Phew!! It's Over, Finally!

The first reaction from my dear wife when she looked at the TV screen on 23rd May afternoon was very predictable, knowing her, even though the vehemence in the tone was a bit unusual.  `Phew!! The stupid thing is finally over, mercifully' -- she exclaimed those words when the election results were out, with a cocktail of emotions like relief, joy, residual irritation and wonderment as to what next.  I hasten to assure the readers she is one of the most vociferous advocates of democracy in all forms and at all levels (in public domain, I must add. Most women who tend to practise that admirable concept take a slightly different approach, as convenient, in matters relating to the husband, as evidenced by various live specimens).  But the chaotic campaigning and overwrought election process itself had come to such a head where all she desperately wanted was the election-circus related rigmarole to be done, dusted and buried deep.  For some specific reasons, this 2019 parliamentary election had become more nerve-wracking, all-noise-little-substance low-brow drama and one could take only so much of that.  Or we are just ageing while democracy is getting louder and very intrusive in its manifestation.

For the past 6 months, all that reverberated on TV channels as well as newspapers was mostly sheer bunkum, crude name-calling, bombast, brainless accusations and counter-punches.  Kaamdaar/ Naamdar, Chowkidar, Chowkidar Chor Hai and the like,  multiple variations involving these phrases, threats and counter-threats, unverified numbers, unsubstantiated statements. Unrelenting verbal and print assault helped in just numbing the senses, just like an anesthetic, of all reasonable people.  Most of us, at some point, chose to ignore bulk of the garbage, pretending to lead normal lives but it was always there lurking menacingly in the background, trying to muscle in, if we were to open a slit somewhere in a moment of weakness.

That is when the caucus led by my dear wife and constituted with 'democratically' appointed followers like her husband, mother, sister and brother were peremptorily summoned for a session by the `high command'.  Even though some of us were dragged to the table screaming and kicking because they wanted no part of any of this.  It was unanimously decided in a matter of few minutes that from a common sense and lay-person's perspective, some reforms were absolutely essential in the matter of running elections in India.  The following nuggets were fleshed out after quick deliberations.

(1)  The maximum campaigning time should be drastically reduced to 7 days for an all-India binge.  Any smaller election, like state or metro, should have up to 3 days for campaigning, as mandated by the Election Commission (EC).  The biggest rationale is this would force the sensible elected representatives (if such a species exists) to keep talking to the electors more often than once or twice that is the norm now for 5 years.   Also, it is impractical and cruel to expect one or two leaders, however portable they are, to criss- cross the country and seek votes. It makes better sense to have multiple, presentable leaders.  If parties dont have them ready, they should develop them before the next election, to share the burden. Neither the ruling party nor the opposition can utter a single word about elections or any related subject, before the EC fires the starting gun for the campaign, in a publicly aired ceremony on TV at a pre-scheduled time.  And they should faithfully tape up all motor mouths at the time the EC repeats the act with a finishing gun.

(2)  During campaigning time, rallies can be held by political parties, regardless of who presides or attends, at only pre-approved venues which are at least 10 kms from the outer periphery of any city or town.  Villages and cluster of villages can be used for meetings without too many restrictions because (a) such villages can accommodate more live entertainment (b) political bigwigs do not visit the villages otherwise (c) villages might surreptitiously be spruced up for this purpose and provided with some amenities, which nobody can complain about as these should be welcome any day.  

(3) Cruise ships, luxury yachts are liberally permitted for use in the campaign.  Obvious reason is this mode can keep a loaded and dishonest politician away from harming people.  If someone is struck in a remote corner because of a river or lake suddenly drying up without notice, he/she can continue to provide wholesome fun where they are `marooned'.  Nobody should be permitted to travel by helicopters and chartered planes for campaigning because that exposes more people to the crass exhibition of the shameless politicians. Commercial flights, if possible terribly delayed, regular airports without any special facilities or exits, normal road transport combating maximum traffic congestion, minimal security etc should be the norm, so that we see less of this phenomenon. Then we have the dual advantage of politicians learning a wee bit as to how normal people live and benefit from this experience. And people themselves are saved from all the mindless collateral damage that the visiting dignitaries usually impose, including their toxic political speeches and the vociferous sloganeering of their bovine followers.

(4) TV channels should be permitted to air election related news or clips for one hour a day, once in the morning and once in prime time, during the campaign.  Only the news anchor or presenter should be on the screen; no debates, no leaders' address, no political pundits (thousands of them sprout during the season like inedible mushrooms and should be definitely kept away, lest they mislead the public).  Channels should be compelled to show more of soaps, film-based programmes, old cricket matches, cookery shows and Kaun Banega Crorepati to fill up the void created by election stuff being taken out.  Of course, radio stations should be allowed to broadcast within some restrictive parameters; more so, because we do not expect most people to pay attention -- if there is no accompanying picture, people generally ignore that.

(5)  All election polling should be completed in one day, regardless of how widespread the election foot-print is.  Obviously technology is the only answer and a robust platform should be built for handling all types of elections.  If the government has to spend a few billions on this, it must be done, so that repetitive, humongous expense and pain are saved for the country on an ongoing basis.  All doubting Thomases, who tend to blame the technology for their defeats -- it is noteworthy that they keep quiet when they win -- can be put inside a cold storage with the proven/generally accepted system, with any and all expert support they can muster, to hack it and prove their point, if they can. This challenge can be held once a year so that all political parties are given an opportunity to test the system periodically, be satisfied and never complain till the next test, unless anyone has some proof of malfunctioning.  And, all results should be announced the next day.  Over.

(6) Make payment of cash for votes legal.  After all this helps people.  Every voter in the constituency should get the same amount from all parties, cash for biryani and liquor included, regardless of affiliations.  All such payments should be through direct transfers, as being done in the case of subsidies etc. using approved payment channels.  The objective here is to make the spoilt voter happy and he is not deprived of the election time bonanza, he is used to.  Uniform rate per vote should be determined and announced by all parties.  After taking money from everyone, a person should be entitled to vote NOTA (even if he does that only because he thinks he did not get enough money)!

