The new year is here

2008 has retreated into the archives of time and I for one am happy about it. The year was heavy on everyone around. India faced its worst ever terror attack and recession is knocking the doors of the world economy. At a personal level, there were a couple of unexpected demises. It seems the year gone by was marked for the dark forces of the universe. Let us hope that 2009 will more than make up for the wounds that its predecessor has inflicted.

New Word

What do you call a person who is so obsessed with the true meaning of life that he is digging into every small thing for a spriitual connection

An "Arthworm", of course.

The word "Arth" has a Sanskrit origin and means "meaning"

What was that sound?

Sensory information is as important to prose as colors are to painting: to create a vivid picture in the reader's mind by describing what a bystander at the scene would have gathered through his or her human senses.

While writing, however, we often struggle for the correct word that would best describe what we want to show. It is not that we do not know the word. The word is very much part of our normal vocabulary but slips out of our writing toolkit just when it is needed. So it makes sense to keep a list of words commonly used words handy.

The five senses are taste, touch, sound, sight, and smell

To start off, below is a list of commonly encountered sounds.

 

banging                    

beeping                    

breaking (dishes)            

buzzing                    

cackling                

chattering                 

chiming                    

chirping (birds)        

chortling                

chuckling                

clacking(wooden spool against brick wall)

clanking                

clapping                

clicking                

cracking                 

cracking (neck)                

crashing (plates)            

creaking (floorboard)            

gasping                    

groaning                

growling                

grunting                

honking                    

hooting                    

howling (wind)                

humming                    

jingling (ornaments, coins)

moaning

panting

plink (of dripping water )

plop (raindrops against window)

rattling

ringing

ripping (fabric)

roaring

rustling

sighing

sloshing (coffee, water)

slurping

sobbing

squealing (tires)

swooshing (cars)

tapping

thudding

tolling bells

whimpering

whining

whirring (fan blades)

whispering

whistling

whistling

yelping (wolf/dog in distress)

 

Nightmare on a posh street

A nightmare is sometimes the first thing early in the morning. Well at least it was for me one fine Sunday morning in San Jose, when I woke up to discover that turning the taps on did not result in the familiar gurgle and splash of water.

The apartment that I was staying in along with a couple of my friends was one of the higher end apartments. It was known for its resort style living and exotic facilities, and of course rents which were in a higher band when compared to other apartments. So taps running dry early in the morning was as shocking as a UFO landing on our terrace.

Once the shock waves receded, however, the finger of suspicion pointed at me: possibly I had defaulted on last month's bill. I logged on to the internet and checked. The bill was paid.

I ran to the apartment office, and saw an elderly lady employee just entering.

"How may I help you?"

"There is no water supply in our apartment."

"Oh, sorry for the inconvenience, did you call up the maintenance people and register your complaint?"

"Nobody gave us the maintenance number when we moved into the apartment."

"Here, it is on this card."

She handed me a visiting card cut in the shape of a house, with a little chimney.

"I cannot see any maintenance phone number here."

"Oh, you can't? Oh yes, the pager number mentioned there is actually the maintenance phone number."

I returned to the apartment and rang the number. After a few rings it went to voicemail. Probably the maintenance guys never expected this kind of a problem and were sound asleep; I left a message detailing my problem.

I sat in a corner, twiddling my thumb, as we didn't have a drop of water in the house. No water meant no brushing the teeth. No tea.

But above all, no bathroom use.

My roommates were still fast asleep, their snoring puncturing the early morning silence. I prayed that they should remain that way till water supply was restored.

The second call to the maintenance number too went to the voicemail. Then I called up the apartment office. The same lady who had given me the maintenance number picked up the phone.

"I have registered the complaint, but the maintenance people did not get back."

"Oh, you see, all apartments in your block have called up for the same problem. There has been some damage to the main water supply line to your block."

She might have as well said "You are under house arrest until further notice."

She continued with a ray of hope:

"I can give you the keys to a vacant flat in another block which you can make use."

The sense of relief was enormous; I sprang like a deer towards the apartment office.

The lady smiled apologies and fished out a bunch of keys. "Here you go." She handed me the keys and also scribbled the block name and the apartment number on a piece of paper. Block 371, apartment 125. She then noted my details in a register, along with the number of the vacant apartment that she was temporarily assigning to me. I could see a big list of predecessors in the register -- other early risers from my block. If they had that many vacant houses, I thought, probably their business wasn't exactly booming. The thought comforted me as we were due for a lease renewal later that month. Bad business means better deals for the existing tenants.

