Father, o dear father...

TamilNadu CM Karunanidhi plans to retire from politics by the mid of next year. He will be transferring power to his son and planning to dedicate all his time in writing and social service. Hope he will keep his promise.

In my opinion, MK is the most responsible father in the world. From three wives, he has a few children and out of this, three are in politics. All these ‘children’ are decently placed in various positions. This responsible father goes to any extent to ensure that his children’s future is secured. Remember the images of a concerned father visiting New Delhi a few months back to plead the case of his eldest son and daughter with the Madame? He must be a role model to all we fathers.

But Vinod’s father was a serious stuff. He was in fact a terror. Vinod, as any one in our gang always preferred to freak around. In all our leisure times, he was an unavoidable part. But, if his father spots him anywhere outside, he immediately breaks a stick from the nearby fence and starts beating Vinod. We all used to feel pity of our friend and angry on this terrorist father. Vinod’s elder brother too was a constant victim of this terror till a small mush grew over his upper lip.

I do not fault with this father. Perhaps he hid his love in his mind and showed off responsibility outside. A responsible father, in the olden concepts was a bloke that brooks no nonsense. So, flexing his muscles and instilling fear in the young minds were common practices among the olden days’ fathers. Vinod’s father was a typical father of that era. He wanted his children to be more disciplined and concentrate more in their studies and household chorus. If this approach to tender minds produced the desired result is always debatable. Or does it deserve a debate? The past is buried. No such fathers exist in this modern era. This is an age of single parent, mind you.

Children of our age were forced to live in constant fear of their father. He talked very less to his sons and daughters and punished them severely for even minor mistakes. In the same breathe, I should add that there were several fathers who were less serious towards their children. In our childhood, we could never play with fancy toys. There were no Chinese toys flooding the markets. We had to make do with whatever we had in our surroundings. “Appam” moulded in sand using coconut shells, mini kitchen using coconut shells as vessels and stones, sand, leaves and seeds as vegetables were the favorite past time for the kids of those days. I do not think our fathers had to spend anything on toys or any other entertainments.

As for the school expenses, there were no autonomous ‘industries’ offering their products as they do presently. In our humble educational institutions, parents had to spend very nominal amounts for our studies. Perhaps, the biggest expense the parents had to meet for our studies was at the beginning of the new school year. An umbrella, one or two pairs of dresses-if necessary, books and a pen were the major things parents had to spend on.

Remembering umbrellas, our schools as in the case of every school, used to open on first of June – if were not a holiday. This is the date the monsoon also keeps with. It is impossible to walk without an umbrella during monsoon season. Till, we had a number of fellows who never owned an umbrella. They had to either take a ‘lift’ in other’s umbrellas or use plantain leaves as umbrellas.

Have you not fully surrendered to nostalgia by this time? I am sure, most of the readers of my writ ups had a very humble beginning in their life. Most of us had no silver spoon in the mouth, when our mothers gave birth to us. With our hard work and of course a great deal of luck, we have reached somewhere. Consequently, our children dare live a no fear for tomorrow life. So, take a deep sigh now and then read on.

Coming to the fearsome fathers of the yesteryears. Our father was not a serious man. I do not remember him to have beaten us even once. However we lived with him when we were too young to remember anything of him and then, when we were grown up and started going to colleges. Our father returned from Vizag and settled in Olavaipe when I was studying in first year pre-degree. During the gap between this, we were looked after by our grandma. Grandpa, like the typical terror instilling father, used to watch us from a distance. For us, our father was a seasonal phenominon. Once during monsoon and once during Vishu or Onam he makes the appearance along with our mom and spends a month or two with us. Honestly, in our childhood memories, father does not find a prominent place. I feel so sad to write this, but it is a fact. Now, I do the same to my kid. For him too, I am a seasonal father. With a little fear in my heart I used to imagine my kid sitting like me in front of a laptop a few years later and write stories of his past. Where does his paa get to stand in his memoirs? Knowing well the pitfalls of such a scenario, the life that we chose to live goes on. Just confused about finding an answer about How much is too much….

Desert Livivng -11

Today (02.12.09) I saw a beautiful thing in the desert. Beautiful thing in the desert? I too wonder how, but yes. The moon, in its enchanting best was just peeping through the top of a distant hillock. Gradually it came out of the hiding to show off its full shape. It was a full moon day. And thus I have completed seeing 500 full moons, well almost close to that. Guess, what is my age? The moon raised from the eastern hillock by 1630 itself. The grandeur of the raising was hard to miss, but it had limitations. What could the moon light beautify in the land of nothingness? Where ever we look, we can see only vacant lands. Nothing except bushes grows there. Watching a moonlit desert never gives any kind of pleasure.

Imagine a backwater body or a river. You are sitting in a small hand rowing wooden boat and the boat is slowly moving on the gentle water. The moon is just above the coconut trees on the bank. The refection of the moon in the water gives a thick line. Everything we see looks bright. Lively. Heart brims with joy. The beauty that transcends carries away one and all who has a heart to enjoy. We used to enjoy this splendor during our usual journey from Kuthiyathode to our village in the nights on boat.

I have to mention one more thing about 02.12.2009. Twenty Five years back, in Bhopal thousands died on this day. We have almost forgotten this. The miseries and helplessness of the victims are just their personal problems. We have nothing to do with it. If the treatment is not available or compensation is not yet given, let them run from pillar to post. Luckily, in our country we have made enough pillars and posts and adopted running between this our national game. Earlier it was Hockey. Now everyone outside India learnt hockey and we Indians were terribly marginalized in our own game. I too read the news paper articles about the Bhopal gas tragedy. All papers dwelt at length on what had happened in that night. It is no doubt horror of its worst kind that had unfolded there. Mind got disturbed, till I finished reading the paper. But, it has not directly affected me. So, why should I bother about it? In this desert, no one even organized a candle light vigil in memory of the victims. If anyone did that, I could also have lighted a candle! Or if anyone took initiative to collect a monetary fund to help the victims I would have contributed my one day’s basic salary.

Syrians like many other Arab world hate Israel. Yesterday during discussion I deliberately raked up the issue of Palatine with the Syrian workers. They were shivering with anger when I started talking in support of Israel. Even a child is taught to hate Israel. Syria has compulsory military service for the youth only to keep everyone prepared for war against Israel. They believe that peace with their neighbor is not possible as long as they are occupying the Golan Heights. Whatever be the politics of this issue, Syrians are a motivated lot when it comes to Israel.

Desert Living - 10

Let me start with the First Blast this time. This is the title of a TV show on the Dawn News. Look, the name of the show. Does this not suggest Pakistani obsession with blasts? However, the content of the programme does not contain anything explosive. Instead, it is a programme that discusses the present day state of affairs in and around the world, especially in Pakistan.

Though I am not so appreciative of Dawn news, occassionally I tune to this. We do not have access to any of the Indian news channels here. The other two channels we get here are BCC and CNN. Both,in my view have their own agenda. There is no independent reporting in these news channels. At least this is my opinion

Prima facie, Dawn News is a replica of NDTV of India. Pretend to be elitist in a way. They too repeat the same news items round the clock, till some other news occur or created. The other day the theme of the show The First Blast on Dawn News was about increasing suicide trend among the Pakistanis. Of course, they dealt with the suicide bombings too. Nothing to hide per se!

A very interesting observation was made by the gentleman participated in the show. A common Pakistani driver breaks any rule in the rule book on the Pakistan roads. He does not care for any rule. Put this same guy on a plane, fly him to Dubai, which is just 90 Minutes from Pak. Upon landing there, the same guy will be the first person to abide by every rule in the book over there in Dubai. Why this 180 degree shift in attitude? Consequences. That is the only answer to this. People behave according to circumstances.

As I have been typing in the confines of my cell, guys sitting in the next cell over a drink in this chilled weather are discussing about punch list, termination details, pre-commissioning and check sheets. Look, they are just not enjoying the nectar; they brought the work also with them. They take all the work to the mess hall too.

We got an Indian cook recently. He makes sambar, rasam, moru kolambu alias pulissery, vegetables and umpteen number of meat based dishes. He even made aviyal the other day. Guys are expected to have merry time in the mess. But, sadly, the Indian benches in the mess always have only one subject to discuss – work. Indian menu is very tasty after the arrival of the cook, but we were denied of enjoying it due to enthusiasm of our colleagues.

When I was in Qatar, our Indian mess had a few thousand customers. Still the food that we used to get was of extremely deplorable quality. The chapattis were like rubber gaskets. Every lunch and dinner had only one menu, with daal as the presiding dish. We were eating food only to sustain life. Back home, there are so many hungry bellies waiting to be fed with pizza from the Dominos and chicken fry from the best restaurants in the locality. We had to eat for them!