(7) A few words, phrases etc can be banned for the campaign period and no party/TV Channel/Commentator/Newspaper should be permitted to use any of these.  This compendium can grow over a period, but we can quickly put something together for the next election.  No synonyms/antonyms etc should be allowed.  And, no food item, indigenous or foreign, should ever be insulted.  There were derogatory remarks about chai, pakoda etc in this election campaign - not to be done.

(8) And exit polls should be banned.  Not because they may be right or wrong, but because they bring yet another influx of all kinds of people on TV, masquerading as experts in all matters relating to people and elections, to inflict incremental pain.

It is all well to celebrate this circus called the dance of Indian democracy euphoriously and thump our chests frequently, but the cost of a long, overdrawn, low-brow theatre is untold misery, nothing less and is perfectly avoidable.  Look at the benefits of the sparkling suggestions above - no prolonged election mode restrictions on governments, which seldom work anyway and we give them additional excuse for shirking off in the name of compliance. Sure, ban any policy change for one month before elections, but do not create impediment in implementation of approved schemes relating to food, roads and other routine things involving livelihood. That just aggravates people who probably need more support, not less.

Finally, as my dear wife exclaims, once the result is announced all politicians magically undergo transformation and start being civil with each other.  Even the ones who were calling each other thieves and imbeciles!    

Conversational Pitfalls

This gem comes from distilled experience in expansively greeting various groups of people -- friends, acquaintances, strangers and some one would not want to know in a few life times -- and walking into their conversations. Such instinctive but careless bonhomie may frequently result in one quickly bearing the unmistakable resemblance to a sacrificial goat, which has taken on the mantle voluntarily. This situation is pretty familiar territory for many, but still sucks them in like quicksand even before they can contemplate the options open to them.  This is for the benefit of that segment of the population, which cheerfully wades into such pow-wows, gets roiled, pummelled or plain bored to the bone in the end.  Here goes.

In India, there are some subjects like cricket, politics, secularism (this is just a sample list, there are multitude of such subjects), in which one billion of the 1.3 we have are seasoned campaigners and self-anointed experts.  And for some inexplicable reason, such people are avid talkers, who hate to yield a few seconds to another and have frenetic, grating voices, as accessories.  If five such specimens get together and limp home after a few hours, maimed and scarred, that is fine because they have acute consciousness of what melee they are creating and are part of.  But, my heart bleeds for those individuals who innocuously and naively step into the discussion, without realising they do not have the wherewithal to cope with the manic intensity or mindless abrasiveness prevalent.  It is usually multiple times worse than the Arnab show with thirteen extra-large and ultra-wide mouths (twelve panelists and Arnab himself) which simultaneously have uncontrollable verbal diarrhea.  To avoid the physically bruising and mentally traumatising consequences of such conversations, one should just be determined to point the nose in the opposite direction and walk away, whatever the temptations to stay or however strong one's friendship with the participants.  But, but, it is so very pathetic that more often than not we don't choose that simple option and end up like a Shakespearean tragic hero eventually.

Take Cricket, it is a real low-hanging fruit for this context.  How does 'A' convince four fractious and on-the-edge friends that Rahul Dravid is a greater contributor to Indian cricket and role model than Sachin Tendulkar (he heartily says stats be damned, look at the overall picture).  His argument that apart from all the runs both scored, Dravid's timely retirement in a very dignified manner should score over how Tendulkar dragged his feet, huffed and puffed before being almost asked to disappear.  'A' soon realises this is a battle he cannot win, but as a true-blue, pugnacious cricket expert, he dare not give up.  This testy argument will go on and if you have any sense, you will side-step this one.  So are other juicy topics like what should Kholi have done around the 15th over of the match against KKR in IPL 2016 or  if Ray Illingworth should have taken the new ball when available in the Lords test against Australia in the 1960s!!

How about this 'chor/chowkidar' slogans which have flooded the airwaves these days?  Even at the tender age of 6-8, smart kids discover that it is futile to run around as police, trying to catch thieves.  Look at these seemingly educated adults strutting as political leaders playing `Kallan/Police' endlessly.  If X is trying to harangue his friends into acceptance of his argument that it is terrible form for a real 'chor' to be calling anyone else (chor or otherwise) that, it is not going to be a cake-walk.  How do you argue with people who just throw numbers (different ones, plucked fresh from the air just for that moment) on the same subject, without producing an iota of proof, and brazenly keep insisting that something has been stolen and there has been a scam! X will end up being hoarse and probably be deprived of half his larynx but it is downright stupid to expect him to win this one.

If ever three older men (with sincere apologies to all old men from one of their own) are talking in hushed tones, there is an even chance that it is about their ailments, doctors, treatments etc.  Please banish yourself from the vicinity post-haste.  Do not err to lend an ear, for that body part will be gone for a walk for a while. I understand that being sympathetic is good, but my own experience is that sympathy in some such contexts brings you a bountiful harvest of unwanted personal information.  That, interspersed with agonising dissection into minutest details of individual anatomy, what is out of whack (of which there is a whole compendium), updated details on hundreds of efficacious medicines consumed and useless ones rejected - all shared with intuitive wisdom.  All ending up with almost a fervent wish that you also should go through the ailment so that you can appreciate the value of the discussion. I am not being very sympathetic in such circumstances any longer - do you blame me??

Any group which looks like having broods distributed over the western world is usually avoidable because the conversation is predictable and emotionally charged.  The onslaught begins with a benign statement which goes like `My son is in Seattle and daughter in San Francisco'.  In the next 15 minutes, you are subtly or overtly but mercilessly stripped of all family history.  You get to hear in fantastic detail why Cupertino is a better neighbourhood than Milpitas.  Thrown in as a bonus is a conviction-based-declamation as to why Trump has got it all wrong (only because India's sons and daughters holding H1B visas have all become endangered species suddenly) and should be impeached.  For someone like me who struggles to comprehend the politics of our homeland, deciphering the complexity of the Trump immigration policy is going beyond the pale.  The problem usually is that one cannot walk away because one is part of a captive audience!