Anyway, I took the key and proceeded to the vacant apartment, to make sure that the taps were running. I would return with my toothbrush afterwards, I thought. After locating the vacant apartment, I turned the key first in the top keyhole, clockwise (doors have 2 keyholes), and then in the bottom one, anticlockwise. The door did not open.

I fiddled with the key combo for some time and gave up. Today wasn't my day. Arms akimbo, I was pondering the next move when a faint click alerted my ears. I watched with horror (and some gooseflesh on my limbs) as the doorknob turned slowly. It was supposed to be a vacant apartment. How was the door opening from inside? I felt spooky and almost shrieked when a half asleep face peered though the gap. I wasn't sure if there was a body behind that face.

"Yes?"

"I ... our building no water supply... apartment complex issued the key to this... vacant apartment; look it is written on the key... the house is supposed to be vacant..."

The face carefully studied the piece of paper. I took a step back just in case a hand with a boxing glove was waiting behind the face to knock the wind out of my system.

Thankfully, the face turned kind.

"No, this is not vacant. I stay here."

I could see that. I felt a sudden rage for the lady in the apartment complex.

"Sorry," I apologized to the face and ran out of the building. I thundered into the apartment office and shouted, "That apartment is occupied."

"Oh is it? I am so sorry. Let me find you another vacant apartment." The lady disappeared into an adjacent room and returned after a couple of minutes, with a new set of keys.

"Here, this time I have checked in the computer. This apartment is indeed vacant."

Oh respected lady, I thought, what stopped you from checking in the computer last time.

I proceeded briskly to this second vacant apartment. And it was indeed vacant! A quick survey of the bathroom revealed running taps. With a gleeful heart, I ran back to share the news with my roommates. How happy they would be to learn about my deft handling of the situation.

When I reached my apartment, the two had just woken up and were at the wash basin, brushing and splashing. The maintenance crew had fixed the problem.

"Where did you go so early in the morning with a toothbrush in hand?" one of them asked.

"Went…in search of water," I said.

I haven't forgotten that puzzled look on their faces. Neither have I forgotten my resolution of waking up last on Sundays.

Kudos to Indian Railways

I am happy with the progress made by Indian Railways in terms of the facilities provided to passengers with disabilities.

Last week we had gone to Bangalore City railway station to see off my aunt who has a knee ailment and can walk only short distances. She was to board Karnataka Express which departs at 7.30 PM from Bangalore.

Though we had heard of the wheelchair service at the station and had managed to get the cell number for the same, we were skeptical about the guy coming on time. Last year, the coolies had arranged for the wheelchair for a few extra bucks.

This year was different though. The guy actually picked up the cell when we called and assured help. He said he would be with us in fifteen minutes. We waited and kept our eyes open for a rickety old wheelchair with everything except the wheels moving. Imagine our surprise when a golf car drew up noiselessly behind us and asked if we would require help.

My aunt was soon on her way, enjoying a smooth ride to the platform. The golf car has adjustable floor height and once at the compartment door, my aunt had no problem in entering as the golf car was level with the door.

We were in for a bigger shock: all this was free; the golf car drive did not demand a single paisa and left as silently as he had arrived.

For those who would like to avail this service, the wheelchair guy’s cell number (for Bangalore City station only) is 9900789789.

While at it, we witnessed another improvement at the station: queue formation for general compartment of Udayan Express. This would definitively avoid the mad jostling and shoving for the general compartment which occurs once the train arrives and would also ensure seat availability on first come first serve basis.

Kudos to Indian Railways!

Knee under MRI scanner

As promised, I am back, enriched with the experience of being under an MRI scanner.

MRI or Multiple Resonance Imaging is a relatively recent development in medical scan devices. Though costlier than the other options, it is prefered because of the high level of detail achieved and also because there is no radiation involved which makes it safer than X-Rays and CT scans. There are complex principles of physics and maths in the background; nevertheless we can make an attempt to understand how an MRI works in simple terms.

Our body has water. Water is composed of hydrogen and oxygen. The nucleus of hydrogen is nothing but a proton.