I do not know many things. Let me be more specific. I do not know most of the things. But then, who knows a lot of things? Even Isaac Newton claims that he knew very little. Eistein might not dare say he knew everything. But, the most irritating thing in the construction field is the ignorance of this fact. I come across a caustic comment almost routinely- “that fellow does not know anything”. It is impossible to correct anyone. Let us all live in our ignorance and pretend that we know everything. There is a beautiful couplet in jnanappana. The rough translation of it is that - look, because of me, this world is surviving. It is true, if we observe people around us, especially in a construction field.No denying the fact that, the number of such people in other field is nothing less, but I have constant brush with the guys in construction field and I can vouch for the behaviour here..

Demob has started. What is this demob? It took a few days for me to decipher what was meant by the word demo. I came across this word, when I was in Qatar. There, as the project was nearing completion, the administration team started preparing list of workers to be demobilized, or in a simple term, sent home. As I mentioned in an earlier part of this sequel, workers in that large camp used to get midnight knock on the door only to be told by the administration’s dreaded soldiers that they have been given marching order.

Around three hundred workers were asked to discontinue their work at site here. Use and throw has a sugar coated name- demoilisation. Three hundred poor Syrians were thrown to the streets, yet again. In sharp contrast, the babus look forward to the demob with great enthusiasm. They even demand demob. Back home, in the circle of kith and kins, life of extravaganza unfolds. A short lived one. Though, the expats of the olden days lived their vacations at home as if there was no tomorrow, the more sensible newer generations are cautious in spending the hard earned money. They tend to spend more time within the notorious 1200 sqft world where the inhabitants are a spouse and a maximum number of two kids. They need not worry about bank balance as thousands of dollars have already piled up in the account. The only effort one has to take when holidaying at home is to just walk into an ATM counter and withdraw wads of currencies as he/she pleases. Look, the two diametrically opposite scenarios emerging out of demob!

As the babus move out of the site upon being demobilised, they promise to make phone calls and send mails regularly to the hitherto friends. They do keep the promise after reaching home, well, almost, as a sincere effort towards keeping the friendship warm. Slowly but surely, the warmth dissipates away and within a short span, ice develops. Again another site and another set of friends. The routine is repeated. Nothing different happens there too, nor anyone tries to do anything different. It is always convenient to keep old friendships in the cold storage. It never gets spoilt, at the least. I too have a number of such friendships in my cold storage .

The Sub Millionaires

This time too my name is not there in the list of India’s ten richest people. I feel largely disappointed. Even after toiling like this for the past two decades, what did I achieve? I do not own a posh villa in the metropolis, I do not own a S class merc, I do not have a club membership. I don’t think moksha is possible in this birth. But still, there is a saving grace. None of the guys and gals I know too do not appear in the list!!
Shilpa’s wedding dress was worth 75 Lacs. Still many parts in her body could not be effectively covered. When she decided to dress up in the traditional way it could have been a little more decent. In reel life however she reveals everything for money. At least in this real life event she should have appeared as a ‘bharatiya nari’ .
Though the life is in the desert, we never feel scarcity of anything here. Water in abundance – open the tap, clear water flows nonstop. Open the refrigerator – unlimited numbers of packaged drinking water bottles are stacked in it. Switch on the air conditioner it gives hot or cold air as per our requirement. Another switch starts the TV and another one water heater. But, interestingly, no one needs to switch on any of these gadgets because none of them are switched off ever. Just click the print tab on the PC, reams of papers are printed by the printer within a few seconds. Guys print anything they feel like even if it is of no use. There are many instances where people print hundreds of pages by mistake. They do not even turn up at the printer to collect these ‘waste’ papers.
As I have been typing this, I have just dropped a water bottle into the bin. Still a little water was remaining in it. But who cares for it? Water is supplied in sealed bottles of One and a half litre capacity. Imagine a minimum of one bottle each is consumed by each person everyday. How many plastic bottles will be dumped into the dust bins? This camp consists of at least 200 people. So, two hundred bottles are added to the disaster called plastic.
Human insensitivity towards climatic changes and global warming is alarming. Waste - this is the most produced item in Gulf, especially at project sites.
In a well developed industrialized Gulf country, we can see tens of flares. Unused gas and petroleum products are burnt away through these flares. It is frightening to look at them. The flares will have heights even as high as 50 meters –in my guess.
As all of us know, more than 90% of the people working in the project sites in Gulf are from India and other developing/undeveloped countries. They must know the value of everything. Still, the way they behave suggests that there is no tomorrow for them.
For example, the air conditioners. Every container used for accommodation and office at site are provided with air conditioners. Everyone leaves his room by the day break only to return by late in the evening. During this long gap, the air conditioners will be working. No one cares to switch them off. The excuse is that, if the ac is switched off, due to no circulation of air, room will be very hot. So, when they come back from job, the room will be too hot to enter. They can not afford to sit in the room just for a few minutes in the hot room.
Next come water heaters and exhaust fans in the containers. None of these equipment are switched off, while the occupants leave the container. A large campus at a project site may contain upto 200 hundred to 300 hundred portable cabins. If all air conditioners, water heaters and the toilet exhaust fans are working round the clock, what will be the power waste? We can see huge diesel generators of minimum 500KVA capacity lined up in the camp that will run non stop.
Tissue papers have very great demand here. We Indians, as far as my belief goes, use handkerchief to clean our hands, face mouth and nose. Here, the same Indians, after washing their hands, just pulls out several pieces of tissue paper and use them to clean various parts of their body and dump them in to the waste basket. For each sneeze, several papers go down to the drain.
Frightening. But we all learnt to live with this fear. No matter how difficult the consequences be.
No amount of story telling about desert living will not be complete if something about Kuboos is not mentioned. Without Kuboos, life in Gulf is not complete. When I landed in Qatar last time, I had the first encounter with this Arabian bread. It is like our chapathi in shape but is made of a blend of maida and cornflake flour.and a little bit of yeast. It is baked instead of toasting like our chapathi. It has no specific taste. So like our chapathis, we have to eat it with some dish. Kuboos are made in mass quantity and are packed in plastic covers and like our bread are sold in shops. Arabs use this as their main food item. I believe, if we can learn the right combination of the Arabian bread, there is a good scope for making it there in India. I am sure it has a good business potential. Who knows one day you will not be known as a Kuboos baron! Take a plunge and see the result. I shall buy them regularly.
A few days ago I came across a very interesting scene. With sincere apologies to all you good human beings, may I say this too is a story related to animals. The other day, when we were on our way to the site, we spotted a herd of sheep grazing on the bushes. To guard them there were three dogs. When these dogs spotted our car from a distance, they took position as if an enemy is approaching them. As the car neared them the dogs stared barking and running after the car menacingly. The car sped past these animals unmindful of their war cries. The dogs ran for a distance and stopped. What must the dogs have thought of this incident? They must have felt proud of doing their duty of protecting the sheep from the enemies. They did their duty with sincerity.
And the master? What would have the master been doing while the dogs were on duty? He must be stretching on a well cushioned arm chair and sipping a cup of chai (Chai in Arabic means tea as in India). Or enjoying kuboos with a deliciously cooked mutton fry along with his favorite sauce. The loyal guards do their duty with all sincerity, even ready to lay down their life for their master. Most importantly, without laying claim to the fruits of this “karma”. How many of us can follow this animal in this? Certainly I can not. I never like to abuse anyone by calling him/her dog. This, by any standard, is a direct affront to a noble animal. We shall never insult this animal by equating it with human beings!
The sheep eat grass for their master. Somewhere in the shelter the master is counting the money these sheep are going to generate. They may hardly realize that the end destination of all of them is a food processing centre. Food processing centre is the decent name for the slaughter house.
The dogs, when they grow older and render useless for the master, will also be deserted by the master. They will be thrown to the streets forcing them to fend for themselves.
This is life. Emotions and bonds have no place in life. Everything is as per convenience. Attitudes and relations change as per situations. But still dogs are ever ready to bark and bite and even lay down their lives for their masters 24x7.

Jayan - The Malayalee hero

We could never see a Jayan Movie without moving ourselves to the edge of the seat. Rather I should say edge of the bench. Our the nearest “cinema kottaka” at Poochakkal had benches as seats.

