ONE DAY WITH MR. CRIBBER

• He is the eternal chronic cribber, found everywhere ... in you and me too. ( Some of my write-ups may make you think I am one.) In some of us, he rears his head sometimes and in some he is there seated on the official throne.
• Here I have personified him as Mr. Cribber.
• He wakes up and curses the fan and some noise that would have woken him up. Next it is the corporation water, it has too much chlorine or none at all. Then the newspaper is always late (his much-haunted read might be Reader's Mail), the children do not listen to him as they have taken after their mother. Coffee is too light with lots of sugar, and if he is making it, no one is coming to get it.
• While shaving, he might curse his father for giving him such a face !
• Mr. Cribber goes to the bank and comments about the Reserve Bank of India, the clerk and everything imaginable. Lots of suggestion as to what should be done.
• In summer he wants winter and in winter he seeks summer.
• Bus service, traffic, price rise, government policies... nothing ever escapes his critical eye.
• He wills upon himself boredom and on others too. If he makes a list of things he liked and those he did not, the former one would be longer.
• If he learns to like everything he sees, maybe he will make his stay on planet Earth pleasant. He thinks he can change the world with his views, but he forgets it is somebody's views and ideas which have made the world what it is.
• If, for one day, he enjoys the bus coming late or the summer heat etc, .... he will not.

SPARE THEM A THOUGHT

• I must not write this. Good way to begin you think. But I never feel like speaking about the good things I have done or maybe I do not want to expose that sensitive side of my character. Whatever. Because I have a blog I am writing this, else I would prefer to remain silent.
• Some months ago, I went to an orphanage to distribute food to children. We went in a car and waited for the kids, who were looking at us warily and shyly, to get ready. Then they took a bath and put on the school uniform and took their plates and sat down in a row.
• Then they sang a prayer, and we started distributing food. For every idly or puri, they looked at me and rolled their eyes and said: "Thank you sir".
• Their dress, their discipline and their sad eyes and the thought that they did not have parents, even a childhood ... I do not know what shattered me. Somebody said they would hold hands and walk in a line to school and come back the same way. Every detail I gathered about them shook me.
• I am sangfroid, that's why I did not break down. But I wore a serious look for three days after that. Their faces never left my mind. Repeatedly, I heard their voice thanking me.
• Basically I never complain about food, eating what is put before me. That day only made my resolve to stay that way firm.
• Hardly we think of such children in our daily routine, though we know they exist. When we see them, believe me, it will leave a lasting impression.
• I realised what it is to feed the poor and that there are a thousand hungry mouths for every morsel we drop. And when people gloat about their achievements of gluttony _ This hotel is good, food is cheap here, I shouted at the waiter _ I slip away to a corner and think of children who are grateful to god for offering them food.
• It's good to hear that many people feed these children on their wedding anniversary, the death anniversary of parents and on birthdays.

LORD OF THE DRINKS

• He was writhing, twisting and turning in a corner of a bus stop. He was not a motor accident victim but one who worships Bacchus.
• People were standing unmindful of this specimen tossing and turning, lost in inebriation. The callousness of the people, particularly women who do not take kindly to cigarette smoke and drunkards, was appalling. Some did not even bother to give a second glance or wrinkle their face in contempt.
• Some among us check whether our zip is up or if we have combed our hair properly. And here lies one totally submerged in his own world were there is zero code for behaviour _ actually he was in non-behaviour, all possible voluntary animation suspended.
• One guy drunk as a fiddler was standing in a bus, tossing here and there like a ship caught in a storm. And one man got up and politely asked him to sit! When we don't have the basic humanitarian decency to provide a seat to old people, why this sanctimonious gesture to drunkards?
• I feel the first spirit lover should have been bodily lifted by some like-minded people and safely deposited in an Onyx garbage bin, where he could be left to mull over his bad old ways whenever consciousness returns.
• The second could have been given an unholy exit from the running bus.
• Well, I remember a joke: Once a drunk got into an autorickshaw and wanted to be taken to Central railway station. The driver protested: " We are standing right in front of the Central". Like all souls under the influence of alcohol, this one too was asininely assertive: "Don't I know Central, who are you trying to cheat." Our driver, who belongs to a tribe of people trained in taking people for ride, got into the auto, started the engine, kept it running for a minute and said: "We have arrived." The passenger was happy: "See I know, have not lost my senses to booze". He gave Rs. 20 as fare and waddled away.
• One solitary instance in my life when I really liked the much-despised auto driver. Right way to treat sozzled up souls who are sometimes treated like the Lord descended.