First the scanner produces a strong magnetic field bringing all such protons to a state of alignment like a platoon of soldiers under command by a general. Next, the protons are showered with radio waves Many of the protons absorb the radio waves and lose alignment with the magnetic field. It's like circulating a boxes of chocolates through the platoon at attention. Some of the soldiers will run after the chocolates. But soon the magnetic field general growls order order and the errant protons snap back to their erstwhile positions. The cycle repeats. This falling out of alignment and snapping back produces a magnetic signal which can be tapped and mapped into an image.

The MRI section is two floors below the ground. We were late by about twenty minutes, thanks to Bangalore traffic, and I had to wait for about an hour to get another MRI slot. The lady behind the counter said MRI gets over in half an hour if the patient cooperates. One has to keep still, without a movement of the area under scan. I guess the person who went in before me did not realize this.

When my turn came, the attenders ushered me into a changing room with a pair of hospital clothes -- shirt and pajama with purple stripes. I chanced to bump into a radiologist and he told me I needn't change as far as whatever I was wearing had no metallic component. The magnet of the scanner is powerful enough to pull out anything metallic and it could ruin the scan. In fact if there are metal implants inside the body, MRI is not advised.

They made me lie down on a stretcher with a support bracket for the right knee. The arms of the bracket converged to hold the knee in place. Soon I was facing the long, deep tube of the scanner with an opening like a front loading washing machine door. The stretcher went in slowly, feet first, till only my head was outside and I could just read the buttons and symbols on the scanner.

One of the doctors had put a headphone over my ears to mute the machine noises during the scan with film music. I did not have to wait long to appreciate the step. The scanner roared and thudded for half an hour like a jet taking off and if it hadn't been for the headphone, I would have gone deaf. I watched the lightning bolt symbol (like Harry Potter's) on the machine glow on and off and other readings change though I couldn't make out much. All the while, as instructed by the doctor I kept my leg still. It was difficult with the racy music though. Chaiyan chaiyan from Dil Se is beaty enough to make a corpse get up and start jigging. So is muqabla muqabla featuring the boneless Prabhu Deva. It was hard but I managed to keep a still leg and cooperate; the scan got over in twenty five minutes, though I would have to wait for a couple of days before the processing of image and preparation of report.

The scan happened on Thursday. I visited the doctor on Saturday with the MRI report and strips upon strips of negative like images of the knee, in four sheets.

Good news! There is no damage to the ligament and hence no immediate need of any surgery. The meniscus has a tear which should heal naturally. I can resume normal life though without stressing the knee too much. I need to walk and climb steps slowly and wear a knee cap while going out. There is a simple raising-and-lowering-the-leg exercise to be done daily. However no running and no playing :-( till one month at the end of which Dr. Ramanna will examine the knee again.

Knee Jerk

I have been getting a lot of "Kya Hua" queries in the past couple of days from friends and well wishers about how it happened. So for the benefit of everyone I am posting this blog (borelog) about the injury to my right knee.

How did it happen?

We were having a project party at a resort on Friday and were playing a cricket match with a cricket bat and tennis ball. The whole world does that. However the fact that we were playing on a tennis court coupled with a decade old hairline crack (which incidentally was during another game of cricket) at the knee joint made all the difference.

I was playing rather well, having hit three glorious fours on the off (there was no legside anyway), but I was also playing with the last man and we were in the last couple of overs in our allotted ten. I placed the ball and scampered for a risky single. A very risky single. At the non-striker's end, I slipped but did not fall; the momentum of the arrested fall hammered my knee. I knew something was wrong but had no idea of the extent. There was no need to bat any further as my partner was run out at the striker's end.

I kept wickets while the opposition batted, gloving one catch and letting two slip by. I am more of a bowler than a batsman and that hurt more than my knee as the other team murdered our bowling in cold blood. They won with a few overs (out of ten) to spare.

For the next game I remained a spectator. After that we adjourned to other safe games like housie (I won bottom line!), carrom, snooker. Even ludo, snakes and ladder. I am not joking. They have these big boards of ludo for adults. We pay to play what was freely available as children.

I indulged in a round of carrom, all the while aware of the unusual sensation in the knee though the absence of any excruciating pain made me feel nothing was serious. Finally we had a good dinner and we drove back. I could drive without any problem and dropped a carload of folks in our office parking lot, before returning home.

That night, I could bend and flex the knee and slept a happy man, fully aware that by morning, all unusual sensations would be history.

The Morning After

There was no pain in the morning, just a hint of swelling. I had no clue then that the swelling was because of blood pooling into the knee joint. The swelling went up with the sun and kept going up even when the sun started going down. Khatra.