Jayan was our hero, perhaps the first super star in Malayalam cinema. We strongly believed that there was nothing he couldn’t do. He could speak English so fluently. Remember the dialogues in Angadi?. “ …. we may be coolies, but not beggers….”. We could not understand even a single word of what he told, but all of us woke up from our seats in the ‘kottaka’ and gave him a standing ovation. Electrifying. This is the simplest word I have to explain the feelings we had had that time. In ‘Manushya Mrugam he fights with a wild elephant. An elephant can never match Jayan. His action thrillers used to take us through a cliff hanger of tension, anxiety and at the end the usual relief.

Angadi, Karimbana, Moorkhan, Kannapanunni, Kolilakkam.. the list is long. Our excitement starts when the mike laden jeep rolls into our village, loudly announcing the arrival of another Jayan movie on the “enchanting silver screen of Poochakkal Royal”. The silver screen was neither enchanting nor the quality of the film good. As the jeep passes by, they throw out notices too. The most unwanted words in these notices were “…the rest, on the silver screen”. All the notices used to carry this. We run after the jeep and collect maximum number of notices. During every release of movie at Royal Theatre, the jeep visits our village. We had a big collection of notices for a long time. As we started losing our innocence, we felt keeping notices was too silly. I still wonder where I lost my innocence. In my belief the most beautiful thing I ever have seen in my life is the innocence of a child. We have a friend in Kochi. He still collects stamps. Perhaps a little bit of innocence is left out in him still! Long live Stamp Hunter.

So, the trek to the ‘kottaka’ starts eventually. Our gang sets out early, lest we may miss the tickets. We were allowed to go only for the matinee shows as it was difficult to walk back after night shows. At the ring of the first bell, the box office opens. There were three bells before the start of the cinema. The second was to enter the theatre and at the third the movie starts. What follows the first bell is a commission. Jostling and swearing in front of the box office is very common. As the responsible citizens of a great nation, we were never told of importance of discipline and advantages of standing in queue. I don’t think we are teaching this to our children also.

A few of our gang members were very smart. Without them, it would never have been possible for us to get tickets. Prominent among them was Radha alias Radhakrishnan. The box office had two small holes to disburse tickets. Each hole used to have three to four hands squeezed into it with money in their hands. It takes a lot of physical efforts to lay hand on the coveted tickets. At last Radha manages to get the tickets. Dream is about to come true. This was the moment we have been waiting to witness- Our hero in his captivating best. Though not in flesh and blood standing in front of us, it was enough for us to have his darshan in two dimensional images. His looks, his dialogues, his action…we go breathless several times. Hair stand straight many times.

We preferred to see Jayan cinemas if Nazeer also acts in it, because, in this combination we could see more action. They fight each other at first and in that fight no one wins. Then they become friends and beat the enemy.

In the movie Kannappanunni, Nazeer was in distress as the villain cornered him. Tension runs high in the theater. Nail biting scene. Where is Jayan? We felt restless. He is not seen when he was most wanted. But heroes are like this always. An element of surprise is always hidden in such nail biting scenes. Perhaps that was the beauty of the otherwise hollow movies like this. When Jayan appears mounted on the horse back, we all jumped for joy and started clapping our hands. For a few moments we were standing on our feet and clapping- virtually forgetting the surrounding.

Many a time our hero risked even his life to save chastity of the heroines. Jayabharati, Seema and many other heroines of ours escaped from the assaults by villains like Balan K Nair only because of the heroics of Jayan. Those days heroine was expected to be a well brought up soft woman, whose only job in the movies was to give glamour. But then even after several years, status of women in reel life is still the same. She need not even reveal everything those days, as there were specialists to do this job. In the present days, heroines go to any length that even Silk Smitha or Anuradha might hesitate to do. But the themes of yester years mainly projected chastity of woman a holy cow whereas the concept of man’s chastity was a non issue. Our movies did a yeoman’s service to glorify rape. Thankfully our films have done away with this trend some where on the way.

As is true to the saying, good people are called back by the God early. One morning, that sad news had come. The Radio news announced the death of Jayan. He was doing a stunt scene for the movie Kolilakkam. It was a big shocking news for all of us. We have not enjoyed his cinemas to our heart’s content yet. We wanted him to live longer to give us entertainers like Angadi. But fate had some other plan, as always.

After Jayan’s death, imitating his actions and dialogues were a rage among us. Our friend Uthaman was very good at imitating Jayan’s voice. We all tried to speak in his voice. We collected a lot of pictures of his. The pictures showing Jayan hanging from the helicopter while shooting the fateful stunt scene was like hot cakes in the road side stalls in the Temple festivals.

29 years down the line Jayan still lives in our memories though he is laughing stock for the new generations. Our comedy show teams are vying with each other to portray him in the most vulgar way to evoke laughter in the audience. His mannerisms and dialogues are being twisted to a disparaging level. These comedy shows, sadly, are the toast of the Big Stage Shows at present. Doesn’t the Demi God of the yesteryears deserve a better deal from the new generations? He was the greatest entertainer of a generation who had never seen a television or a computer during their childhood.

Memories of the Superstar had made indelible pug marks in our hearts.

Jayan, we can never laugh over the vulgarity in the name of comedy. But we can not stop it too. Please excuse us and also the ones who do it. After all it is their livelihood.