Always look around to see if anyone in the group you are joining, especially someone unknown to you, looks like a financial or economic wizard before venturing opinion on anything that vaguely sounds like economics.  Because theories of Keynes and Adam Smith, details of micro and macro economic situations in all corners of the world as well as inside information on what the central bank governors and Finance Ministers are thinking at that moment-- all these and more are pulped and swallowed by these chaps continuously and they are so ready to regurgitate what they have read and heard.  There is just no way of contravening them because this situation is akin to a dam-burst -- you just get swept away in a whoosh!  You listen and be damned or ignore and be damned, that is all the choice you have.

By now, I am sure, you have come to the same conclusion as I have.  The problem is not the topic, but the people engaged in the conversation.  I try to see if what is going on is a reasonable discussion or a seemingly simple argument which will turn violent any time.  And, beware of those sworn founts of wisdom, spewing forth knowledge in all directions.  You can easily identify these with a bit of practice - they generally carry a halo around their whole body, not just the head.  Then there is that species which vigorously waves the flag always for what it has been part of -- the bestest restaurant or saree shop or jeweller and seldom brooks any dissension.  So, if you want to save your skin, do watch out for the signals before stepping into a likely mine-field or develop a strategy to extricate yourself at the earliest point.

Lament Of A Traditional Match Maker

One essential feature of daily life my dear wife and I enjoy most within our gated community for the last decade is our evening walk.  We try not to miss that and the wife makes such a song and dance if I were to be the reason for the walk not being part of the day, because she believes the quality of her sleep deteriorates sans the walk.  That the fact is she sleeps 15 minutes more overall on such days,  is another matter but then who wants an argument over this! Under the circumstances, I was a bit perturbed when she recently started postponing the time of the walk, converting it from an evening walk to an almost nocturnal exercise.  It seemed like she was trying to avoid something or somebody, but wouldn't brook any discussion.  Until one inky dark night,  when there was minimal scope of anyone recognizing anyone else unless the two parties were to collide violently into each other and then engage in an intense identity quest.  We were confronted by a diffident couple, who were more like contacts in a common, large WhatsApp group for us -- not even acquaintances, certainly not good friends.  Laced with great hesitation, they nervously but quickly, without preamble, requested our help in identifying a match for their son and left us perplexed, without further ado.  My wife finally chose to throw some light on her attempts to delay our walk-time. `See, this is why I want to walk even later.  I have heard from some other distressed parents, who think we have a magic wand.  I know we can't help much'.

Let me clarify, we are not some wizards in the business of match-making; never ventured close to this rather sensitive activity till about six months ago, consciously or otherwise.  The genesis of this current situation happened when we had two families well known to us, right in our line of sight, struggling to find suitable matches for their son and daughter.  Even a dim-wit would have seen the opening and introduced the two families for further discussions.  We did just that and lo and behold, the union was concluded; boy and girl are happy; parents are over the moon.  We were obviously thrilled and happy that we could help.  But there was this surprising twist to the outcome too, in the aftermath.  Some other parents who were on the look-out for suitable matches for their children probably thought we are a massive data-bank teeming with brides and grooms, all lined up for diverse eventualities.  A few more chats with parents and we realised how desperate people are, caught in a painful cleft stick.  Peer pressure is crushing them with its weight on the one hand,  while on the other, the perpetually procrastinating youngsters are completely devoid of any interest in marriage, driven by their own easier social environment.

Recently we attended a couple of weddings and found that if one were to throw a well-made `laddu', one would score hits with ten sets of parents looking for matches.  And certainly enjoy a bonus of  at least a couple of noble souls who consciously and bravely make efforts to connect families, as a social service; such parents who constantly suffer from acute anxiety, acidity and ulcers, among other ailments. A pow-wow with a two such brave-hearts enlightened some of us about the thorny issues they and the anguished parents face in the context of the wards' marriage.

Here is the litany of the problems enumerated by the duo with a lot of angst.  In order to appreciate the current tangle well, we need to go back and get a crash course on the process prevailing two decades back.  Earlier, the match-making process was relatively straightforward, even though as long as parents were involved they unfailingly contrived to inject some dose of complication.  And, if they were not the juries and judges in the match-making decision, the level of complexity ballooned multi-fold, simply because of the age-old parental belief that they know best.  Generally, parents got the chills when the boy or girl returned home late from work periodically, with what sounded like glib lies for explanation. Palpitating heavily, they started pestering the ward to get hitched and proceeded with the opening manoeuvre, ignoring all protestations, tepid or robust, from all sources.

Enter the Traditional Match-Maker (TMM), typically a genial, good-samaritan lady, with dollops of leisure on hand and bagful of contacts, the package enhanced infinitely by a gift of the gab and praiseworthy patience.  The TMM was given the details of requirements, expectations etc of the parents, ignoring the wails of the wards.  This TMM was a veritable mobile data bank, relying completely on her roving memory, with an astounding ability to do a RAM search and match whenever a new candidate was introduced.  When the TMM sensed she had even a nebulous chance of success, she connected the two sets of parents and disembarked, relying more on hope than on conviction.

Parents talked, matched/mismatched horoscopes, ferreted out trivial family background information going back a couple of centuries, seemingly with the intent to reject the match.  Then, if it was a no-go everyone pretended all was well, buried the case and went back to target-practice, harassing the wards. If it was a go, the families jubilantly met to do a stringent character assessment/assassination of the grandparents, parents, aunts, uncles, other kith and kin, with the unifocal objective of running the match aground on some count.  Finally, all such nefarious attempts failing, the boy and the girl too met for a few minutes - if they were fortunate and the parents, very liberal - not to decide their own fate, but before saying `yes' to parents.  Usually, the final edict was issued by the patriarch, normally the one with the loudest voice in the family, and all dissenters meekly fell in line with remarkable alacrity.  When the wedding was done, the TMM notched one more chalk mark on her board and moved on.

Cut over to the present day.  Invariably, all the middle class kids study, scrupulously and deliberately avoid jobs in their home city, find something at least half a world away in order to escape the clutches of the parents and fly the coop. They exploit their new-found freedom to the hilt at the other end.  What this means is when the parents start piling the pressure on the wards to marry, a perfectly antithetical situation emerges, with the elders intent on forcing the ward into wedlock `now' (You are already 28!), while the boy/girl wants to remain free for another 4-5 years (No one marries before 32 today!).  The dexterous ones manage their `freedom' plan skillfully by breezily telling the parents to use the TMM route, while they also look around, to select a few prospective suitable matches.  They simultaneously keep well researched reasons to say `NO' when something does come up.  After all this TMM business helps them postpone decision for considerable length of time.  So, while the TMM-Parents syndicate works feverishly to put some options on the table, the process never reaches the  next stage.