For twelve long years after the hairline crack in college during the 96 cricket world cup (which I watched with one leg straight, in braces), I have had this fear hiding in some cupboard of my mind that the right knee carried a ghost of the crack which would return to haunt some day.

So we ran to Manipal hospital at about 4 PM on Saturday.

Welcome to Manipal

Manipal is a well managed hospital with the latest facilities, yet affordable to the common man. First timers get a membership card with important tel nos and a hospital no. The card needs to be produced on subsequent visits.

Fortunately the orthopedics section was on the ground floor only. The reception cum waiting room is spacious with cushioned seats and a TV. A poster on the wall deconstructs the Greek "Orthopedic" as Ortho (straight) + paedos (child).

We did not have to wait long before the fair skinned Dr. Ramanna, the head of Orthopedics summoned us for consultation. The sexagenarian (I guess) was gentle and calm like all experienced doctors. Having spent so many years with Orthopedics, a patient for him might be no more than a framework of bones with skin draped over. He asked me to describe the problem and even smiled when I mentioned cricket. After examining the knee, he said the swelling was because of some fluid, maybe blood. I was advised to take an x-ray and return in about half an hour.

The x-ray room is in the basement which has many corridors and rooms though bold signs with arrows ensure that you do not get lost. The x-rays took five minutes to shoot and half an hour to develop. We grabbed a cup of tea before returning to Orthopedics with a couple of impressive negatives of the knee.

Dr. Ramanna examined the x-ray films against the white-lit monitor. There was no damage to the bone. Thank God. However there could be ligament damage. They would first suck out the fluid with a syringe and then perform an MRI (at a later date) to determine the extent and nature of damage. I would have to wear a knee brace in the intervening period. I asked if ligaments heal naturally or require surgery. Dr. Ramanna said some of the ligaments heal themselves but there is one which is like a rubber band. He did not need to say anything further for I could see a thick band snapping in the knee. Tak!

I was then moved to a bed in the adjacent room where the junior doctors took over. They explained the simple procedure: shave the knee, administer the local anesthetic, remove blood with syringe, dress with bandage. The junior doctor added that there would be "bearable pain". I thought any pain is bearable as long as it is not happening to you. To my question about pain despite the anesthetic, he said the anesthetic’s effect is only skin deep. Once the syringe touches the pericardium (hope I got it right), there would be pain. Hence in a philosophical way, beauty is an anesthetic, maybe that's why it is intoxicating.

Anyway, the sucking syringe made three trips to retrieve 50 ml of blood from the knee. It hurt the first time and I chanted Gayatri Mantra to overcome the pain. It helps.

They dressed the knee in a layer of gauze and doubled it up with crepe bandage. Finally they strapped a brace over the knee. The brace offers soft padding to the back of the knee while keeping the leg straight. There are touch fasteners (Velcro is only a company), a couple each above and below on the thigh and shins. The central part is a stretchable fabric which covers and holds the knee cap. Ironically, with slight adjustment, a knee brace can be used as a leg pad that cricket batsmen wear.

I started to get down from the bed but the nurse motioned me to stay still. She said they would provide me with a wheelchair. I said I could walk but apparently I could do so inside my house. Given the distance till the entrance of the hospital, walking wasn't an option.

We were soon on our way with the ward boy wheeling me away while everyone around stared. Maybe people stare less when Sachin walks out to bat, I thought. I wondered what was so odd about a guy in a wheelchair. What else do you expect in a hospital. Ballet dancers skating out smoothly?

We were lucky to get an autorickshaw at the portico though it was raining heavily. The return journey with a straight leg squeezed inside a dripping auto was fun but more about that later. The MRI scan is on Thursday when we will get a clearer picture of what happens beyond. Stay tuned for further updates.

New look Chandamama.com

Check out the brand new look of Chandamama.com. There is a new archives section as well which has old issues in different languages uploaded in pdf format. The archives are not yet complete though. Hindi archives, for e.g., has issues till 1957. Hopefully the remaining will be uploaded soon. A problem here is the huge size of a single issue -- about 60 MB -- that makes it tedious to open and download.