Monsoon stories

We had no practice of wearing shirts while going out to spend our leisure time. The only thing we had in abundance those days was time. The main assembly point for spending our time was the temple premises. Everyone assembles there after the school time. Everything else can wait, even the home work. What follow is varieties of games. From ‘Kuttiyum Kolum’ to ‘Kallanum Polisum’ to Kabddi we play as the day’s mood demands.
Though we had so many favourite games, Bhagavan and a few other guys had some other preferences too. They prefer to play with cashew nuts. In our area this game was called ‘andi kali’. There was a particular kind of a game in which a few cashew nuts and coins are thrown to a small hole. Then each nut or a coin is hit with a small stone standing at a distance. Whoever manages to hit the target owns it. Bhagavan had an awesome aim. He could hit the nuts and even coins several times in the game. Since he was from a poor back ground, it was a mean of earning a few cashew nuts and coins for him. In my belief, the reason for his sharpness might be his poor background. A burning belly makes people do anything. The nick name bhagavan stuck to Sasikumar because of this enviable capability. The losers in the game were jealous and started calling him Bhagavan.
Sasikumar and family suddenly left Olavaipe one day. His parents sold off whatever they had in our village and went to a remote place. Since then we never met Bhagavan. Where ever he is, may the Almighty keep him happy. I don’t know if I can recognize him if I come across this man at the corner of a street.
Sasikumar’s house premises had a big ‘ambazham’ tree. (sorry I do not know the English word for ambazham). During the season, it used to give a lot of ambazhanga. I am not sure if we can call Ambazhanga a fruit. But it is extremely sour while it is raw. This fruit in raw state, if kept in salt mixed water for a long time, turns into a tasty thing. A chutney of this ambazhanga with coconut is really a very delicious dish. Did you ever try it out?
Bhagavan’s family earns a few bucks from these fruits every year. My grandma too buys raw ambazhanga from them and soaks them in salt water in an earthen pot. These earthen pots are famously called bharani. Bharani has of late become a showcase item in the modern days rather than a common utensil in the grandma’s kitchen.
Now in Olavaipe, it is hard to spot ambazham tree. Recently, when I came back from India to Syria, I brought pickle made of salted mango. Tasting this, one of my colleagues here opined that it was salted ambzhanga. Though it was not the truth, I did not deny this. Anyway, I thanked him silently for bringing the memories of my beloved friend Sasikumar.
So, the question of wearing shirt does never arise. No shirts, no foot wares and no restrictions from the elders. We were above all control. How can anyone freely involve in games like hide and seek, “kallanm Polisum” or kabaddi with shirts and foot wares on? These extra fittings suit only the modern day kids who fiddle with jockeys and key boards all the time while gulping Complain and crunching Lays.
Above all we had a very crucial mission on our shoulders. Making our Victory Sports Club the Rial Madrid of Olavaipe. It could have been impossible for the ‘sports boys’ to achieve this if we turned up on the field in these paraphernalia. Bare feet and bare chests were the best gears to create the edge of the seat experience while playing the game with the ball.
But here too Babuchettan intervenes, here too! He wants us to wear shirt while going out. We never liked this diktat. We initially fought it tooth and nail. We dodged him several times. Still, as in the case of any of his diktats, we had to ultimately surrender and we did. We were exceptions in the group. I don’t remember if any of our friends wore shirt while spending the leisure time. Of late, the practice of wearing shirt even while sitting at home has become quiet normal. Look at the serial actors. They wear the costliest saris, churidars, pants and shirts even if the scene is kitchen. The highly urbanized behaviour has caught up with even the remotest villages now.
One of the adverse fall outs of wandering around without slippers was itchy feet at the end of the day. Boils all over the feet and toes gave miserable nights. This, in our Malayalam is called “valam kadi”. It was a horrible experience. I don’t think anyone of us wound have escaped from going through such a harrowing experience at least once in your childhood. Itching will be at its peak while we set for the sleep. It is impossible to lie down calmly and it is impossible to manage the disturbance with two hands alone. We used to take help from the elders in the family. Our eldest sister lent her hands many a time. We had to spend even sleepless nights with this monsoon misery. Gradually itching graduates into boils paralyzing the mobility. Interestingly, even in this agony, we two brothers were together. Valamkadi’s season was the monsoon.
The boils in the feet had a treatment too, administered by the elders in the family. It was a simple treatment but was never as simple as it sounds. We had to only dip our feet into water boiled with neem leaves. In one of the Monsoon seasons, it was the turn of our father to treat us. Father washed our feet inside the hot water. The pain we underwent during this simple treatment was unimaginable. The shouts by my brother during this operation are still reverberating in the premises of our home in Olavaipe. He screams, I shall cut off the mango trees , I shall cut off the coconut trees and so on. Warnings of colossal damage to movable and immovable properties! After the wash, a blue coloured solution is applied to the wounds. The feet become blue after this. Looking back at those incidents, we can not but have a good laugh now.
In the present day Olavaipe, I can not spot a single kid without foot wares on his/her feet. Even if a kid wants to go out bare footed, parents may never allow this. They want the kid’s feet to remain as smooth as a petal of a lotus. The lotus feet that shall tread the path of roses laid by the ready for anything parents. The kid has to just walk, and ascend to the ergonomically designed chair of a software engineer or a money minting doctor. Even I can never walk from my home to our temple bare footed whenever I go to Olavaipe
During one of the Monsoons, a scary incident took place in our life. As usual, we were attacked by the ‘valam kadi’. The situation turned grim and there needed medical assistance. Those days we were usually taken to hospitals in Kuthiyathode. It is a small town on the other side of the backwaters. We have to cross the backwaters to reach Kuthiyathode. Ferry service was on small wooden boats. The backwater that divides Olavaipe and Kuthiyathode has a width of at least one kilometer. Banks of the backwater is far off. It is too frightening to travel on small boats during high tides as there will be waves. Though Poochakkal was a town connected by road, we had preferred Kuthiathode those days
After the consultation with the doctor, the same boatman took us back. By that time it was slowly getting dark. The boatman, no doubt was an experienced hand. The boat started sailing slowly. Suddenly, as is the characteristic of monsoon rains, huge clouds started gathering and it suddenly started pouring down. The heavy downpour was not alone. Monsoon rains never forget to bring along with them heavy winds and deadly lightning. The boat had suddenly caught in a turmoil. It started swinging as if it was a swing. Scared we could do nothing but pray to our Gods. Our grandpa was unmoved. The rocking boat could never rock his confidence. He knew his “olavaipil thevar’ will never let us down. He had an unshakable faith in the presiding deity of our village. I am still wondering how the boat never gave in to the fury of nature in that night. As I believe, my Almighty can never harm us. The boatman almost lost control of the boat, but still he managed to row the boat. Somehow, he could steer the floating thing to the safety of the bank. We reached the bank where the church of our village located. We took shelter in the Church.
Many years later, I found myself in a similar situation, but this time it was not on a rocking wooden boat. The scene was a reputed hospital in Ernakulam where I had just become a father. As we were celebrating the arrival of our little vampire, Manju was treading an extremely dangerous path to the edge of life inside the intensive care unit of the hospital. The condition of the patient was somehow not informed to us till it turned serious. The attending doctor tersely told us before taking her to a second operation that everything is unpredictable. Just like the boat in this story, my life suddenly found itself in the midst of a turmoil. The giant waves started rocking the boat and threatened to drown it. Darkness started engulfing everything. But this time too, luck was on our side.
Manju was lucky, but thousands of unlucky women are sacrificing their lives for the sake of sustaining the human race. Knowing well that their own life is at risk, every woman is willing to take that risk. They possess a kind of courage that no ordinary men possess. Casting an evil eye or an evil thought on her is akin to disgracing the womb that carried us all.

Babuchettan

Come, let us have some more sweet. Come with me to take another stroll down the memory lane. There, let us devour the sweetness of our childhood to our heart's content, yet again.

 

There was a time when the grind of heavy syllabus in schools never haunted us. An unassuming village had a primary school and we spent our time happily there. As we grew up, we were sent to an aided high school that is located in an equally unassuming village. What did our parents expect us to study there? I am not sure if they had any plans for their off springs. Most of my friends never took studies seriously. They never had any hope that they could ever clear the tenth exam. This was the mindset from the beginning. This  was a defeatist approach, by any yardstick. As expected, that was the ultimate result to most of the guys, sadly.

 

The efforts put in by the kids in studies those days were just limited to copy writing. The two lined and the four lined copy books were so dear to us. Complications of mathematics, physics and tongue twisting English and Hindi could never disturb our minds.

 

But Babuchettan had a different take on this. He is my eldest brother. Above him, we have a sister and below all of us we have another sister too. Babu, as you know is the word used to address a person in a respectable way. In India we have abundance of Babus. So, I don't think I should explain the meaning of babu. My brother got this nick name when we were living in Andhra. Local people used to address my brother Babu, since he was the son of a 'sawkar'. Sawkar , in Telugu, is someone who is an owner of a business establishment. This word, babu became his pet name. We, the younger siblings of his, thus started calling him Babuchettan.

 

 He wanted us to study well. He used to force us to go beyond mere copy writing. Though grudgingly, we had to obey him. He was very good at mathematics, I was not. So, most of the time, when we sit for the study sessions, tension runs high and more often than not, it explodes. I quietly suffer, sometimes wear a few drops of tears. But the elder one had a very short temper. He used to throw away the books and shout. Still Babuchettan never gave up. He sincerely followed up with his efforts and saw to it that my elder brother got almost full marks in maths in his 10^th exam. Going by the standards of those days in our village and the school we studied, it was indeed an impressive performance. Interestingly, he went for second group in the Pre-degree and later MBBS. I, as you all know am here. Everything was like in a dream. I was not so good at mathematics and scored not so high in the 10^th exam. Still, thanks to all support by all those good people around me, I reached somewhere. And of course most of the credit goes to the God who refused to remove the kid gloves from his hands while dealing with me.Still that gloves are on his hands, believe me. In Babuchettan's words, I was a wooden plank floating on flowing waters -the plank that has no destination. It is willing to go wherever the flowing water takes it.

 

Like many of the boys from the rustic background, we too had little exposure to the outer world. Entrance examinations, CAT, MAT et al were strange things to us. I do not know how many of my friends, who could make it to pre degree level, even attempted to the entrance tests. My brother travelled all the way to Ernakulam and procured application forms for us and filled it up for himself and sent to the entrance commissioner. When the day came, he took us to the exam hall in Ernakulam, sat outside till the exam got finished and took us back home.

 

He had a special skill to extract information from us about our performance in examinations. "How was the test?" He asks. We say, yah it was ok. "A little difficult, eh?" He persists. "Yah, a little difficult. All questions could not be answered."  We innocently reply. At the end of the interrogation, we end up flat on our back with a bloody nose- virtually. All beans spilled!

 

He was the first to visit TKMCE when I got admission and also the first one to visit Alappuzha Medical College when the elder one was to join there. He met Hashim at TKM first. I do not know how, but, perhaps, this wonderful personality was hard to miss. Hashim took my brother to Ansar Hostel, but there was no vacancy at that time. Then, Hashim told about the Kuttichira Hostel. He visited that place and arranged admission there. Where is this man now? How does he live? I have no information at present. But I am sure in one thing. Our friend Suja will take care of this man well. Suja, if you happen to read this, take this as my request. Please take care of our friend.

 

When I first reached Kuttichira hostel, I first met Ansari. He was sitting in the "Denkan's" office and was giving advice to Denkan about allocating rooms. So, Ansari decided to put me in Kappa Kurian's room. The rest is history.

 

Despite all his sincerity and commitment towards us, Babuchetan had a flip side too. That was his ego. This Himalayan ego did not take him anywhere. Observed anytime the cattle movement? Speed of the movement of the herd will be that of the slowest among them. Our sweet home is moving forward based on this principle. Still, I want to see the positive part of my beloved brother. He did his duty as a responsible brother.

 

He scored a first class in the SSLC, a rarest of rare event in our village at that time.