All the new matrimonial sites with various classes of service (Diamond, Platinum, Copper, Steel, Aluminium etc) have added another compounding angle to this confusion.  During all this time, probably the ward has already identified a suitable candidate, but shields this carefully from the parents for as long as possible, if only because the latter would explode and evaporate in fumes when they find out the truth!  The TMM is left adrift finally when the boys and girls identify and marry their own partners.  All the TMM has accomplished is a lot of frustration along the way and disappointment at the end.  The hit rate has come down drastically and this obviously fuels discontentment among the TMMs.

The other major problem TMM faces today is that the demands from the boy or girl, which have become part of the process unlike earlier times, have gotten very progressive and bizarre.  'Potential candidate based in and around a city in California' is par for the course now.  A strictly `No-Return-To-India' policy is a non negotiable condition often.  Another strident rule is from the girl is `In-laws cannot stay with us for more than 6 hours and two meals at any time, except when I need them'.  `We need to date and go out for 6 months before deciding'; `I can only consider this if we can live together for a year' - these are some more pre-conditions faced by TMMs.  The quaint TMM concept, which had worked well in a conventional social structure, finds it rather difficult to deal with such turbulent waves and is crumbling. So, many TMMs have sought and taken voluntary retirement and the tribe is probably dwindling by the day.

The dividends the TMM used to get for all the troubles were rather sparse in the good days.  They were driven more by the satisfaction of rendering some useful social service and seeing couples settling down and living happily.  This is also getting dicey now, what with marriages breaking down in haste for what would seem flimsy reasons to most people.  So, the veteran TMMs we met and interviewed, advised any budding TMM (if such a species exists) to tread carefully and never take any credit for anything in the first place.  Who knows what will follow??

Under the circumstances, if TMM as a tribe becomes extinct, that won't be a surprise!

   

Scarce Resources

Thanks to the unremitting focus on the geophysical changes churning around us all the time, people are getting an avalanche of information as to what is getting depleted in the world.  What with the newspapers and TV channels screaming about Antartica-like situation in Kerala, Australia experiencing Saharan temperatures, lakes in Ooty freezing like the great lake of Chicago and the serious likelihood of 50C in Wales, people should be alarmed of dire consequences.  I am sure a huge majority of common folks, when asked what they thought are scarce resources at this point of time, would promptly respond with one of these - `oil', `forest cover', `water' and the like.  The more scientifically inclined would have probably bamboozled the common man by saying something like `Scandium', `Lathanum', `Serium'.  These are rare earth metals used in aerospace components, nuclear batteries etc, which most of us are blissfully and justifiably ignorant of.  What we don't know exists, cannot be scarce in our estimate, even if they really are certified as rare and scarce.  Against this background, let me explain what's happening around us in this context.

A few days back, a very hassled woman, who happens to be my dear wife, was sitting crestfallen, immersed in some thought, but seeming thoughtless.  She looked harassed and irritated and as a dutiful and concerned husband, I skirted well around her and went my way, without disturbing her or getting in the firing line.  Or so I thought.  I was the lonely, bulky target within a few metres, so she apparently could not ignore me and very wistfully asked  `What are we coming to! Life is a struggle nowadays'.  I certainly was not remotely guilty of dereliction of duty of any sort and had no knowledge of willfully causing any deprivation in her life. So, I was cautiously emboldened to ask her what her problem was, knowing fully well that this time the answer would not be a blunt `You'.  She said in a pained voice `You know I have been searching the whole locality with a sieve to find a good stay-in nurse for Amma and have drawn a blank from all known and unknown sources'?  She proceeded to detail her agonising and fruitless hunt and the travails and tribulations along the way.  The following day I discreetly asked a few of the ladies in the community some questions to find out that scarcity of water, oil, rare earths are nowhere in the vicinity of their thoughts.  The top seeded scarce resource was indeed a good maid of any description.

The second item that surfaced as scarce really surprised, nay, shocked me -- STP water, yes, Sewage Treatment Plant water for the lawns and backyard gardens.  It seems we were producing less STP water than earlier -- people are wasting less, how can that be?? -- and this quantity was not sufficient to take care of the needs of the 200 houses in our community.  Consequently, gardeners and some uncaring residents were using good water instead.  One wise, grey-haired man in the community even suggested that we should waste more water, so that this issue could be addressed forthwith! Personally, I do not see any scope for a solution to this conundrum, as usually is the case with many thorny issues which emerge, defying logic.

Our home environment, which used to be a bountiful orchard, abounds in coconut trees.  And obviously coconuts.  But, for some reason, those trained coconut-tree-climbers, who bring down the booty and also spruce up the trees, seem to have vanished into thin air as a breed.  Now, culling the coconuts is not matter of preference or an option because people are acutely aware of and averse to the dire consequence of some casualty due to a falling coconut or frond. Even if we are willing to pay whatever is demanded to get the coconuts down, there is no resource available.  Last heard, a resolution has been passed to get a monkey-trainer to visit us and train some in-house monkeys (am not referring to anyone specific, no offence, but real ones) to do the job.  Hopefully the trained monkeys will not migrate and will stay put.

A recent visit to my native village educated me in many ways.  One striking feature was that there were no young men around.  The average age of the village had climbed steadily to fifty plus, due to the tendency of youth (with or without education) to move out, in search of jobs, money, whatever.  So, young people are the scare resource in this context.  And my village is not an isolated case.  Some experts reckon that in a way this is preferable because in order for agriculture to be a viable industry, more people have to be taken out of it and more efficient mechanized systems have to be used.  They opine that this might even reduce farmer suicides eventually by spreading the income among lesser number of people.  I think we should reserve judgement on this and hold our breath to see if this exodus of youth from villages results in scarcity of food products for the rest of us ultimately - that would be an unmitigated disaster.  Hope not!