Train of Life

Life is like a train running on a long track with many equidistant stations, each station representing the completion of a year. The number of stations will vary from individual to individual. For some this could be as high as 90; for others only 30 or 40. Of course there are many who have to disembark from the train even before reaching the fifth station, for whom the journey stops even before it has begun properly. Not considering these unfortunate cases, on an average, say, a typical person crosses 70 stations before the end. The question is why subsequent stations seem to arrive quicker. Or in other words, in hindsight, why does it seem for example, that the time taken for my twelfth birthday is more than the time between my twelfth and twenty fourth birthdays.

One reason could be that the predictability of life increases as a person gains on in years. When life becomes predictable, naturally the element of challenge goes out. I am not saying life stops throwing up challenges beyond a certain age. However, as we move ahead, subsequent challenges stop intriguing and enriching our life. We carry on as if in a stupor, as if programmed to live instead of having an active say in moving life forward. We play safe and always try to find tried and tested solutions for our problems. Or in other words, the train is on autopilot mode since the track is now familiar and won’t change and hence it crosses more and more stations without the driver having to take particular notice. This in turn makes us makes us feel that the train is accelerating.

I remember till I entered teenage, there were many different professions that future life held in store. In the order of decreasing preference these were: locomotive driver, scientist, astronaut, sailor. I dreamt about driving a steam engine on never ending tracks; inventing a little space ship and zooming into the infinities of space; exploring the depths of the ocean in a submarine. The possibility, albeit remote, of these dreams turning to reality some day made life richer, fuller, and bigger. Life was worth twelve years in the first twelve years. In the next twelve, maybe ten. I am not sure how much the next twelve will be worth but I would be surprised if it will be more than about eight.

So how do we slow down our train? How do we get more life per life?

The answer lies in doing something extra beyond the daily humdrum of life, something that you truly love. For e.g. you could try to learn a musical instrument like the guitar. This may not guarantee a world tour of music shows a decade hence but you may be good enough to stage shows for the people in your apartment complex or even a close group of friends. Or you could take up a university course through a distance learning program in a subject that always fascinated you. You might be an IT professional with a decade of experience though your free time is spent pondering how galaxies form. Maybe the time is just right to take up a course in astronomy. Knowledge enriches.

There is a caveat here. Whatever you do, make sure you do not do it primarily for money. The moment an activity is driven by money, it will enrich your bank account but not you. If money comes along, be grateful and accept. Don’t start a part-time business in children’s toys just for the heck of it; start one if you still love playing with toys and feel you could introduce interesting new designs.

Believe me, whatever extra you do, as long as you love doing it, when you look back at the end of say, a decade, it will seem worth the effort. Definitely, it will slow the train so that the journey will seem fulfilling. It will broaden your horizon. Who knows you may also discover the true purpose of your being – why were you put here on earth?

Sunset

Sunsets are beautiful. There is something magical in the moments when the Sun slowly dips below the horizon and disappears. The brightness of day fades away to twilight and the enigmatic night prepares to set in. Throughout the world, and especially in hill stations, there are designated sunset points from where one can glimpse sunsets in full glory. Sea shores also offer an equally good view. The sunset that I cherish most is the one I witnessed while on the San Diego beach on Labor Day in September 2001. We were a group of friends in US on different client projects and were spending the weekend at San Diego. Towards evening we gathered at the beach without any specific intention to watch the sunset, though in hindsight I am glad about the decision. An hour or so before sunset, sun rays embroidered the sea water golden. It was like watching a giant blue undulating carpet being slowly threaded with gold by a master craftsman sitting high above. Gradually the Sun generously donated all his gold in a steady stream and turned into an orange disc. The round and pale disc reminded so much of a saffron-clad hermit clad renouncing the world forever by descending into the depths of the ocean. Most of the activity on the beach stopped as people gathered in groups and all eyes turned westward, beholding this spectacle. Light peeled away from the canopy of the sky with each passing moment as the Sun inched below, first a complete circle, then a semicircle, and finally a thin arc of a strip dissolving into the horizon. The moment when the sun went down completely, there was a sharp dip in light which broke the trance of the people gathered. Awestruck, the people around clapped as if to thank the sun for a bright day and to cheer him for the next.

Telegram

Republic day, 1984.

A dispassionate voice screams “telegram”, disturbing our afternoon reverie. Outside there is this guy clad in khaki complete with the Gandhi topi that post and telegraph employees still don throughout the country. He dismounts from his bicycle and through his thick square black frame spectacles his eyes dilate as he fixes his gaze upon me. From the back carrier of the bike, he pulls out a bundle of envelopes tied loosely with a jute string and dangles a small strip of paper. “There is a telegram, beta. Send an elder to collect.” My little heart flutters as I inform dad. He comes out and with a worried look. The messenger takes my dad’s signature on a separate sheet of paper and hands over the evil little note to him. I read the note along with my dad :

“Father died. Cremation and burial over.”

