Ruskin in Sharjah: Rusty still not rusting!

"Do you consider yourself Lucky?"

Waiting for the author in the white domed arena at the Sharjah Book Fair I enquired of the “best half” as we just managed to get two vacant seats in the second row even as the tent was bursting at the seams. Best half? :As this is the best I could have done! (Take a good look at my mug and you will get it )

Ruskin Bond was nothing like his famous cousin James. On the contrary, he was humility personified. Our hero bowed low and waved. One hand went to his heart at the standing ovation he got. The continuous cheering and clapping only brought a gleam in his eyes, that with a hint of anticipation.

Witty he was, and to the core. “Yes, I got a lot of Encouragement in my early years when I started writing. My mother told me not to waste my time and join the army instead.”

Life for Mr. Bond had not always been a bed of roses. But that never deterred him from being his jolly self. He recalled that as a young author he once went to a book shop to see the response of one of his newly published novels. The shopkeeper told him in Hindi “Yeh Nahin Chalta” roughly translated as “This does not sell.” Not to be undone, he bought the book!

On a serious note he let out a few secrets for the aspiring writer: “Respect the language: Have a command over whichever language you write in.” He also advised us to write everyday: whatever that might be worth. Talking of himself he said that he follows the same to this day, but quips “...being lazy I go to sleep again.”
Answering a question about Writers Block his honest to goodness smile was back: “It’s easy for me. I keep my waste paper basket near my desk.” But good advice followed good humour: Write something else and come back to it later but don’t stop writing.

As the event was drawing to a close, we noticed a beeline for his signatures. “But we haven’t got any of his Titles from home.” said Best. “And it seems the whole world wants his signatures!” I added. Why don’t we purchase a couple from the fair? An excuse to buy more books: Any day!

The bookstall was at the far end of the fair and jam-packed. The black and white photo of a buck toothed English boy printed on the cover of “A Town Called Dehra” bearing a strong resemblance to our day’s hero and “Landour Days” were obvious choices for her. I had, however, my eyes set on “Susanna’s Seven Husbands “since I saw 7 Khoon Maaf.

We paid and strode back to the arena. The excitement revving us up, I was sure she had massive palpitations. I, my anxious self, thought that Mr. Bond he would have excused himself by now, feigning tiredness. This would have left many unprepared fans like us, disappointed. The Septuagenarian was very much there and his sincerity ensured that no one returned empty-handed.

We were pleasantly surprised at being just fifth in the diminishing line of fans. “He must be signing at quite a pace.” I said, “Had we been a minute or so late, we would have missed him.” Half a minute later, signed copies in hand, I came off the stage beaming. I got a taste of my own pudding when Best asked me in her casual tone:

"Do you consider yourself Lucky?"

Jungle 3

The Hippo

Hi!

I am back again with the Jungle series giving now a turnaround version after one residence visa term is over. Here we start with the Hippo.  Actually the full name is Hippopotamus. Yeah, I know what Shakespeare would have said about "whats in a name" but then actually his name is so long drawn: literally! The

The Hippo, if you have seen one in the Zoo (as that's the only place I have had the privilege of his audience) is always half submerged in sludge with eyes half open/ shut. It looks around with a gaze of half wonder and half indifference at the world and again vanishes into the same sludge: He shuts his already heavy eyelids and purses his enormous nostrils.

And my loving neighbour the Hippo is quite like that. He is half awake in office. He gazes around, looks up and let a shred of work (read files, mails etc.) reach him he will submerge: close his eyes & nostrils (For sake of decency I prefer not to comment on the other orifices in the anatomy!) so as to avoid doing anything.

The sludge comprises of the lot of papers, stationery, files and paraphernalia amassed over the years to camouflage  his idleness. He is so akin to the animal very common in Indian Government Departments but to find someone like him here was a learning.

Dordarshan

I just occasioned to fly past on a search for Hum Log characters and their presence in the art scene today. My curiosity got the better of me when my Best Half told me that Manoj Pahwa (Sharman Joshi’s Doctor neighbour in Life in a Metro) was Badki’s boyfriend and half his current size.

The written word has never been my forte, but I have time and again spoken about “the DD Era” with friends, family etc. complete with voice over and musical mimicry. Each time the scent of Déjà vu is exceptional.

That was an Era when even Krishi Darshan used to be seen by all and sundry. I was in Punjab where a vernacular version of the above was titled “Mera Pind Mera
Khet” literally translated as My Village My Farm. I still have to figure out what benefit could a seven year old derive from the knowledge of what to feed buffaloes in the mating season.

In those days the idiot box was wooden primarily and was encased in a wooden console-to protect it from the elements (Eeks!). It had two or more Antennas on its head giving it a look of a Giant Praying Mantis with its prolonged feelers. If that was not enough, another antenna was perched on the roof top and used to provide us with kites which would have been cut during competitions in the rainy season around August. In far-flung areas a booster device was also used to increase the signal and get the image from worse to at least so bad to be able to differentiate your Dharmendras from Hema Malinis.

