Being, belonging

When you’ve clocked a certain number of hours in small-town /rural India you find that you are able to expect and answer entirely personal questions from complete strangers with reasonable equanimity. A personal bio-data touching on every detail of family and belonging, marital status (reasons for said status), education, modes of income generation etc is the usual expectation, which I have learnt to submit to without much rancour, and increasingly without much thought. It has now got to a point with me where I have a ready-made spiel for each question, which I deliver almost on automaton with the same inflections, pauses and smiles. I am usually able to predict the order of the questions. With me, perhaps because it is difficult to pin down my nativity by looking at me, that is usually the subject of the first round of questions.

In places where I am generally known to have come from Hyderabad the question is usually how I came to live there. Nobody seems to believe that I have a Hyderabadi face, which is a pity because I have a very Hyderabadi heart. But of course I know that the enquiry is about the land of my genes and not the land of my heart.

Here, in West Godavari the question is its own peculiar phrase. “Yekkadandi proper?” I explain that I am a Kannadiga who lives in Hyderabad. Next comes the hazarded guess-question? “ Mee ammavallu…?” The answer to this question posed in any language has always been an unequivocal, warmed- Yes! My mother-folk live there in Hyderabad. But this time I am being caught stupidly short each time. I do say yes, after a pause, but I feel a pang of subterfuge. I feel oddly that I cannot claim a Mother-folk anymore, that those of us remaining are just folk who used to belong to my mother. But I don’t talk about this. Even the most involved questioner wants only the general circumstances of my life and not the details. I surprise myself, but I seem to understand that a recently dead mother is just a detail in my social identity.

How much we are socialised into investing in the broad strokes! I don’t doubt there are several solid reasons for that. But individually we all know that pain, pleasure, beauty, variety, sameness, love, god - are all in the details.

Delhi 1

I had great hopes for Delhi. Sheetal’s home has all the light and air you could wish for and had I really looked forward to basking in the grace of a winter holiday. But I find that “One must have a mind of winter...” or more accurately the constitution of winter to feel any appreciation of the weather in this capricious capricious city. I find myself alternately ferreting out the last strand of wool I possess or throwing off bed clothes in a pool of sweat. Must qualify that the latter might be less due to the temperature outside and more due the fact that my fever often decides to desert me at odd hours in the night.

Fever, did I say fever? Fever - being the whole point of this post. I am wallowing in mire of self-pity and mucous. I have caught a cold and the flu, possibly a bacterial infection too! Cannot watch too much TV; head hurts. Can’t read beyond a chapter; wrist hurts.

So only to console myself, and because a warm laptop is welcome across my knees now, I have mauled Elizabeth BiBi’s poem to express myself. Can only hope my sorry state will induce quick forgiveness from the beyond.

How do I ache now? Let me count the ways

I ache keen to the depth and breadth and height

My arms can reach, when feeling out of fight

For the end of wheezing and ideal days

I ache in clutches of bedevilled daze

Most need quiet, in sore head held vise-tight

I ache quite freely, fever soars like kite

I ache so purely, as I head but raise

I ache with every blowing of the nose

Into old kerchiefs, withering to wraith

I ache now still no better for a dose

Of anti-biotics, – I ache every breath

Knuckles, knees, cheekbones too! – and, if God chose

I shall ache a little less after death.

I have found that those ailed by colds and madness are humoured alike. You will get clucking noises of spurious sympathy and badly concealed amusement. So I bolster my pathetic wheeze with a truly empathetic voice.

Notes from a trek around Madhya Pradesh ( with update)

• Some sleep is more important than a lot of food
• From now and forever buses (long-distance carrier types) are always going to make me shudder in pavlovian response. I have been permanently scarred now; nothing can disabuse my mind of its belief that buses are chambers of torture

Sub notes-

1. In cases of particularly sadistic and disobliging drivers, one need have no scruples in dismantling the speakers and fixing the wires (the end entirely justifies the means as has been satisfactorily demonstrated)

Sub sub note:

Care should be taken not to lose the screws, lest a badly put back speaker lands on your head during the night

2. It is an inescapable fact of life that during a night journey you will require all of the things that have been securely packed under yards of tarpaulin on the roof of the bus, and none of the things that you have in your trusty rucksack