He goaded us to the big world of knowledge where I met YOUall. All erudite, matured and affable. He had a big collection of books. He was a member of DC Books and Current books. Books were his passion. He wanted us to read books. We too showed interest in reading story books and epics. We read Mali Ramayanam, Mali Bharatham and Mali Bhagavatham. We devoted a lot of time with these books. There were Panchatantram, Itihyamala, Pakkanar stories and so many story books from reputed authors in his collection. We were exposed to the wonderful world of literacy thus.

 

He was an ardent reader of Mathrubhumi weekly. He had a big collection of the weekly. He bound them all in many volumes and kept them for long. I am not sure if he still keeps them all. Through the mathrubhumi weekly I read a bueatiful novel written by Srikrishna Alanahalli named Bhujangayyante Dasavatharangal ( Ten incarnations of Bujangayyan). It was the story of a person who dons different roles in the course of his struggle for survival.

 

Babuchettan fills the heart with delight. He is like an ever blooming flower in the garden of my colourful memories. I only pray to the almighty to give him good health and happiness for ever. I am sure every one of us can relate this story to someone in our family. Here it is a brother's story. There are so many sisters too, who shoulder the responsibility of the entire family. Like a candle they often end up doing a thankless job. But still, Bhagavan Krishnan calls upon us to do our Karma without laying clam the fruits of it….and your karma here is to read this fully!!

Desert Living -8

The chilled wind pinches the ears. The temperature dips day by day and the heavy rains compound the misery. For the past three days heavy rains lash this area. I am shivering. I am shivering not only because of biting cold but also because of a circular from the boss. Boss wants us to work from 7 to 6 everyday including Fridays. Anyway we have no right to question boss’s wisdom. Let me become a boss, I shall show who I am. I will instruct all my subordinate to work from 7 to 7.

There is a common grouse among the Indian expats, especially the Mallus that they have not many well wishers back home. I too fully agree with them in this matter. Near and dear ones do not bother to even pick the phone and inquire the well being of an expat at least once in a blue moon. In fact many of these expats are here only to look after the well being of the very people who ignore them. While it takes more than INR 25 to make a call to India from the Gulf countries, it is just 9 to call from there. Thanks to the advent of voice over internet protocol (VoIP) babus of the desert could manage to call to India at a very low rate. Still a large section of the mass does not have any access to this technology. They have to depend on costlier means of communication still.

How many of us receive call from our relatives and friends frequently? People do not have time to think of others. No one bothers to spend hundreds at a Mc Donalds ,KFC or a shopping mall along with the nuclear family just for a dinner or buying something that is least necessary. But they find it too expensive to make a call. It is hard to believe that thoughts of friends and relatives never come to mind at any point of time. Devil may care. Perhaps this is the modern way of thinking. A fat purse and a lovable spouse make the life less dependable on others. Then bonds of relations become a burden.

There is a US embargo against Syria. US allege that Syria is involved in terrorist activities in Iraq. Syria has been blamed for the latest massacre in Iraq in which hundreds were killed and maimed. So, Syrians in turn are deprived of Microsoft products including the flagship Windows. So, they are forced to use free Opeating Systems that will not support many programs like internet explorer, adobe or any thing that is offered by Microsoft. Windows that is available on anyone’s PC here is a pirated one and there is no dearth of it here.

In sharp contrast, every MS product is available in China. They make all brands of computers including the latest models of laptops. I bought a China make mobile phone for around INR 4000 when I was in China two years back. It had all the latest features in it. You name it, it did have. But sadly, its citizens can not make use of these technologies to their benefit due to government control. Orkut, youtube ,picasa webalbums or any other community portal is banned in China. The government fears even an accidental contact with the outer world by their citizens may seriously hamper the business of autocratic rule. Government will decide what the citizens need. No one has any business to question the government decision. Look, how difficult is it to safeguard a nose that may burst in asneeze!

Everything we see in Syria is made in China. If we have to buy a tooth brush, it will have the proclamation that it is made in China. Buy a flash drive, a lap top or an air conditioner. Everything will have the Chinese connection. China has no objection with the Syrians. Then why their bosom friends US are Syrian’s adversaries? It is purely politics and there might be valid reasons behind US’ approach towards Syria.

Syrians at last did turn their clock back. They could not resist doing it. The clock has been adjusted to an hour behind. Now the time difference between India and Syria became 3 ½ Hours. And also, we are forced to go to the mess at 6 in the evening for our dinner. Dinner at 6 looks very odd, but we are here to do some odd things per se.

Look at the commissioning guys in the project. They think they are the odd ones out in the pack. In every project, these commissioning guys appear in the scene as the project nears completion. By the time the construction team completes the work almost 80%, these people show up, as if they have been just dropped from heavens. The places where the construction team toiled to their wits end are barricaded briskly and big sign boards appear- No unauthorized entry, High Voltage-keep away and so on.

They just look down upon the construction guys as if they are strangers from the next village – morons who know nothing about complications of circuits and machines. . They perhaps wonder what these guys got business in their territory. Tests and interlocks are checked with the help of complicated schematic diagrams. And at last, the system, one by one is switched on. Each time a system is charged or test run, the leader of the commissioning team immediately calls the boss and announces the latest achievement. He wastes no time after that to rush to the office and type a few lines about the feat and mail to all the bosses all around the world. What follows is a barrage of congratulatory mails from the receiving ends. These are the intricacies of any construction site.

Construction team is nothing less when it comes to blowing trumpets. After each erection, be it a vessel or transformer or a column, these guys immediately rush to the roof top and shout at the maximum possible voice. They too need boss’s attention. Boss must remember them when he sits up for deciding the bonus and promotions. No harm in stooping to conquer. Selling the pride is not a big thing. If we can manage to earn money, prestige and pride come on its own. In fact construction team is the trail blazer for the commissioning team in this respect.

The black goggled construction engineer still wanders around in the site as if it is his fait accompli. The soul along with the body departs for another site -when the boss decides to demobilize him - with no emotions in the heart. After all this is not the first time they come across such situations in their career. They build the next pr at a different location and wait for the commissioning guys to come and bundle out them so unceremoniously –yet again. The cycle continues….This is it.

Desert Living -7

Praveen earns 4000 USD in a month. He gets 21 days break after 100 Days of work. He has to start work at 7 in the morning. There is no specific time for returning to the cell after the work. It may be 7, 8 or even 9 in the night. He has to take all tension of the work, coordinate with several people in the project and run against time to meet the target. It takes to strain every nerve of his to see that at the end of the day his bank balance is fatter than yesterday’s.
Here everyone is counting down days from 100 to the day of departure. But still, there is uncertainties about availing the deserved break after the job. Boss always wants to prove that he can overrule anything. So, as is his wont, he straight away rejects the leave application. Then after much begging and convincing he signs on the dotted line.
Praveen is at this stage now. His 100 days reaches by the end of November. He has to obtain the approval of the boss one moth before going on leave. He is not sure if the boss will allow him to go. So, he decided that he will resign and go if boss refuses the approval. He may not keep his words but he needs to go, somehow. He consoles himself, if not this job, there are many other jobs. He is not willing to sacrifice his holidays for the project. I too consoled him, telling that this company is not the ultimate. Opportunities are in plenty in Gulf. Even if he goes back to India and does not work, still, he can live happily. Even if he does not work, he will be a rich man. Perhaps, one among a small percentage of people in India who can afford to have food for 4 times in a day.
There are crores and crores of people in our country who are not even sure if they will get a square meal tomorrow. Whenever I type crore, MS word says it is a wrong word. In MS Word dictionary they use only millions. Though MS Word insists I am wrong, I like to live with this wrong, for, we learnt it since childhood. For the sake of Micro Soft I need not change the way I think
In Syria, they keep right and we keep left. I do not know why the Britishers taught us to keep left though they have nothing to do with the Left. Even Chinese keep right.
Syrians keep right even when they walk. I don’t think we have any definite rule in India about sides while walking. We walk as we like. It is dance of democracy all the way there you see. So here too we walk the way we like. But these Syrians don’t follow the rules like us- the rules of democracy. So while walking in the corridors of our office here, several occasions I had to make way to the natives. I used to wonder why I make way always. My ego hurts occasionally. But then it is their style. They keep right. We are wrong. So, now when I come across any Syrian, I give way to them. Matter is simple. Let them follow the laws and let us follow our lawlessness.
My Syrian friends started calling me Abu Govind, and I am pleased about it. Abu Govind means, father of Govind. There is a story behind the practice of addressing others by the name of their kids. There lived a great warrior called Khalid Ebn. He fought many a war and won all of them. He is a widely respected soldier in the Arab world. So, in the olden days, if anyone had name Khalid, his father was affectionately called father of Khalid or Abu Khalid. Down the generations, they keep the memory of their brave soldier alive. Calling by the name of the son/daughter shows more respect and affection towards the person. But, please take note, if there are boys and girls as children, they invoke the boy’s name! Quite natural in this man centric world.
Khaled is noted for his military prowess, commanding the forces of the Islamic prophet Muhammad and those of his immediate successors of the Rashidun Caliphate; Abu Bakr and Umar (Umar ibn al-Khattab).[1] He has the distinction of being undefeated in over a hundred battles, against the numerically superior forces of the Byzantine Roman Empire, Sassanid Persian Empire, and their allies. His strategic achievements include the conquest of the Persian Empire's Iraq and Roman Syria within three years from 633 to 636. He is also remembered for his decisive victories at Yamamah, Ullais and Yarmouk. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Khalid_ibn_al-Walid) - ( courtesy Wikipedea)
There are several words in Arabic and Hindi. Zyada, kalam, majbooth, kursi, mushkil are a few words that have the same meaning.
People wish each other whenever they meet No matter how many times and how frequently they come across in a day. “Salamu alaikum” by one person raises a chorus in reply –“va alaikum salam”. Exchange of greetings takes a few seconds as they recite some verses from their religious texts too. Everything is connected to their religion and god. Nothing happens without god wills (insha allah). They invoke His name several times in a day. People take off their hard hat and the trade mark black goggles and pray at the site itself. Safety takes a back seat for a while that time. After all what saftey has to do while the soul is in direct contact with the God?
Talking about safety, there are dedicated safety departments with the client, contractor and the sub contractor. If anyone has to get a job, it must be a safety personnel’s job. Look at the Safety Person’s job on the client side. The client’s employees here enjoy job-holiday cycle on 28 days basis. If they work for 28 days, they can go home for 28 days. All expenses for the journey are borne by the company, although they may not be getting salary for the break time.
These safety personnel roam around the site without any purpose and take some photographs and send mails to all.There ends their job. They pass time for 28 days and just disappear. In fact they enjoy paid holidays on job and unpaid holidays at home. Try getting a job like this. Really it is an enviable job.