GAMES LOST

• The games we played when we were children have disappeared into the mists of the ever-plodding time.
• During summer, we would step out at 8 a.m. and return home only at 9 p.m., of course darting in and out to sneak a snack. Cricket was the perennial favourite, but once we played baseball, with casuarina sticks and tennis ball.
• A range of games like gilli danda, marbles, top, seven stones, kabaddi, kings, apart from badminton, kept our spirits alive and our adrenaline flowing. That it shot up the blood pressure of people who watched us was not our concern. All the screaming, swearing, cursing was done while running at full tilt. I wish I could do that now to shed some extra (large) fat.
• We had a set of indoor games, like trade, cards, chess and carromboard. These were quieter and our parents loved us _ if we played at somebody else's house. Hide and seek would take us to places where lesser mortals would fear to tread. Riding a hired cycle during summer vacation became an obsession, with a scene of us taking a tough curve appearing and re-appearing in our dreams.
• When I look out now, I see not many boys playing. Most of them are in front of the computer, moving a mouse, wearing spectacles at a very young age and showing flab. The first sign of extra flesh on me appeared when I got a job.
• I don't want to sound like a pessimist, but can a computer provide the music that the ball makes when we strike a ball; the smack of a ball landing into save hands, the sweat, the wounds on our knees and hands, the joy of running and falling and a thousand other feelings that my mind has lost as years gobble up years.

GREAT INDIAN BABBLERS

• * Indians are unstoppable babblers, chin-wagging everywhere ... wherenot. Often you can see guys hanging on footboard in a bus, discussing most trivial matters oblivous to the fact that they are precariously hanging and only a misplaced foot is separating them and a hospital bed.
  * Another place where people indulge in this national obsession is the toilet. Yuck!!! Of all the improbable places. Guys standing side by side and exchanging views or whatever without being bothered by the nauseating odour leaves me tongue-tied. People talk everywhere except where there are supposed to, ie Parliament, from where they walk out at the slightest pretext or indulge in brickbatting.
• * Enter the cell phone, the mother of it all. As if we did not have trouble with our mandible movers.
  * One chap boarded a bus and started talking to a man to whose house he was anyway going to. By the time the orator finished he had almost reached his destination.
  * Another started dictating a letter to a fellow who was dismissed from his job. And no prizes for guessing who was sitting next to him listening to this tripe for half an hour. One way to escape from these strange characters let loose on civil society is to plug an earphone and lose oneself to music. But if you are listening to FM radio, that is a subject fit for another story.
• Got to go, can hear my cellphone ringing.

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COOL HOGENEKKAL

• * Last summer, plagued by sound, air pollution and subeditors alike, I went to Hogenekkal. Seeing so much of water for a Chennaiite, for whom a bottle of Bisleri is too much, was like the deluge. From hell in Chennai to high water. The trip itself was relaxing, but there water was king.
  * An old man took us in a parisal _ remember the Roja song 'chinna chinna asai' and that long shot from the top. Well the old chap who took us said that it was he who was on the parisal in that shot. (He was proud saying it as if he was Arvind Swamy himself. God knows whether he was taking us for a ride.)
  * The parisal went along a valley with water falling in some places. What a roar it made coming down. The water raised a spray which covered the rocks like a fog, hence the name Hogenekkal ('smoke rock').
  * All along boys were standing on top of the rocks ready to jump into the water from that height for 5 rupees. And they dived like a rock and swam like fish. You could see boys swimming along with the parisal beseeching you to throw money which they would retrieve from the depths. Poor ones, but at least they get money. Sometimes crocodiles can also be found in these waters. Some consolation this!
  * We went during the lean season and the water level was low. We saw the level the water had touched during the peak season, and it scared me. In some places there was yellow scum _ let's keep journalism out of it... industrial pollution, political collusion et al. There was a floating shop, with a guy selling junk food and the ubiquitous Coke.
• A paradise
  * Then we went to a place where the Cauvery enters Tamil Nadu in Dharmapuri. It's a personal paradise of sorts. I lay in the water very near the sandy bed since I cannot swim like fish but only like rock. With the water gushing all around me, I lay in the water with only my head sticking out resembling, maybe, a hippopotamus. Good thing we never took pictures of my taking to the water. Once or twice I lowered my head under water and remembered the film Jaws and preferred to stay above. Some lucky guys swam here and there.... show-offs.
  * Our next stop was the waterfall. The force of the water was such that it could cause you an injury if you were wearing a ring. My only apprehension was that it would wash away my underwear!
  * The cascading water washed away body heat accumulated in the city and cleansed my mind of all things mundane.
  * Finally when I boarded the bus back home, I could feel water all around me and when I closed my eyes the gurgling, gushing, roaring and murmuring water was calling me back.
  
  

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