• Climbing up up up a steep steep hill is always worth it
• Spotted inventory: Item, two jackals, in particular beauty; item, a moonlit wolf, stuff of firelight tales; item, birds - treepies, paradise flycatcher, woolly-necked stork, more- in jungle resplendence. Point to be considered: does this compensate for not sighting a tiger at Pench?
• Kareena Kapoor has more spunk than I had credited her with. Has gone up a notch in my estimation (no nothing to do with Saif)
• Always check for Russell’s vipers before you dry clothes on tree trunks
• An 18mm wide angle lens is not nearly wide enough for god’s world
• Determined bonhomie is very nerve-grating; it is also to be mistrusted
• Hot springs are fantastic things; politicians are bores, no exceptions to be had; litterers should be super-glued to garbage cans.

One or two pictures-




Sheetal and Shweta at Vulture point
















The Yogi

Update- Especially for Gaga’s edification

We went to the spot in Panchmahri where they shot for Ashoka. A lovely deep pool of water surrounded by rocks and the path leading up to it was treacherous. The forest guide who was with us told us that that for one scene Kareena Kapoor had to sprint along this break-your-bones-trail and dive headlong into the pool (she was supposed to have been chased by goons or whatever they called them in Ashoka’s time). I, who had gingerly made my way down, feeling for every loose rock and pebble and regaling the general public about my views about the unwisdom of getting your rubber footwear wet, was very impressed with the vision of Bebo blithely haring down the rocks.

Needless to say she was to be rescued in the film. The guide tells me they got a local boy to dupe in for Shahruk. You are seeing?

I am saying doodh ka doodh pani ka pani.

Mysuru

Mysore is terribly nice. The more I see of it, the more I like it. They (The Mysoreans) think that it’s going the Bangalore way, which is a truly depressing thought. The Infosys chief was all over the papers when I was there, so it’s possible they know what they are talking about, but for my part, I totally adored the avenues of trees, the wide clean roads, the markets, the buildings and the air. I only hope it all last as long as it can. I really would like to believe that they can have the best of both worlds. Why not? I say! A little forethought, a little heart and it can be done…no?

I landed a great haul this time, Raspooris that smelled of my grandfather’s home, jackfruit to die for, second-hand books at Landsdowne building, two mystery birds and a stork-billed kingfisher, a play full of imbeciles (which was a large part of its charm) and fabulous weather.

By the way, I think I’ve decided that Kukenhallinakere is my favorite place in the world, which they say, puts me in the company of Kuvempu, which of course I don’t mind. I was really torn between going there with phatte chappal and jhola and stiking an interesting pose on the stone bench, whipping out a tattered note book and writing potry or doing the more usual thing of lugging a half ton bag with field guide and binoculars and a dozen miscellaneous things which only tourists seem to find indispensable.

Of course, given how little time I had, it was the later- for which I was rewarded with frustration. I am secretly convinced I saw an Oriental plover (which the field guide tell me is a elusive vagrant) but have nothing to show for it. Bah!

For your eyes only then - a slice of my heaven:

Gawd! I have no more patience. I had a couple of other pictures to upload but thats got to be later. I think I must have the worst luck, blogger acts funny only when I have to upload stuff. Other people think nothing of uploading tendozen pictures a week

Raichur - signing out

These boys here at the cybercafe have Aahista-(Kunal Ganjawala), Don't touch me soniye, Kya mujhe pyaar hai, Dil laga na dil jale se, and Tere bin kaise jiyoon on a loop on their system, and sometimes, like now, when there aren't too many people they sing along. I haven't tired of the loop in all this time; I love what it does for my screaming neck muscles at the end of each day.
I 'll probably have to say goodbye when I leave here today. I don't know if it’s strictly necessary. But when people anticipate you everyday at five minutes past six, wonder when you don't turn up, try to keep your favourite system for you, stop being business people and become just people, you tend to want to say bye. I always find it very embarrassing and a little difficult, but I do it anyway.
I'll probably have to say bye to the elderly waiter who has made it his business to see that I account for very meal and coffee I have and see that I am really eating well. And the gap-toothed watchman who helped me photograph the butterfly on the hedge and was so delighted to see it on the display screen. And all the people I am working with. Everybody is already starting to look a little despondent. I hope it’s not too bad this time.
I feel like a fraud every time I leave to return to my real life. But that’s silly and ridiculous. And I suppose it is just a smaller fractal of the larger pattern.