Desert Living - 6

Being always cynical is no good habit. I have of late put tremendous efforts to kick this habit. I feel I have succeeded in my efforts to a great extent.
Onam came and gone, Id came and gone and Dussera came and gone as if nothing has happened in the world on these days. I fretted and fumed and at times cursed the fate of being left in the lurch, when the kith and kin at home were celebrating the festivals in a subdued way in my absence. But Diwali was a different occasion for us in this desert. Though late, we did have our share of happiness this time.
We got together in one of our cells and celebrated Diwali. It was a typical expat way of celebrating a traditional festival. Symbolism galore. A far cry from traditions. But then who is celebrating the festivals in its traditional ways now a days? Onam is a Malayalee festival that has degraded into Stage shows and Liquor parties long time back. Festivals have become an excuse to have a bash, strictly indoors. Liquor flows without any limit accompanied with non-vegetarian food. Where does the spirit of a traditions go? What will we teach our kids regarding the traditions and the traditional way of celebrating the festivals? Though it is a cause for worry, we need not be overly perturbed over this. Time changes everything. Traditions seem to have no place in this commercialized life.
Our management was magnanimous enough to allocate some fund to arrange a get together in the name of Diwali here. This took place on the second day of Diwali. Chivas Regal and Black Label were the chief guests. In fact they are unavoidable guests in any gatherings. It is amazing to see that how much admiration and adoration they command among all fun loving souls.
We had papads, biriyani, salad and then payasam. Everyone enjoyed. This is a rare commodity in the project site. Who can smile when each one is carrying the burden of project on his shoulder? Poor creatures who do not know how to dodge work, work like donkeys. Take all tension on their heads and raises the blood pressure. By the time they start thinking that enough if enough, they realize one more thing that they are sick. Still, the paradox is that, none of them are sure how much can be called enough.
Diwali went on as a cherishable even in the desert this time. The heartening thing was that our mess staff gave us whole hearted support. They all belong to the Gulf countries. They would never have heard of Diwali. Still they cooked good food, served us with an extra smile and made every effort to ensure that we enjoyed every moment of the occasion. The lowly lives too make their life meaningful this way. Everyone has lessons here.
One minor sound followed by ejection of something upward. It went up a few meters, burst into sparks of different hues. All was over in a few seconds. Fifty rupees had just gone up flames. This was what happened when I bought a cracker for my demanding kid. Fifty rupees for a single unit of cracker. I do not think fifty rupees is a small amount. Even after spending three hundred rupees, what I got in a plastic bag was something ridiculous. How come money has no value when it comes to commodities like this?
Have we ever noticed the glowing eyes of a beggar when we hand out a five rupee note to him/her? I don’t remember to have doled out anything higher than this to a beggar however! I know several of my villagers including my cousins who would never have seen a five hundred rupee note. Honestly, when I was buying the crackers at unreasonable prizes, images of these people just flashed though my mind. Though the purse had not pinched, the conscience got a pinch for sure. But where is time to think about them? The edifice must go up and up. I have no other concern. Gandhi beckons. Let me not be distracted from the aim.
Chinese too have a festival like Diwali. They celebrate it in the month of February. It is around 10 days’ festival for them. Entire China comes to a standstill during this period. I feel, our PM need not risk the Chinese fury, if he visits Arunachal Pradesh during this time! People decorate their houses with designs cut out of red coloured papers. Red is the traditional colour of China. On the first day of the festival people burst crackers from the evening till the next day-break. Crores of rupees go up in flames in a single night. The same follows for another two or three more days. All work places remain shut for almost ten days. Even essential commodities shops remain close for two or three days during this festival. This is the occasion of Chinese New Year. I still wonder how the iron fisted government allowed them to enjoy like this when they succeeded in destroying every signs traditions of theirs through the Cultural Revolution.

Disert Living - 5

One more big crane has joined our work site today. It has a boom length of more than 100 meters. With the arrival of this crane, any erection here looks so simple now.
In the morning today, we were standing inside the gatehouse of the project. It is under construction. We were checking the electrical wiring inside the room. Suddenly one little bird flew from no where and hit against the glass window of the gate house, fell down and died. It took just a few seconds, not even a minute for the entire incident to take place. The bird was sitting somewhere inside the gate house. When it spotted us, it got frightened and tried to fly away. It did panic and in the fear, it could not recognize the presence of the glass on its flight path. The nervous bird hit against the glass. The scene made me sad.
After a few moments, the sweepers came there and they just picked the bird and dumped in the bin. There ends a humble life. What would God have thought of this incident at that moment? Did He really plan the end of this poor creature like this? I doubt. My sadness dissolved into thin air soon when I invoked Gandhi’s thoughts . I have to fill my purse with him. I moved on. May the little noble soul rest in peace.
Just a couple of days ago, there took place a tragedy in Rajastan, involving a Malayali family. The husband, wife and their young son were on their way from Keralam to their work place in Rajastan. From the railway station, they took the service of a bus to their destination. The bus met with an accident in which both the husband and the wife died. The little kid is in hospital with grave injuries. A happy family has just disappeared. Again, it took just a few seconds, not even a minute to undo what had been built in their life time. Here we realize the hollowness of this life. The uncertainty involved. The bubble bursts so easily . Edifices of ego, pride, hatred and materialistic comforts may come crashing down in no time, at the most inopportune moment. Ok ok, I am venturing into philosophy. It is unwarranted. Let us live our life the way we want to, but let us make sure that we do not hurt anyone in this process. When I came across the news item about people selling life saving medicines in Keralam at 100 to 1000 times their original cost, I could not help but scribble this much.
In Syria every adult male has to serve in the army compulsorily for two years. The citizens who served in the army say it is extremely hard but unavoidable. No doubt military service is tough. Less food, no entertainment, over dose of discipline and hard work, all converged in one place. That is what an army camp is. But, the training makes the guys tough. They are moulded into more disciplined citizens ready to face any challenges. They are made physically and mentally strong. There are loop holes also to avoid the military training. If anyone is willing to pay 3000 USD to the government, he need not serve the force. Look, again, money can buy anything. Even patriotism can stand behind money. The money that could make ‘S’ dagger is certainly capable of pushing behind everything as it wishes.
Climate is becoming cooler by the day here. Temperature dips low in the night. Day time is very pleasant. A milder sun with heavy wind makes life less punishing. People started wearing sweaters in the evenings. As the harbinger of winter, days get shorter. Temperature may dip to minus degrees in the coming months. Along with heavy rains, we may be living in a snow land soon. I am waiting for this new experience - the sight of ice in the desert. Hopefully I will be able to witness this.
Government will turn the clock ahead by one hour soon. Thank God, they are not planning to turn it back! In many countries like Pak, Afghanistan and KSA, they do this. Probably by the second week of October, Syrian time will be one hour ahead, that means, the time difference between India and Syria will become 3 ½ from 2 ½ hours as at present.
I forgot the tell about a missile fall. A missile fell near by our campus a few days back. Pictures of the remnants are here. It is a Russian made missile. It still not known how it fell here. With a chill down my spine, I just try to think, if this missile had fallen on our campus.

