irritated by the forced toffees and therefore decided to be a cheeky customer rather than my usual docile self. Consequently, I ended up giving this second counter guy 2 toffees along with a coin.

On my way back from the market to the place I call home, I realised that my mind had found a new topic for its daily evening monologue. It was busy recalling and justifying the variety of defiant acts I have been involved in relation to toffees being used as money. The earliest I could recall was an incident of 2007 when I was still in college. A friend and I were busy hogging all varieties of junk food at a moderately cheap ‘we_serve_it_all’ shop, when I was required to pay 5 bucks. I handed a crisp ten rupee note to cash counter fellow and he was impertinent enough to give me 5 toffees in place of change. When I demanded an explanation, with a smirk he answered that this was all he could do unless I could give him the exact change. My slow brain couldn’t process an apt reply just then and as a result I left that shop feeling slightly frustrated. However, my friend and I were in the same market for quite some time and that incident kept playing reruns in my mind. A short while later when we happened to be in the vicinity of that shop once again, my mind finally came up with an impulsive scheme for revenge. I walked inside that shop, the counter guy of course recognised me and poor chap was so taken aback when I handed him his own toffees for a 5 rupee coupon he had already generated.

I think this was the first incident when I had decided to come out of the soft cocoon of a easy going ever tolerating consumer, but this was not the only time. I have repeated these acts time and again depending upon my mood and frustration levels. And though the shopkeepers often resist in accepting their kind of currency, but whenever I indulge in such activities, I am usually resolute enough to achieve my goal.

What vexes me the most about this new currency issue is that these shopkeepers are always trying to impose their choice of toffees on me. Had they been handing me hard cash, I wouldn’t have bothered in the least about what make of coin were they giving me. In case of real cash, one never even checks the year of manufacturing and the name of the then RBI governor. However, this is so only because all coins are same (except for the denomination) and can be used by applying principles of simple arithmetic. But the same is not the case with toffees.

The factors involved in determining the worth of a toffee are just too many. A toffee needs to be judged on parameters like make, year of manufacturing, brand name, type, taste and therefore calls for advance calculus and economics to be looked into before determining the exact value of a toffee. What may be my favourite toffee might just be a piece of useless sweet for another. Thus, when our new currency can be interpreted differently on the mere basis of personal choice and perception, then perhaps it is not the best choice that we have.

Last but not the least, though it sounds very lame as a conclusion, but really it is not so much about the money as it is about the feeling of not letting others cheat on me. To quote from a recent bollywood flick, 'agar do rupaye kuch hote nahi hain, to do rupaye ke liye bemaani kyu karte ho'!

The Mundane Issues of Routine Life :)

I woke up in the morning with a question. "What time is it?" This was followed by a series of questions thrown up in the rapid fire format. "Is it time to wake up?" "Can't I sleep for a few more minutes?" "Why has the maid not turned up yet?" "Is she going to be late?" "Am I going to be late?" "Do I really have to go to work today?" "Why is today not a holiday?" "What if I bunk all my plans and sleep up really late?" "What if I wake up with just enough time to get ready and leave for office?"

Finally, my sensible mind intervened and told me "Shut up Kinshuk! Get out of bed and get started!" That was when this thought first seeped in my mind. I realised that the initial two hours of my daily life are so routine and so full of mundane but indispensable issues that they do deserve a place on my blog.

Everyday, I spend the morning asking myself just too many questions. Living alone, I often indulge in monologues with myself, but what I have often observed is that the morning monologues are usually a series of rhetorical questions. Starting from the debate on the right time to wake up (or should I say, Is it the right time to wake up?) to issues like if at all I should cook (or not), whether I should have some breakfast, to what should I wear to work and of course, can I really not bunk office.

A regular day starts with my mind partitioning itself into two compartments, one of which cares for my comfort and pleasure (Read lazy) and the second one takes care of the practical issues. (This is quite similar to how I expect life to shape up post marriage; with me looking after the ‘pleasure’ aspects of life and Aks taking care of all the practical issues :P ) Okay, coming back to my original topic, of course the first debatable issue is about getting out of bed, but since past 3 months this issue has been out of bound for me, courtesy my ever so sincere and punctual house-maid. At times she actually coaxes me to open the door (and even cook). Once out of bed, there are not enough options to squander time and I eventually end up in kitchen.

The next debate of the day is about whether to cook lunch or breakfast or tea or all of them or even better none :P . Again I don’t have to put in much of an effort in reaching a conclusion in this regard. The biggest deciding factor is the availability of time, the next one is availability of resources (Read basic ingredients like ‘Sabji’, ‘Doodh’ and ‘bread’). Finally, the veto power rests with my laziness (which is further facilitated by my excellently cooperative memory, which comfortably forgets the canteen lunch menu for that day and makes me believe that I will surely find some good lunch in office :P ).

Once I am done with part 1 of the basic human requirements of ‘Roti, Kapda and Makaan’ (I must admit my relief that at least I don’t have to worry about the ‘Makaan’ issue on a regular basis :P ), my debatable minds reach the next platter and need a decision on ‘What to wear?’ Ahh! This indeed is a tough question (esp. being a female), with numerous factors to consider before reaching any conclusion. A neat policy of rejection is to be adopted and I start by limiting my options to what all ‘clean’ stuff is available. Second point to be studied is the site conditions ie ‘Will I be spending major portion of time on field or in office?’ ‘Is it a rainy/muddy day, or is it a sunny day, or is it for a change a pleasant day?’ The next query I raise to the practical half is that whether I have sufficient time to iron a dress or should I rather stick to 100% wrinkle free brigade (the lazy-lazy me gives a wide sneer while dragging the practical me into this sub-issue). The veto power in this case goes to the two halves combined because just when they are about to reach a consensus, I confront both of them with the ultimate question “When was the last that I wore it to office? :P.” Even though there aren’t enough females in my office to notice these issues, but I do have a reputation to maintain. :P

By the time these debates are concluded and the decisions are being implemented, I realise that like all PSU projects, I miscalculated the time. The two halves of my mind combine into one and its finally time for the ‘Jugaad’. So finally when I lock my door a little before 9, I often carry a lunch box with ‘sabji and dal’ (My unified mind reasons: Rotis should be eaten hot and should therefore be outsourced to canteen, its not so bad afterall :P). Also I am often carrying two pieces of bread in my hand. (Again my mind defends that there is nothing to be ashamed of, I am eating my breakfast and should not be bothered with the ‘What people might think?’ syndrome.) Last but not the least; I am often wearing some un-ironed dress because afterall the ironed creases last only for the first 15 minutes. :D