Raichur- It's a dogs life

These dog shows are unnatural things, I tell you, unnatural.
They’ve had banners hung up all over Raichur announcing the 2nd grand dog show and I’d never been to one, so naturally I had to go. I hadn’t given it much thought except that it would be interesting to see what breeds Raichur had; and it seemed Raichur folk must be really serious about their dogs to warrant a full-fledged dog show.
But what madness it is to bring together about fifty thoroughly pampered top dogs into one small enclosure and then not have the bloody sense to keep them apart or at least start the damned event on time. I had harrowing time for the hour and a half I waited for this thing to start. Dogs straining at their leashes, marking territory chair, pole, and fence, aggressive, intimidated, all kinds of excited and generally manic. My heart must have skipped approximately three and a half dozen beats but the owners were inexplicably unperturbed. They just lounged around calling languid ‘stay’ and ‘sit’ commands exchanging details of pedigree and trainers (I had a tough time believing any of those deranged specimens had had any training) source, cost and number of awards. All of this is interesting enough to overhear, if one is not strung like a violin string. One of them did not move an inch till her dog almost had its tail bitten off. You’d think they would look after award winning dogs better, huh?
Then the priceless part. There was actually a free anti-rabies vaccination camp on the grounds where the dogs were taken for their shot - Before the show! Now I don’t know too much about dogs but I would imagine that their nerves would be a little strained by being hauled off for an injection apart from all the madness.
At this point I’d had enough and I needed to leave in any case. So I did not actually get to see the show, and now I’ll never know how that woman with her Dalmatian pups (whose Doberman won some prize last year) fared this time, and if Prince cleaned up in time, if those Boxers were any good and if the Great Dane I was rooting for did well and what a dog show is really like.

Raichur ramblings - 2

Raichur's landscape is pretty much Deccan stuff. Dryish, with lovely dusks. But it has some beautiful rocks! In fact the entire stretch from Hyderabad has great formations, but the ones I saw this evening close to this old old Shiva temple are something else. Next time my instinct tells me to go fetch my camera I will listen to it even if it means two flights of stairs. (Raichur’s hospitality doesn’t extend to elevators.)
I am happy to report that my lethargy is a thing of the past. In fact right now with an ounce of tadaka filter coffee in my system I am feeling decidedly perky. After three days of anemic, wimpy coffee at the hotel, I decided to try this stand-up-and-serve-yourself-type joint. Rs 4 for an extra strong decoction with a dash of hot milk thrown into miniscule steel tumbler and Davara. Aha! Happiness. Porcelain is all right for tea but there is something about real coffee that demands steel.
As you can see, when I am away from home it is the mundane things that make me merry.

To continue-
Milne ke vaade se tasalli ho padi hai abke
Ke ye manzar mere hone mein hoga, yakeen nahi hota

Raichur ramblings - 1

I write this from a net browsing center. This is a first for me! I am into the one hour slot because I shot the 30 min slot by few minutes. I am yawning my head off but I like to be productive.
I usually get like this, all dazed and a little blown on the first evening in any new place. Too many things too many people, and every manner of assault on the senses. I fear sometimes that I must be a pretty weak poor sort of creature. I seem to need more brain-rest than anybody I know, aur nateeja kya nikalta hai? Khuda jane because I have the awfulest memory. One good soul, a behavioural scientist, told me that there is nothing actually wrong with me I just happen to have a semantic rather than an episodic memory /understanding of events. Oh How I cling to that!

Hmmm aur?
Aur bhi bhut kuch tha yakeenan yaad ke kabil
Ke tumse juda bhi waqt guzre, yakeen nahi hota

The times they are a-changin’. Nai boletho really kya!

If you had asked me yesterday to picture a TCE (those ticket inspector chappies on trains) it would have been a middle-aged, matte-haired, slightly thick-middled, sternish person with a bottle-brush moustache.
Everything has changed today.
Let me introduce you to today’s TCE. He’s 6’2 ish, youngish, with stylishly cut hair, has a body that would seriously challenge a bollywood starlet (is that what they call the male ones too?) and wears a peach/orange T shirt and very well-fitting jeans. Aur boletho, he even has a well-modulated voice and a nice air of reserve. What say huh? I been noticing prettier railway junctions and they say it’s a great railway budget. Do you think our Man is behind this new improved model?
What newnesses new days bring us, no? Can’t complain.