Desert Living - 4

The entire Syria celebrated Eid on Sunday, except 20 odd Indians. We were denied a chance to enjoy the much deserved holidays by the management of Petrofac. Interestingly, the managers who decided the things this way, have enjoyed their holidays along with their near and dear. This is not the first time managers act indifferently like this. Last time when I was in Qatar, the management did never declare a holiday for Eid. We went to site only to see that no one has turned up. Many of the firms in the Arab world do this, out of sheer insensitivity towards their employees. Work is important, but an escape from the stressful routine is also important. Many manages turn a blind eye to this. This is a must for them to earn foreign trips and fat bonuses.
The management wants the project to be completed, come Eid or Bakrid. They are right in thinking so, because, in the project parlance, time is the essence of the contract. Still, no heavens would have collapsed if these 20 hapless souls were allowed to have some fun. After all they too have emotions, you know?
The bustling work site wore a deserted look in the midst of a desert. Hardly 10 people turned up to work and there were 20 engineers to supervise the job. And the output? Perhaps a naught. The workers would have had good overtime payment. That is the summary of the essence of managerial discretions. But, ultimately boss is right.
We had big plans for a visit to some historic places in Syria. Syria has a rich history. This is a country ruled by various European entities. There are castles, mummies, architectural marvels and monuments of the past to see. Thanks to European presence, there are several pockets of Christian population in Syria. Though they keep a low profile as a minority, we can see many of them decorating high positions here. Names like Ilyas and Habib are common among Christians.
Luckily, once I could visit one place called Palmyra after reaching here. Palmyra is an ancient city ruled by Roman rulers. This place was in the eye of attraction for the European countries as it lies on the silk route. There stands a dilapidated ancient city at the backdrop of a modern one. We will realize human apathy has no parallel if we look at the way this ruined city is maintained by the present day care takers. The pictures of the remnants of a supposedly great civilization were shared with you by me a few weeks back. Hope all of you saw them. The scene at this historic place is quiet disturbing. There is a road passing through this location that connects the modern Palmyra city to other cities like Damascus and Deir Ezzor. This road just runs through the middle of the town.
Everyone who passes by this place can have a passive look at the broken structures. Many people get down there for a photo op. Nothing beyond that. The pillars are broken into pieces, roof collapsed and structures in great danger of falling down anytime. Thankfully, the authorities have made the road rough, to prevent the vehicles from running fast. Imagine, tipper lorries were allowed to run! To know more about Palmyra, please click http://www.sacred-destinations.com/syria/palmyra.htm
We spent our time in the office in the company of excruciatingly unsteady internet the whole day. We were served in the mess the usual delicacies like daal sabji. Nothing unusual happened. Perhaps, management ensured that nothing unusual would happen in the mess too!
After the celebration, people will start pouring in from tomorrow. Things will go back to normal. The grind will resume. Black goggles and the hard hat will be in place. Cigarettes and work from dawn to dusk will be back. The rest of the high voltage drama will be enacted on the “silver screen”

The desert(ed) living - 3

This is the sequel ofThe desert(ed) living - 1 andThe desert(ed) living.
There lives a sparrow in our substation. It hops from the HT switchgear panel to the Bus-protection Panel to the Generator control panel to the Power Management System to the “Microprocessor controlled Induction Motor”. Remembering this micro processor based motor control system, we can regurgitate a few funny incidents from our college days. It was a rage during our final year days to do our projects based on micro processor. I too joined the bandwagon. Our project was micro processor based induction motor. Our intelligent little boy, Sabu and team took Micro processor based traffic control system. The viva follows the formalization of the workable model to all our whims and fancies.
We were never assisted by the internet those days. In fact almost none of us were aware of internet that time. Had we lived in this net era, our projects would have some other shape. This time too, Asokan sir was there to review the project. And this time, it was the turn of Sabu’s team to face his rapid fire. This time his question was “what will happen if an ambulance comes to the traffic junction when there is red signal?”. The team had blinked like our team that blinked when Asokan sir asked about our ‘resolution’. Hope my friends could recall the story on ‘resolution’ that I told a few days back.
What will this sparrow in our substation be thinking? Everyday, a number of goggle wearing human beings are coming and going in the substation. They talk about voltage, current, current transformers, relay settings, primary injection and what not? The sparrow is busy searching its prey. The human beings too are busy searching for their prey. The sparrow does not construct a substation and step down the voltage from 220KV to 11KV to earn its day’s food. No bus bar protection panel is required to save them from starvation. The nature has provided everything that it needs – definitely not for its greed.
It must have come all the way from some other distant lands. These migratory creatures know where their food is. They go about it, with perfect harmony with the mother nature. No Chandrayan or Remote Sensing Satelite are needed for this. How much energy and amount were wasted on Chandrayaan. What for? What did it fetch to the human beings? They hatch babies, raise them here and when the little ones are on their wings, all of them fly over to another land. There too, everything that is needed is arranged by the mother nature.
Then where lies the fault line? Why do we have to wear the black goggles and the hard hat and set out to the difficult terrains to bite the fellow human beings to make our day? The black goggles are the perfect device for a project site. It encompasses all our hypocrisies and helps us act honest and sincere. No eye contact is made with others as the black colour saves from this. This helps us going about our familiar habit of betraying the conscience.
There is a monkey at the Marina Beach, Chennai. His name is kunjiraman. He is a very cute and smart monkey. He claims to be a member of the race that acts as the last link to the super race called human beings. But kunjiraman is not a lucky monkey. He is a chained animal. He is just an animal, just like a dog or a cat. His master uses him to make money. Whenever I visit Marina beach, I spot him. Perched on his master’s shoulder he reaches the beach. There he shows some silly tricks as per the instructions of his master. The master tells him to jump, hop, somersault and then fall at the feet of the onlookers. All these, he does to earn a living, well, for his master! What des he get at the end of the day? Perhaps the waste that the master leaves out!

An engineer in the construction filed has many things in common with kunjiraman.The engineer with the contrctor has a master. His client. The clinet’s engineers have a ‘I know everything’ approach to everything. Their imaginations fly high. They need the cable trays inside the substation covered, they need the earth cables not touching the earth. They say, there is a “dirty earth” besides “clean earth”. For their every demands, the contactor’s kunjiramans have to just nod his head and if needed jump. They may have to run from pillar to post to meet the requirements. Those who are not smart enough to pass their work to others- I mean pass the buck- suffer like Kunjiraman. The smart ones always escape this torture. They relish the tricks the hapless kunjiramans had to perform for the survival. This is life here.
Little sparrows will fly away when the winter arrives here. They will reach another land, where another bunch of kunjiramans and their masters enact the same drama. These little creatures may sprain their abdominal bones laughing at these silly kunjiramans!! Jai ho

The desert living -2

This is the sequel ofThe desert(ed) living
The entire Gulf goes hungry from dawn to dusk. It is their commitment to their religion. They do not drink even a drop of water during this Ramadan month. Look at the spirit. Not even a single soul dares to break this rule. I do not know if it is the unshakable faith in their God or the fear of punishment His more faithful followers may hand out to the less faithfuls, that makes them go hungry. It must be the former, going by the spirit they exhibit here. They think at least this much must be done for the god from their side.
Almost 90% of the people I meet daily, are chain smokers. Now no one smokes. I too stopped smoking, well, passive smoking. In a normal day, I must be 'smoking' at least 10 cigarettes. It is quiet surprising to see people spending so much of money on cigarettes. In my observation, it is the poor people who spend more on these kinds of material pleasures, disproportionate with their known source of income. Anyway, this is a universal phenomenon.
Coming to fasting during the Holy month of Ramadan. It is punishable offence in Gulf if anyone is found eating or drinking even water in public. The sentence may vary from three to four months jail to high amounts of money. Perhaps, in countries like Afghanistan or Saudi it may be whipping or even beheading in public. Who knows, how the foot soldiers will behave at the 'behest' of the God?