There were a host of programs and serials but what I remember as most annoying is the programs bites like Gumshuda Ki Talaash. It used to be broadcast so many times a day that a friend had crammed up the complete address and phone number-verbatim…Don’t ask me the reason. I for one used to find every second person I was introduced to resembling some character displayed but held my horses for fear of social ostracization.

Another sore point was the quintessential “Rukavat Ke Liye Khed Hai” i.e. Sorry for Interruption. It was like the zero of the Roulette Table which would turn up just about when the suspense was building up. And No Sir, the movie did not start at the same point it had been interrupted. That gave food for some thought to budding playwrights.

Chitrahaar was an all time favourite with people of all ages. The name of the movie was printed on it so as to impart valuable cine-information to us lesser beings. It was best enjoyed with Dinner at 8 PM and soon after all good kids used to hit the bed.

The epitome of entertainment was the venerable Feature Film every Sunday. It was also sadly divided into many parts, all but due to news headlines: There was no change in the news at each interruption but the face of the viewers did get slightly more crumpled as it progressed. Remember: “Feature Film Ka Shesh Bhag Hindi Samacharon Ke Baad”

The TV broadcast was only on one Channel and it was numbered Four (Whatever happened to counting?). That too was only for two hours starting on 6 pm with a DD logo and music followed by the familiar VIBGYOR screen to adjust the brightness and contrast- Colour was still on the way!

Progress came with Channel 7 on just one blessed day a week. Then came cable TV. And many channels were lodged. The ability of the programmes to entertain was in their nascent stage. At this juncture, advertisements were considered the best source of fun-we were having a laugh at someone else’s expense (pun intended).

TV will never be the same now, but the Golden Age of television will always be associated with the remote black and white wooden box which quenched the thirst of the complete neighbourhood with endless pots of tea and pakodas to top it up.

Jungle Too

Sometimes I feel I am more of an egotist. So apart from discussing about I, me, myself and the proverbial Irene let me speak about each of the inmates or animates (take your pick), in detail. This is at least the only place I would give some regard to position/desig. usw. i.e. we will start with a "Top-Down" approach. I know you think me to be anti-establishment but believe-you-me most of these so called establishments don't deserve being called so let alone the donkeys who haunt them for years (Is that why they say: donkey's years?).


The Hyena: The Manager

One look and you would agree. The aquiline nose and the buck teeth that try to dissipate their energies in all possible directions and intentions make him the prototype of the scavenger. My father's theory of relating to the characteristics of people by the animal they resemble (Mukh-akriti Vigyan) is proven right here. So far so good.



The reason for his success: For one thing, he has the glory of the gab and for the other he is a sucker for sweet talk: He will start with Insurance gibberish hop over to Politics, slide to Philosophy and then miraculously emerge from Insurance to pick up the topic again. Sharp he is, especially for his 67 odd years.

The primary fear of the Hyena is losing his chair(read position) to the Cow: The Manager Nouveau. Now, Even though he knows that his days on the throne are few and far between, he is unable to come to terms with it. The reaction is him glaring his teeth all out and putting the Cow in a little less than a compromising position. Yeah Right, some consolation!

The Cow:

Now why I call him so? Its because he seems to completely emulate the image of the animal we generally see on Indian roads: You first sight the tail, trying its best to wade away the flies around its generous behind. The only other moving part is the jaw, chewing cud. The rest of the body has lost all shape and is trying its best to submerge with the road. Sitting comfortably in the middle of an imaginary island, which would have formed oblivious of the traffic swishing past. It seems as if a small roundabout has taken form in the middle of the busy street. No one has the guts to break this domain, due to the sacred status of the cow in India (Holy Cow!).

Our Cow, the one in question has similar attributes. The complete economy is in a state of flux- a lot of changes in the already vibrant market. And what does he do: Chew cud. I regert that I am not in a position to comment on the behind for the sake of basic decency.

So eventually our division is in the hands of the old Hyena who does not like to yield and is going into the hands of the Cow who cannot. The plight is taken in with utmost complacence by all and sundry, until of course their monetary gains and other paraphernalia are static.