The other thing that was scarce in the village was water in the river to even take a decent dip, forget swim.  One heard that ankle-level water was the modern equivalent of a flood in the river and people generally take a bath, ironically, by scooping muddy water up in plastic mugs.  There is an offset, though.  A lot of sand there, but brings with it the ugly menace of the sand mafia! There is no scarcity of rogue elements waiting to indulge in relentless exploitation of all sorts.

Recently a few other things became scarce for known and unknown reasons.  Tomato was missing from the market because angry farmers, peeved with the low prices fetched by a bumper crop, crushed tons of them on the roads, using their tractors and feet.  Next few days, the prices magically climbed up, but that was obviously temporary.  But the scarcity of Cold Storages which can help keep the produce in good condition for longer is the primary problem.  This, combined with the paucity of any meaningful political and agrarian leadership means this cycle would never end.  Too many things scarce here for a single, collective solution to emerge in quick time.

If people are watching Indian sitcoms, regardless of the language, the one virulent presence that keeps them hooked on TV is that of the scheming, villainous women, whose objective is to make as many lives unhappy as they possibly can.  So, the scarce material here is the presence of a bunch of good, strong, happy women who can help spread joy and goodness around.  I see no chance because producers and directors would not risk it as no one will probably watch the sitcoms after that.

Two things I personally count as scarce are melody in current generation's film songs and a somewhat sane TV anchor who would conduct a half decent, logical debate on any subject on earth.  Again, the current situation, completely bereft of decency and some thought for the viewers, does not lend itself to any hope of betterment.  A friend of mine, during a phone call recently, lamented on the non-availability of goli-soda (soda in a bottle with a marble at its neck, which needs to be pushed down for the soda to flow).

With such dominant scarce materials in routine life, who can looking beyond, to the scenario of dearth of rare earths and such outlandish things!!  God bless us all.

Party People

A party can involve (a) a few friends (b) friends and family members (c) some colleagues and acquaintances (d) all those and plenty of strangers and so on, depending on the reason for the party.  For many, any excuse will do to stitch together a party, when whoever available just shows up and in many cases, it is a carefully manicured event with a proper list of invitees.  Some individuals frequently manage to have a party of one - a synonym for their solitary drinking binges, in an attempt to find their true selves, which are resolutely concealed from the world.

Let me confess I am far from being an avid party-man and am most comfortable when it is a small group of good friends and/or family members.  What I am distinctly uncomfortable with, are those parties in which the crowd is somewhat larger, but still compact enough to compel you brush your nose against some alien cheek from time to time. Invariably necessitating awkward conversations with complete strangers -- God bless them, I do realize the fault is not theirs, but entirely is an unavoidable consequence of my own DNA -- who happen to be on completely different wave-lengths.  Such tete-a-tetes usually don't stir up anything in you except a sense of frustrated wonderment as to `what the heck am I doing and for Pete's sake, why'!  And yet, as much as we want to avoid such banal encounters, they are just thrust upon you in each party and are par for the course.  Then, there are those jamborees, where you are a hapless misplaced speck, intentionally added by the host in the last minute, just so the number-objective can be achieved.  I scrupulously avoid these where no-one is going to miss you and you won't subsequently be called upon to provide even a stupid excuse for your absence (remember, you are a speck anyway).  However, these are the parties which have given me the required space and time to stay anonymous in a crowd, look around, make some objective assessments and pigeon-hole my fellow-party-men/women. Following are some types we meet and the nomenclatures may be read as gender-neutral.

(1) Spiderman.  Being hawk-eyed and ever vigilant, he is waiting to catch any unsuspecting individual walking by and eat his/her head off for the next twenty minutes, while craftily blocking all ways of escape.  Obviously only those will be caught who are not beware; those who know the individual, carefully avoid stepping into the danger web-zone.  If the catch is hoping to slide away after a strong show of reluctance to engage in conversation,  that doesn't help because lack of participation from the other end never shuts them up. Instead, they tend to talk for both!! Until the next victim is visible on the horizon, there is no respite for the current one.

(2) Superman.  He has done all that you have done and better, bigger and on a different level.  If you have trekked to the top of Nandi Hills, he has conquered Everest; if you have played league cricket in Madras, he has played for two different States in Ranji trophy (it does not matter that you cannot recollect anything about this, despite your continued interest in Ranji trophy cricket); if you have been to Galapagos, he has been on a expedition to Antarctica, all alone, such that no one else can vouch for him. So on.  Until his wife comes and steely-eyed, emits a monosyllabic, low-decibel bark at him and he tucks his tail where it should be and becomes the veritable supplicant that he actually is, completely domesticated in all respects.

(3) Arnab Goswamy/Navika Kumar.   These people have a firm opinion, not necessarily subject to debate, on everything under the sun and beyond.  They believe in shouting from the roof top what they think, without giving any body else any leeway to utter two words edge-ways, unless they have to catch their breath or are tired, which is seldom.  They use a lethal combination of loquaciousness and a loud delivery mechanism (read larynx power) to overpower the rest of humanity.  They come having done their homework in recent conversational and controversial topics and are well prepared to bludgeon others into submission with their untiring tirades and argumentativeness.  You wish you had a remote to switch them off!!

(4) Barman.  The objective of this tribe, usually in a small party, is very clear.  To serve one drink to somebody and have a balancing tipple themselves. People who efficiently and willingly take over the barman's role, relieving the host of an essential responsibility.  Not because they have some emotional attachment to the host, but more to the stuff they serve. This camouflage enables them to drink quietly while waiting for the next guest, without attracting serious attention to themselves.  This man would suggest very subtly to the hosts that they are better off letting him handle the job and focus on the guests.  If it is a party without alcohol, this job does not generate much interest and this type is conspicuously absent.