My maternal grandfather has expired. Mom weeps inconsolably.

I run back to the door just in time to see the rickety old bicycle clank past. The death messenger is on his way to the next house. He would return seven years later, this time to announce granny’s death.

Two decades hence, communication has seen a paradigm shift. Now all news whether good or bad travels almost instantaneously by means of mobile and landlines. Often a fancy, racy ringtone of the mobile may be the harbinger of devastating news; mobiles are not yet smart enough to ascertain the seriousness of the call and switch the ring to a melancholic tune in case the news is bad. One moment you may be pressing the talk button while still singing along with the tone and the next moment, your world could come crashing down. Sometimes I wonder whether the good old days were much better when the unpleasant sound of “Telegram” at least prepared you for the bad news.

Imperial Saloon

I recommend Imperial Men’s Parlour to all men in South Bangalore for whom Koramangala BDA Complex is within reach. They give you a cool haircut at a reasonable price – Rs 40 for a haircut and Rs 20 for a shave. There are other value added services like face massage and head massage that will only make you feel better. The saloon is well ventilated and one does not get the stuffy feeling that is so common in saloons. At one time six customers can be serviced, with seating provision for an additional six just outside the saloon. While waiting for your turn, you can flip through recent magazines, mostly filmy. The barbers are very professional and there is consistency across barbers in the quality of the haircut. The environment is clean and hygienic. They use a clean, printed cloth to wrap you in, so that the clipped hair does not fall on your clothes; this is common in all saloons. However these guys also wrap a band of napkin a couple of inches wide around your neck to prevent hair-ends from collecting in the neck-shoulder junction.

Madivala Market

Those living in South Bangalore (BTM Layout, Koramangala, HSR Layout, Bommanahalli) will do well to visit the vegetable market at Madivala (MM) to satisfy their green-grocery needs.

Getting there is easy. If you are on Hosur road coming from Silk Board and moving towards Forum in your own vehicle, simply take a right onto Sarjapur Road at the Masjid junction (Hosur Road/Sarjapur Road), go straight and turn right at the first signal (this is a one way and only right turn is permitted), go straight and take the right at Krupanidhi college. This stretch of road till Madivala police stations is what constitutes Madivala Market. Here you will find myriads of fruit and vegetable vendors on the 2 service (side) roads, some with their carts and the others under colorful awnings stretched in place by ropes tethered to the trees lining the path.  

I agree there are umpteen horticulture (vegetable) shops in South Bangalore. Additionally a lot of hawkers push their vegetable loaded carts through the mains and crosses of these areas loudly announcing their green merchandise. Still, MM is strongly recommended for the following reasons:

1. Freshness: The stuff sold at MM has a “just plucked” freshness. Spinach is greener and tomatoes redder. The reason is easy to see. Most of the stuff at MM sells quickly with regular shop owners making a beeline to stock up their inventory. Hence new stocks arrive daily at MM.  


2. Price: The price difference between MM and the regular horticulture shops is so huge that it is almost like shopping in another town. For e.g. fresh tomatoes are available for Rs 5/kg at MM whereas if you go inside BTM Layout the price is at least Rs 16/kg. For a family of 2 an entire week’s vegetable supply from MM will cost under Rs 100. Compare this with what you are shelling out buying from regular shops.


3. One roof: You will get everything you want in the stretch. There are hawkers dealing exclusively in a couple of vegetables (say potatoes and onions) and those that have a good variety.


4. Picking allowed: Most of the hawkers allow you to pick your own vegetables by kneeling on the pavement. They will gladly give you the pan of the weighing scale which you can fill with your choicest pick of vegetables and hand over to them. In regular shops, however, the shopkeeper stands between you and the display of vegetables with the counter forming a barrier. Often there will be a huge mirror reflecting the stepwise assortment of vegetables carefully displayed to deflect you momentarily while he gleefully stuffs your bag with rotten stuff that you notice much later.

It is advisable to tour MM once a week. But do carry your own bag as most of the hawkers here do not keep plastic bags. Also be careful while crossing the road as the main road is a one way with no signals and heavy traffic pounds past every second. Just bear in mind the fate of a ripe tomato that gets trampled underfoot!