Just compare the penance these people take with that our people take during the Sabarimala season. Many of the guys who wear the 'maala' smoke and drink even on the way to the Holy hills, forget about keeping the purity of body and soul from the beginning to the end of the season. Moreover, if a rally of the comunist parties is conducted at the sannidhanam, more than half of the people shouting inquilab zindab will be carrying the 'irumudi kettu' on their head!
During the last Ramadan month, I was in Qatar. There, almost 90% of the people working were from India and other poor asian countries. So, they found it as an opportunity. During Ramadan, all work must be stopped by 3 in the afternoon. No one must be forced to work after this as people as expected to be fasting. But, if at all they are willing to work, they must be paid over- time pay. So, all our people worked even more than their normal working hours and make good money. In Qatar the temperature is very high during August – September. In the soaring temperature, people involve in welding works on the metallic structures. These metal structures will be as hot as 100 degree celcius!
I never went foodless even for a session for the sake of God. I don’t think, in the future too I will venture into this. I do not think I can do this. I only wish, no will insist me to do this in the near future. No one can predict what is in store. Perhaps, some extremist element may tomorrow seize the power and proclaim that all must go fasting at least one session everyday. Do we have any other way but to obey their diktats?
Let us only pray to God not to give such ‘instructions’ to His ready for anything followers.
Thus I stopped this essay and took a break for the dinner. Tonight we were served stale food. Did I write anything above against God? I don’t think so. I just tried to explain the facts. Tried to call a spade a spade. Coming across stale food need not be taken as an unusual thing here in this God forsaken land. Take heart, we are getting something to eat, at least.

Smirnoff - the Osasis in the Desert

Smirnoff is a colourless odorless liquid. Well, as for the properties and the effect that it creates on our brain and body, let us ask someone, for example, like our friend Sudhish. Tonight, we four guys, an Iranian, two Philippinos and me got together in one of the cells here. There I got the first darshan of the famous liquid called Smirnoff. It took 41 years and a visit to a desert to make this discovery. I did not drink it. Guys asked me if I drink. I nodded in the negative. Don’t you believe that I lied? Perhaps, you are right to a certain extent. But, that must a wise decision, given the situations here. Several of the guys are fond of liquor. In construction sites, guys are easily taken to liquor, cigarette and pan chewing. I do not understand what is the reason behind this, but I guess, it is the grueling nature of work that prompts the people to take solace in ‘morale boosters’.
We spoke of our culture, food habits and of curse, about people of some other countries too. From IQ of the Japanese to the disrespect the men show to women on the streets of Tunisia, the discussion lasted for a few hours.
The Iranian friend had been to Japan for 8 months and in his opinion, Japanese have very less IQ. Of course, there are smart people too. That is the reason they prosper. But, according to him, most of the work force has the IQ of “a chicken” – I quote his word. But, they are committed to their work and are experts in their field of work. Perhaps, in his opinion, this is the reason for their prosperity. They try to be self reliant, I mean they avoid depending on US! Another remarkable point he made was that Japan’s streets are very clean, arguably the cleanest in the world.
In the view of the Iranian friend, Iranians are most outward looking and not averse to changes. They are like any other human beings on the earth. Then what makes them different? The leadership. The “stupid” president, who helps people being radicalized. No tourists like to visit Iran because, every woman tourist has to wear veil there.
In Tunisia, people behave as if they never saw girls before. Men stare at girls; make caustic comments and whistle whenever the fairer sex passes by them. This is the most obnoxious scene one of the Philippinoes came across in Tunisa. They claim to have French influence in Tunisia, but their behaviour has nothing to do with a cultured society. I just kept quiet, because this is no strange thing in our society too!
The Iranian described how he ate the raw Octopus meat in Japan without knowing what he was eating. Japanese eat meat and fish raw.
They still value their prestige. Loss of character or making a mistake is considered to be a sin in Japanese society. They still commit suicide when their credibility or the self respect is at stake, perhaps not committing the traditional way of Harakiri. The Philippino told about the Philippino restaurants in UAE. While it takes more than 50 DHS to have a good food in a Philippino restaurant, he claims that with hardly 10 to 15DHS we can have decent food in an Indian restaurant. I do not buy this information, because, in the Indian restaurant of the hotel in which I stayed during my Dubai visit in 2005, a vegetarian lunch cost was 30DHS. Now it must be in the range of 50DHS.
At the end of the Friday eve get together, I found myself in the company of ‘outsiders’ while there are around fifteen Indians in the camp. Anyway, let me excuse myself for not being in the company of the sons of the soil. Human blood is same in everyone’s veins. Boundaries and colour of skin do not make any divisions but the mentality and the approach do.
Friday has just arrived. For the benefit of my beloved people like you, I sat awake till this time. Let me go to bed. Though it is a holiday tomorrow, we work at site.

The desert living -1

There is no point in the argument that trees are necessary for oxygen. The place where I live now has no trees. Forget about threes, not even big plants grow here. The plants that id dotted in the vast expanse of the desert grows hardly one foot. Still all of us breathe. Perhaps, we get much less polluted oxygen here. Then what is the basis for the discovery that green cover is essential to sustain life?
Flies are disturbing a lot while typing this. This a phenomenon in the desert. Flies follow us whereever we go and sit anywhere they please. Their main target is our face, especially the lips. Our hands must be kept always engaged to shoo away the flies. Surprisingly, fly’s nocturnal counterpart, mosquitoes are not seen here. Perhaps, deserts are not conducive for their existence. Look, humans runt into the places even the mosquitoes don’t want to tread! Everyone’s table has a special device to shoo away or even kill the flies.Playing with the flies with this device is a favourite past time for a few in the office always.
Yesterday for the first time I took camel’s milk. Camels, the ship of the desert is a common sight here. We can see them grazing in the desert. There will be one or two persons who goad these animals. Camels eat and eat the little bushes all through the day. These men watch them eating. While their masters eat cooked and delicious food made at home, camels eat the ‘useless’ bushes for their masters. Looking at the animals, the masters calculate their income.
When we spotted a camel group, we approached the caretaker. We conveyed our desire to drink camel milk. He immediately obliged. Not only that, he even allowed us to have a photo op while mounted on the camel back. The man refused to take money in return to all our pleasure. He said, if you are offering money, he wanted to take back the milk. Such a large hearted man, he was, I was really surprised. If I were in his position, I would definitely have taken money. Camel milk is just like cow’s milk, but less in sweet. It is a new experience, so it was interesting. But the disparaging part of all the fun with the camel was that, the camel’s protest. It had to sit and get up for three times. Each time when it was repeating this action, it made a lot of noise in disgust. That noise is still reverberating in my ears. I wanted to share those photos with you all, but the camel’s protest prevents me from doing this. I should never have done that. I shall never again climb on an animal. It is my resolution. In the tourist places we can see animals that is meant for ‘taking tourists for a ride’. In China I climbed on a shorter version of the camel and took photos. Again in China, I got a chance to pose along with a chained live tiger. In Ooty and Koaikanal, I had horse rides. In Jaipur, there are elephants that do this honour. I sincerely feel sorry for all these acts of insensitivity towards the speechless creatures . These animals are entertaining us out of their helplessness. We shall never encourage their use for somebody’s benefit.
Last but not the least, I like to dispute the Lamarck’s Theory of Evolution. According to the theorem, camels developed the long neck to reach out the branches of the trees. But, here I can not find even a single tree anywhere in the vicinity. Whenever I see camels, they are seen dipped their necks deep down to reach out the one foot tall bushes. How difficult it is! If Theory of Evolution must be true, Camels should live in places like India and rabbits in the desert…..

Tips: How not to be attacked in Australia

Dear friends,

Following are a few tips an Australian- Indian gives to his fellow expats. Don't you think OUR INDIA is much more secure than any part of the world for WE INDIANS?? Be proud of India. Do not curse the system in India, instead let us put our heads and hands together and chenge our great nation

1. After 7 pm, always travel in the first compartment of the train.
2. When walking to work or home, make sure you turn off your i pod as you can easily get distracted.
3. Stay alert and keep an eye if someone is walking behind you.
4. If you see a group of guys walking towards you, change the side of the road or direction.
5. Never react to any racial comment you hear.
6. Never walk and talk on the phone at the same time on a lonely road.
7. Make sure you have Emergency number '000' on speed dial.
8. Never feel shy to seek help and shout in case you feel any kind of danger.
9. Try not to work on night shifts as many students work late night especially in Indian restaurants.
10. Always take a road that is well lit and have some traffic even if it's not shortest way home.
11. For girls, buy a pepper spray and keep it in your bag.
12. If you see or experience any attack, make sure you lodge a police complaint as most of these incidents never get reported.