(5) Solitary Reaper. Definitely not what Wordsworth had in mind, because they can probably never sing to save their own souls. They are not interested in any type of conversation or people. Period.  Look carefully and you can identify all those traits of a hermit who has recently emerged from the cave, evicted under duress by compelling circumstances. They just sit quietly in some forsaken corner, watching the goings-on with a benign eye and concentrating on the snacks.  They have carefully nurtured this knack of giving the impression that they do not exist, what with their utter silence or when terribly coerced, single syllables muttered under their breath that go for responses.  Until some very close friend of forty years hops on for an  exchange for a couple of boring minutes and leaves, with both parties absolutely relieved and better off when the tryst ends.  The discomfiture caused by such unnerving interruptions is very quickly replaced in the individual by complete solace in solitude very swiftly.

(6) Flitter.  They come to parties only to hold their drinks and diligently circulate to all corners of the room, meeting every single person present, collecting business cards wherever possible.  No substantive conversation is necessary for them, principally because they are incapable of such a thing.  They want to tick off all the boxes and are intent on wider coverage than involved in pow-wows for long. More accent on quantity than on quality, if you dig that. Very doubtful if they recall too many new names or faces, two hours after they depart the scene. But when they are at it, it seems they put on a show as if they have known everyone for decades.  And when they leave, no one misses them either.

(7) Interviewer. Some people are insistent on gathering all the information -- personal, professional, whatever -- that they can elicit from those willing to fill in the details.  This includes your personal assets, where you met your spouse, whether your sons in USA are vegetarians still or they have strayed off into carnivore territory, what illnesses you have had in the past decade, which doctor you go to and what tablets you take. Even if you unambiguously express your reluctance to provide the information, they, leech-like, do not let you go until some scraps are sucked up, whether the data is real or cooked up.  I wonder what they do with that load of garbage. But, I shudder to think of the next chance-meeting at another party with such individuals, when they may may want to resume and reconfirm all that you said and ask for more!

(8)  Matchmaker.  Very well-intentioned and genuinely desirous of helping friends and relatives, who are generally in a distress mode because their offspring are refusing to walk into wedlock.  They are constantly on the look out for information which will facilitate matching up somebody's daughter with somebody's son. I understand in the last couple of years, the scope has expanded to include matching up sons and sons as well as daughters and daughters.  All is well that ends well.  So focused this type is in this pursuit that they eschew all other subjects and navigate conversation with single minded dedication in one direction all the time.  The world needs people like that and they are rendering exceptional social service, so power to them.

(9) Raconteur. There is always an eager crowd, gathered around these, hanging on to whatever is being said. They are the exceptional story-tellers and glean through their library before coming to a party, well endowed with anecdotes, jokes and stories.  Very entertaining and tend to laugh raucously at their own jokes.  But even they cannot avoid repetition and if you end up with them in multiple parties, it is better to avoid these.  Because though they are smashing with their wit, after a few parties, unfortunately you tend to hear the same stories which draw the biggest laughs and give the teller the highs. They cannot avoid that.  But others can.

(10) Multi-Party Animal. Not labelling them in any derogatory sense, but am wonder-struck as to how they can do four parties in one night, when some of us cannot even handle one in a fortnight.  This species come to parties, when almost everybody is done with gossip, drinks and food.  Just to make an appearance in all their finery, wave to a few people majestically, hug the hosts and leave saying they have to attend two or three more parties after midnight.  And most people remember these blokes only for those fleeting appearances they make when people are half-asleep. I have been tempted to follow some of them to see if they go straight back home and tuck themselves into bed, who knows! But, the idea behind attending parties this way is a mystery to me.

I am sure I have missed a few other party types.  Like the hard core foodies, who go only for the sustenance the parties provide and make a quick get-away as soon as their job is done.  I have a feeling this last type is the one which probably enjoys parties the most, regardless of the quality of company.

   

New York, New York - Part II !

The Central Park, that famous lung space in Manhattan, is obviously a place we walk to and from, every single trip, at least once. Make that multiple times, simply because our sons aver that is the best place to be on a summer day and my dear wife agrees with them as readily as she disagrees with me on any subject.  With its wide expanse of glistening, green, grassy spaces, a few large and small water bodies where miniature boats bobble up and down, it is a sheer spectacle any day and more so, if it is a sparkling, summer day.  You see scattered musicians playing their tunes and beats (a few pull you to them, the music tugging at your heart-strings and many tend to repel or scare you further away with their noise), all with their ubiquitous. inverted hats suitably positioned as collection boxes - not on the heads obviously. Hordes of bikers, strollers (with two legs as well as four wheels), dog-walkers and child-minders with their wards. (many holding leashes at one end, regardless of what is twitching at the other). Horse-drawn carriages on the park roads, filled with smug and smiling elders, shrieking youngsters, excited kids. Multiple soft-ball games in progress, with an assortment of men, women and kids scurrying around. And of course, a bunch of people, hooked to their Google Map, with the typical confused looks and furrowed foreheads, wondering where they are and whither they should proceed!! A walk around the park (we recommend you go farther inside from the 59th street to around 75th) provides one with good exercise, fresh air and free entertainment with multitude of actors, as explained above.

Having said that, we also like another park, the Bryant Park, which is starkly different and well, stark, period! This one occupies probably about 9 blocks near the 42nd street and 6th Avenue (very close to my heart not because it is near the Metropolitan Museum but because it is diagonally across the Bank of America building!!).  This park amazes us no end.  Strapped for space being located right in midtown Manhattan, it is tightly packed with drinking places, restaurants, coffee shops, ice cream parlours and the like.  Yoga routines involving avid but masochist groups who seem bent on twisting themselves permanently out of shape; old movies being shown to aficionados full of nostalgia and reminiscences in the central lawn, while youngsters gawk and wonder why would such slow movies appeal to anyone; book-reading sessions attended by new authors and newer, eclectic groups of readers on one side; tradesmen and employees using the chairs tables available for free as temporary mid-town offices to conduct business, some even converting them into short term living quarters - you get to see all these and more, making one wonder whether this park is a microcosm of Manhattan. Look, sets of people are playing chess on a few tables, head bent in intense concentration and so absorbed that none of the hubbub around them is a distraction.  We have seen players on either side changing after 15 minutes of an unfinished game, because guys have to go on with their jobs!! There are a few table tennis tables too and sometimes, shots get played by the next table guy, partners change all of a sudden because somebody moved a couple of feet more than customary and balls get trampled over all the time by crisscrossing pedestrians.  All part of a day's fun!  As usual, my dear wife frets hugely about participating in all the above activities at the same time and realizes, after enthusiastic efforts, that she cannot.  But she has the grace to accept that fact with equanimity and move on, just to try again next year!!