Kites

While on a casual stroll a few days back, I was pleasantly surprised when a big black kite fell just ahead of me. It instantly revived memories two decades old.

As a kid I raced to the terrace to greet the first ray of dawn, with an assortment of kites and the related paraphernalia: reels fully wound with twine and maanja (coloured twine coated with powdered glass); a handful of leftover rice from the night, which served as glue for torn kites; and optionally a younger assistant, to hold the reel, while I manipulated the string.

The kites came in different shapes, sizes, and colours. The majority were, however, square shapes made of thin coloured paper with a skeleton of two bamboo reeds placed like an arrow strung on a bow. The tail was either a tassel of thin paper strips, for smaller kites, or a triangle, for bigger ones.

Sometimes the kite proved stubborn during the initial lift off, especially when there was no breeze. Like a deflated balloon, it flopped to the base after the tug, pull, and release of the string. These failed attempts were however viewed as knocks on the wind's door; those devoted to kites should learn to be patient with the wind God. And the wind relented after all, gathering the kite in its arms and carrying it higher and higher toward the clouds.

As the kite went up, I gleefully watched the uncoiling thread twirl the reel with the finger like extensions passing through my lightly clenched fists like an axle. After attaining a certain height the kite is an obedient puppet at the end of its master's string. I made it dance, swerve, and dip; dive like a perfect 10 gymnast; soar majestically like an eagle; or simply stay put in mid air.

Additionally, I participated in kite wars where the maanjas of two different kites tried to severe each other. The orphan kite then meandered down, even as a group of noisy children armed with sticks and branches ran behind to catch it. In a bid to "own my prey" I often entwined the orphaned kite's string with mine and slowly brought it down, the operation akin to spacecraft docking.

Bay Area View

(Sometime in October 2003)

Today we went out in the late evening with Sharat. He took us on a long drive through the Calaveras Mountains. There is a circular route carved through the hills for bike riders though cars can also make use of it. The road was always narrow and winding sharply all along, with the fear of veering off the edge and plunging into the unknown always looming ahead of us.

Yet the sight of animals in the ranches flanking the narrow road was so refreshing. It was such a welcome relief, watching the other animals after dealing weeks and weeks with only workaholic humans. We spotted a couple of horses in stables near the foot of the mountains. Higher up there were cows grazing peacefully, with calves bounding towards their mothers as night drew nearer. The cows here have a thick coat of dark fur, apparently to fight the cold winters.

Occasionally a deer would spring down to the wooden fence bordering the road and throw curious glances in our direction with its big black eyes. We started on a 2 lane road at the foot of the mountain but the 2 lanes gradually merged into one. However Sharat proved to be an expert driver as he negotiated the curves of the road smoothly, like a figure skater on ice.

The best part of the trip was when at the highest point of the road. We parked the car and came out to a breathtaking view of the entire Silicon Valley. To our right was San Francisco, with the huge silvery sheet of the bay absolutely calm in the twilight; one could have so easily mistaken it for a big piece of land polished and shone diligently. We could also make out the bay bridge joining Oakland to SFO, like closely spaced twin ribs against the body of the bay. To our left was San Jose with the high rise downtown buildings like match box constructions from that height. And in between were the Sunnyvales and Cupertinos, the Mountain Views and Santa Claras, all so tranquil in the fading light.

The entire bay area (barring the outlet to the ocean) is surrounded almost circularly by hills – the reason it is called Silicon Valley. At the time of viewing, the Sun was behind a patch of clouds, just preparing to dive below the horizon. Shafts of sunlight stole through sometimes, bathing a patch of land below in pale orange. Most of the surrounding hill ring appeared to be a high plain solid gray wall with a jagged top, since sunlight wasn’t illuminating the hills directly and we couldn’t make out the individual contours and folds.

You have to view the bay from that precise point to appreciate that the heart of the world IT industry is in a valley.

The return journey was no less exciting. Our car hurtled down a steep incline of a road, like a roller coaster. No sooner had Sharat jammed on the brakes than a strange rubbery odor filled the car interiors and a wispy white smoke emanated from the front. We stopped immediately and parked the car in a gas station. A preliminary inspection revealed that the brakes had overheated. We let it cool down and cooled off ourselves by sipping on some hot French Vanilla coffee available in the nearby store.