Account for neurosis (not sure I can)

Did I say people, people? In plural? I was right. Another one today. Journeys leave especially vulnerable to these inflictions on my nerves. I figure it is being trapped into one frame that leaves me inescapably, acutely and agonizingly aware of it.

Uncle in Safari suit. Has air of man who is used to travel. Probably does this route a lot, if not daily. Had thrown in his handkerchief through the window onto the seat to reserve his seat. Hmmm… Came in, wrote down a couple of notes in diary, presumably about day's transactions. Seemed reasonably satisfied. Now, opens book and prepares to enjoy himself. I like this well-prepared, nice organized businessman, I tell myself. Least likely co-passenger to demand my jealously guarded Bisleri Bada. He dozes on and off and I look on indulgently. That is, till I spot it!
A sticker on his reading glasses. Aargh! What kind of man does not remove a manufacturer's label from a two inch eyeglass? For heavens sake, I wear glasses, and quite a few water stains and such have given me nightmares of glaucoma.
Now I am not so sure about this man. I think his choice of book is all wrong. Some nonsense self-help type and I quite sure it has small print. Safari suit a bit too snug for a sensible man to wear on a journey. Plus I don’t think he has enough on his mind – He stares sillily… above those glasses.

Account for neurosis

This is an excerpt from my recent Kalluru diary. Sitting in my comfortable urban home I feel rather indulgent of my poor former jostled self. Come read…

People, several people I've noticed have no regard for their personal comfort. This man for instance. He's sitting two seats in front of me in the bus. The sun is on our side and it is catching his profile gently. I can see one hair, one spidery overgrown hair from his eyebrow. One of those freak mutant types. Must have taken a few months to grow out I think. It is constantly in his line of vision. His view of these stupendous sunflower fields must be streaked by the shadow of The Hair.
I am just itching to pull out my little Swiss card and snip it for him. The hair has begun to get on my nerves. But it does not seem to have bothered this farmer (he looks like a farmer) for months!
Such a small thing! Why doesn't he do it? He does not even need a pair of scissors, you know, he can just snap it off with his fingers. Or I could just…

At which opportune moment my stop at the village arrived, otherwise I may have had something quite different to say.

Revisiting relativity

'Ek Lamhe Mein Simat Aaya Hai Sadiyon Ka Safar
Zindagi Tez Bahut Tez Chali Ho Jaise'

Much has happened. Bhopal is so unassumingly beautiful. So much quite culture. It almost has me believe that life is all about just that, Art and Beauty. But only almost, because during the same period I have met more human mediocrity than I have had managed to have deep breathes. This dichotomy between the sublime and the unbearably mundane is too much to handle. This! This I think must be the reason why I feel that I have just spent the fastest month-and-a-half of my life.
Feels like a lot and absolutely nothing.

Bhopal Mosaic

More Babblers babbling than I have ever heard before
Bada talab, chota talaab, upper, lower lake lake lake
Expensive autos, expansive autowalas,
Tree beds- pink, magenta, orange, off-white, brown, beautiful
Eve teasers- crude, harmless, re-acquaintance with the Hindi – Heartland
Orange-vented Bulbuls,
Hills, winding lanes, good roads…. bad roads
Computers set to devanagri
Letters arriving in devanagri
Sculpture in road divides, sometimes, someplaces I mean
What else? A lot else
Much culture- a small town

One of those AP express ones

Almost-dusk pregnant with rain
Orange blossoms wild, profuse, sexy
Oppressive heat surrenders to surreal presentness
'Now' demands aggressive attention
It is such a now.

My land, someone's land, some land
Some actors lounge in a mundane play
The scene so poignant - the act so plain
This weirdly constructed universe of cognition,
Weird? I know no other.

so much unblogged....... clogged

This first blog is ridiculously late. So many things, important then, 'bemane' now. Still it irritates me that they went unsaid. Its not like I can even remember now all the things that I stacked up those phenomenally unreliable 'yaad ke jazeere' of mine. But forgotten things always assume such importance!
Ok right, to spare myself all this aggravation, I’m going to be a good little blogster from now and forever.
Blogs, horrifying telephone bills, emails and even occasional daks…….... no nothing will compensates for chewing leelakka’s brains out, me splattered on the kitchen stool or unleashing on Sheetal my numerous theories and soul searchings when she’s on page 189 of an MB and desperately trying to be politely interested.