It has always been a mystery to us why that ferry ride to Staten Island is gratis!! That huge ferry is stuffed to the gills every single trip, either with commuters from the island or with tourists.  While the former tribe use the ferry to get to work/back and do other chores in Manhattan, the latter group does nothing more than go to Staten Island, take a U-turn and return post-haste by the next ferry, like veritable balls hitting a wall.  Sure, we know Staten Island is not Santorini, so tourists just take the ferry for a joy-ride, with a double bonus thrown in -- they get a chance to go right across the Statue of Liberty, twice and at a distance.  We would gladly pay and enjoy the ride because it is a pleasurable trip, with the salty wind caressing your face and ruffling  your hair. But if there is a levy, I wonder how many tourists will board the ferry for seeing pretty much nothing at the other end. Some fodder for Trump, since this seems to be benefiting visitors also, something that goes viciously against his grain!! Can we expect a tweet soon?? Talking of that, shouldn't Twitter call the post a Twit rather than a Tweet?  Would be more appropriate in all respects, right?

Another sight that perpetually mesmerizes us is that of the anglers along East river, lying comatose on benches most of the time, having set up their tackles in the fond hope of catching some fish or anything else, may be! We have walked through that space about a hundred times so far and have never seen any catch, unless you expand the scenario to include those jogging, running and cycling  catching their body parts when hurt during their exercise regimen.  I suspect the anglers know something we don't.  Fishing is for the absolutely patient, certainly,  but next time I intend checking if there is anything at all in East river to catch or all that is an elaborate sham set up to blissfully avoid an over-powering wife at home!!  Who knows, even the wife may be happier this way, considering the quality of her own catch!

During the walk from midtown to Williamsburg Bridge, along the East river, one can see some sophisticated forms of daily transport, unique to Manhattan.  Helicopters are used by those who can afford, as taxis, to travel from the city to their suburban homes or offices.  There are a couple of heli-stations (one near the 34th st/FDR highway) and the frequency of service is almost better than our typical bus services.  The pilots combat strong winds and land the helicopters so expertly in the small space available, when just a jerky movement forward by a some yards might crash the contraption against the flyover on the road!! And we just love walking across one which is in the process of taking off, generating high velocity wind which hits ones face, supplemented with generous spray from the sea.  Exhilarating feeling, I would say, despite the horrendous noise produced.  If we look a bit further, we see sea-planes landing and taking off in regular intervals, on what should be an imaginary, somewhat choppy run-way in the sea! Add the ferries, barges, boats and the occasional jet-skis -- you get what should be a chaotic mix, but everything seems to work in great unison, according to a well controlled procedure. The sky buzzes with activity here when you include all the regular commercial flights taking off/landing at the nearby airports and one can spend hours just watching this spectacle.

Our sons have spent a decade and more in USA, especially in New York and San Francisco.  Initially we wondered how one can eat out all the time, without ever cooking a meal at home.  Our elder one, with absolutely no penchant for the kitchen, has never once pretended that he would want to cook a meal.  We understood why, during our peripatetic missions there.  In something like a 8 square mile area in Manhattan, without exaggeration, one can fine cuisine from any country (may be Western Samoa, Nauru and Papua New Guinea exempted, that too only because we have not seen any board) and multiple providers at that. Add to that the superb convenience brought into play by the Online Ordering system (Seamless and the like) and one can eat meals for 3 months possibly, without ever repeating a restaurant.  If you have the appetite for that, given the variety and ease.  However, when we are there, our sons diligently come to our apartment every evening, eat the regular home cooked vegetarian Indian stuff, lick their plates and fingers clean and applaud the creator (of the meals, I mean).  So, when available, this desi stuff beats the hide off the `foreign' dishes, we concluded. 

Our favourite restaurants, this being not an exhaustive list, are Baby Bo Cantina  (2nd Ave/34th street) for Mexican,  Sigiri (1st Ave/5th Street) for Sri Lankan, Vezzo (Lex/33rd street) for probably the best thin crust pizza in the world (for normal crust, I would recommend going to Piece in Wicker Park, Chicago), Ruby's Cafe (3rd Ave/31st street) for casual, snack-meals, Jaiya Thai (3rd Ave/28th Street).   If you like something different, try Maoz's pita sandwiches (near Union Square) - be careful not to use too much of the sauce, lest your sandwich gets too soggy too soon and disintegrates outside your mouth!

Other things we look out for are Royce chocolates, Mochi ice cream, Gregory Coffee (we avoid Starbucks at all costs), Gelato at Eataly, french fries at the Belgian Beer Cafe.  Enough said, on food, I guess.  I seem to have gained a few pounds since I started this blog.

So, ambling along in Manhattan, unmindful of where you go and what you do, can be a significantly rewarding pastime in itself.  The biggest advantage in doing this in Manhattan is that even a dummy cannot lose his way, because of the way the layout is. We enjoy that and hope some of you would do too.  Yes, do pack in some Dolo 650, Tiger Balm etc; helps in times of vigorous protests by various creaking parts of the body.

New York, New York -Part I !

The crying need of the hour, as far as long distance travellers are concerned, should be the immediate introduction of seriously ultra-supersonic Concorde-like flights between continents.  Especially those which will cut down travel from India to USA to some 3-4 hours! The very thought is so exhilarating, even though the cost attached to that might be mind-blowingly prohibitive initially.  Like many urban Indian families, we have also despatched two young warriors to the financial minefield that is New York.  The youngsters continue to love the professional challenges there despite all the Trumped-up hurdles erected periodically in the context of visas and green cards.  This means, like many parents in the same situation, my dear wife and I are likely to make our annual pilgrimage for some more years and could gladly do with a massive reduction in the flying hours between India and USA.  The consequential damage caused by the current long flights, to the creaking bodies is two-fold.  One, the actual pain felt by the bones and muscles during the flight and in the immediate aftermath for a few days.  Two, that exotic trauma called jet-lag, which seems to impinge on existence with progressively worsening results as one ages.  Hence the fervent prayer for something akin to the Star-Trek type transporter to be made available pronto!! When someone suggests that we should take the non-stop from Bombay or Delhi, my body involuntarily shudders in response, thinking of 18 continuous hours in a plane.  More so, when it occurs to me that minimum 3 or 4 inedible meals will be served when even two are superfluous.