The Jungle

It’s amazing to see The Dilbert Principle open up in front of your eyes everyday: The useless are systematically promoted to a place where they can do least (damage): Management.
I did not know that I would travel 2181 kms to enter yet another Jungle form the previous Zoo I ran away from: Ahem, the place that gives me my daily Kubus (Arabic Bread). Butter is on the way. My office has a few pet animals and other creatures from the wild.
My office for one has the following animals:
The Hyena
The Cow
The Hippo
The Caterpillar
The Goat
The Monkey
The Ox
The Horse
The Snake
The Jackal
The Owl
The Ant
The Rat
and ME!
I prefer to think myself human, obviously, but its up to the reader to decide… Just don’t ask my best half (I call her best coz, with my mug, I couldn’t have done better-Yes, my sympathy is always there for her though.)
I don’t hide the names for fear any of them reading my blog. For one, they are so prehistoric that it has to be told to them “Sir, I mailed you. Please check your mail.” And they would load the mail, open the inbox and take a print. That’s when it is communicated. And for the other, I don’t give a damn.
I name them so, out of some morbid curiosity of finding out the truth in a so called science my father propagated called ”Mukh-akriti Vigyan” where each face could be analysed as to its construction and resemblance to an animal. Yes, you guessed it right- the characteristics of the resembling animal could be found in the personality. Whatever!
As to why they have been named so will be evident over the anecdotes that will take their place in the blog over time. But before that, in this post, let me just fix the Status Quo and how I ended up here:
The Hyena, The Manager who had been the main figure in our division for the last 28(Eekss!!!!) years is power hungry. He wants nobody but him. Even at the mandatory retirement age of 60, he doesn’t stop. When asked to name a successor, he just dilly-dallies. The mother company sends him a lot of candidates to fill the position but he does not buy them.
They take out an Ad in the papers for his position twice but are unable to recruit. Another animal (not in the above group) is sent to India to recruit someone with the help of an India-based insurance expert.
Cut 2: I get a call for an interview, fly to Cal and come out with flying colours. I am called to Sharjah where the Hyena has nothing much to talk about. His sly remarks make me wonder the purpose of my visit.
When I get the call, it is a mixture of surprise, relief and tension of relocating. The timing couldn’t have been better. My in-laws are in Dubai, the industry and especially my company and is in doldrums and we are pregnant: I have always maintained that I have been with ideas but this time there is actually a little of my half propagating in my better.
So I, along with the Cow, Manager Replacement (as I would come to know later) am the unwanted pregnancy of the division. As any bastard would be sad to tell you- I did not know it and definitely it is not my mistake.

Papaji: The Grand Old Man

Papaji had been unwell for a month or more and was bedridden. If it is of some consolation, he received "Mukti" from this worldly hell of diapers and support. Also, Dad would now have more peace... Even after his emergency eye operation, he was unable to rest as prescribed by the Doc. He had to get up at night and look after the two of them.

I was going to Delhi to meet Papaji primarily, but it was Bhabhoji who embraced Death before him: I remember him saying to her at Lodhi in colloquial- "Tu pehle chal. Hum sab tere peechey hain!" and so it happened. It happens generally that when a couple have lived their life together from a very small age till maturity, even death is not spaced very far. Even though they were cribbing all the way, they were resolved to live together and die the same way.

Papaji had bouts of consciousness and then delirium. Something that Dad says he was trying to maintain through homoeopathy - Fart! I would rather trust allopathy in this regard. Also, his manner of defending Homeo treatment was stronger than the improvement in the condition of the patient. He was in some way asking for their death just as he saw it coming. Death is not fastidious and it came as it had to. In my opinion it only became more ardous. It would have been graceful to accept nature rather than try to contort it.

Well as of now Dad is alone... all alone. New avenues have to open and he has to look freshly at life- for his life is still there despite of the deaths.

Bhabhoji : My Grandmother, My Mother

Well, it happened then. It had to, one day but I guess we were waiting for it. And 84 is quite an age as it is: Especially after a complete life... Great Grand Children and all. She was just over and out I guess. Been there Done it All!
Its odd to look from a very rational point of view for many reasons: Firstly I was her grandson-even though when I would put head before the heart I would be called heartless. Secondly, there would be some natural bias in me which I don't recognise. Thirdly its a matter of death and you have to be careful. Anyway, this is what happened: I only came to know after she was gone-even though we had rescheduled our tickets we only came after two days. Only regret was that Dittu was not witnessed in person.
I was unaware due to two reasons... both generated by Dad. One he never told me that they were unwell(reasons unknown he would give conflicting news to keep me confused). Secondly, if you cry wolf for years... it really does not matter when the wolf arrives, and thats exactly what happened.
Now, she was someone who had kept the clan assimilated for decades- each suggestion,decision and activity was routed through her. Even though she was uneducated her mind was open and she possessed something what I would call a heart of Gold. And now when all is over a void seems to have taken place. Never have I seen her in a position of pompousness and self righteousness. God Bless Her Soul.
Pious she was. Atma Ram is the part of the sternum bone which is said to surface only in certain individuals' pyre. It speaks volumes of their virtues.For her it was completely formed and set apart from the rest of the ashes. She made her her mark even afetr death.
Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori: If one lives well what matter how one dies.