The immigration clearance has gotten faster and faster over the years and we now get out in thirty minutes flat.  That is providing for some chit-chat with the friendly officer who asks in his native twang, if we are carrying some `molaga podi, paruppu podi, murukku, mysurpak etc' (I swear, this is true).  These chaps have assimilated a lot of knowledge about India and Indians to the extent they can tell that anyone with the long surname is probably from the south; definitely so, if the names ends with `n'.   The prompt for that query about food items inevitably comes from the customs clearance form wherein the risk-averse part of me, especially so in a foreign land, has diligently declared `yes' for `food', valiantly overcoming hissing and nudging  protestations from the wife.  She prefers to ignore for this purpose,  routine stuff such as sambar powder, rasam powder and the rest of the start-up kit that contains tamarind, jeera, some dals etc or forgets that she has sneaked in some `real' food at the last minute, prior to locking the suitcases.  Who wants to get caught by the X-ray with some halwa or pakoda in the suitcase, to be shepherded as a criminal to a segregated area for a full search of the bags??  However nice and pleasant they try to be and are, they are still policemen, right?

Once we get through, the bags take their own sweet time arriving and if you were on an Airbus 380, you should resign to the idea of an hour or more before you retrieve your bags.  Entertainment is provided by a couple of police dogs, which sniff around, making unsuspecting people jump.  The dogs always seem to end up being disgusted with the smell of so many bodies that they seldom do anything noteworthy.  The 6 USD charge for a trolley grates more on your nerve than the machine grates on the credit card when inserted.  New York should emulate Switzerland in this respect, the latter widely advertising the availability of `free' carts (as many as you want) near the carousels. But, if visitors from Asia raise their voice against this atrocity,  Trump might hike the charge to USD100 just to ward off more Indians and partially compensate for trade deficit with China!!

The first thing that changes forthwith on landing is the mobile phone.  Out goes Airtel and in comes T-Mobile.  With that we seem to seamlessly shift to Uber from our chauffeur driven car in India.  Invariably the driver is a South Asian and this and his polite small talk tend to lull us into the false belief that we are in `home' environment,Trump or no Trump.  But then, after so many visits, the city does feel pretty much home for a few months and as we pass through one of the tunnels into the streets of Manhattan, we almost smell the place. Once we check into the by-now-familiar service apartment close to Grand Central, we are almost home.

The first week goes in fighting the acquired fatigue that is the awful by-product of jet-lag, while the pleasure of being with the sons for a few hours daily adequately dulls the pains and aches.  The primary objective during this period is to ensure one is at least half-awake during the boys' evening visits.  But strangely, this jet-lag malady seems to be terribly partial in afflicting me and has absolutely no effect of my dear wife, who behaves as if she got tele-ported in a jiffy.  It is as if God up there had assigned all such discomforts in the family to me while sparing her.  Some people are plain lucky, I say but she insists it is all karma!!

Half-awake or not, we have to accomplish some priority objectives shortly on arrival, in preparation for our two-month stay.  First is the trip to the Indian store, some 14 blocks away to fetch the basic grocery needed and this chore falls to yours truly, as the wife gets cracking on the kitchen in the apartment, asking for cooking vessels, cutlery, crockery etc that the service apartment normally sets aside for 10 apartments collectively.  By now they know her, so there is not even a whimper when the list is read out and the Housekeeping supervisor sweetly says to her that she had just put everything into a cardboard box and will haul it to the apartment.  And in her honour, they give her brand new utensils etc too.

The Sardarji at the Indian store does not seem to age at all -- must be the Indian spices he inhales through the day, especially turmeric.  He looks at me like a surprised frog, half under water, probably because I had gone missing for 8 months or so.  He obviously has difficulty remembering that we do not live in New York, despite that repeated explanation having been advanced every year and opens his mouth repeatedly like a fish gasping for breath while no sound emerges at all.  I presume it is a greeting only by the mustache and beard twitching simultaneously and the comforting absence of choice expletives.  He has his reasons for harbouring mixed feelings towards us; good business for two months but in the penultimate week, the wife starts returning a whole load of unopened packets bought earlier in excess, for exchange.  This causes immense agony to his soul and scalds his feelings.  He sputters even more than on the first day in anxiety and nervousness, but is yet to decline the barter; I have a foreboding that it is on the horizon somewhere. We tend to visit the store once in 2-3 days, to get fresh supplies and have not heard the stodgy Sardarji speak anything more than the total payable amount, apart from the routine `Sat Sri Akal, kya haal hai'?  A very cosy relationship!!

Our most favourite outdoor activity is to amble along the streets in different directions every day.  Normally if my wife points to Battery Park, I tend to gesture towards Central Park, and if her choice is to trundle along the East river, I prefer to go the Hudson-way. Of course, we finally reconcile amicably and democratically, without any external agent's interference and go to Battery Park or East river side, as she decides! We just flow with the crowd, but flowing is impossible if you are in the heavy duty tourist areas like Times Square, Empire State etc.  We do not really care as to where we are headed because each such trip is truly exploratory in essence.  One is just struck by the liveliness of the place, the abundant energy and diversity on display in every aspect of life.  Eminently fascinating pastime with very little effort, except the walk and we are certain to forget most other mundane things in life for the duration of the walk.  All kinds of people one cannot even guess the nationality of seem to converge and jostle along; it is a virtual tower of babel in terms of the languages spoken.  Such a melting pot that even when some immigrants speak English it takes a few iterations before you understand it is a familiar language that you should be able to comprehend!!  Invariably this sojourn ends with a visit to a supermarket, after my dear wife triumphantly sounds the bugle at some point, `Done 15000 steps for the day, enough'!

Her Fitbit must be creaking with all the walks it has monitored so far!  Even without that monitoring responsibility, I am, honestly.

(To be continued in Part II)