Rail Gaadi

Kooo chuk chuk chuk....

Train journeys were so much fun as kids - it meant traveling to a new place, be it for a vacation or because of another transfer. After a certain point, my train journeys meant mostly the Pune-Cal route on our old faithful Azad Hind Express.

It brings back so many wonderful memories - of Mom coming to drop me to Pune the first time, of so many bags scared that I'd left that blue top behind and what if I wanted to wear it suddenly, let aside the fact that I hadn't worn it in the past 2 years, but 'what if' I suddenly wanted to.If I could, I would have probably packed up my entire room, complete with my huge cupboard and Hrithik Roshan posters and my knick-knacks, including that sunset scene painted waaaaaaaaaaay back in class III.

It brings back memories of Mom packing my favourite train ka khana - pasta for dinner and chicken and roti for next day. A 36 hour journey, which more often than not became 40 meant that we'd sleep like there was no tomorrow, prompting other passengers to wake us up to ask if we were feeling okay or needed some medicine. It meant that while leaving Pune, I'd pack noodles and chicken lollipops for the night and for the rest of the journey, we would survive on boiled eggs and coffee and chips and pepsi and other such junk. It meant the yells of joy afetr crossing jamshedpur cuz we were just anthr 3 hours away from home, the jhalmuriwalas boardign from jamshedpur and we talking about how cheap Cal is as compared to Pune, it meant the guys (and some of the gals too) smoking their last fags for sometime and disposing off the bottles, seeing the howrah bridge and crowding onto the door to yell and wave to the parents and family. It meant meeting so many interesting people with whom I might not have otherwise had the chance to speak to - like the trade union leader, the construction worker, the hawker, the old lady who'd walked the dandi march alongwith gandhiji, the young dude all nervous for his interview, the students like us who'd be all broke and ready to run errands for the older passengers so long as they fed us something. It meant hours of adda with friends, hours of antakshari and dumb charades, chatting up that cute guy from Wadia's in the next coupe, it meant endless hours of card games, it meant waiting for Manmad to ahve chinese for dinner and rourkela to have boiled eggs, it meant having poori and alu ki sabzi (radha-pallabi) at khragpur, it meant having that awful coffee at Nagpur (I still say they used the mud outside the station and nto coffee powder) and the last vada pav for sometime at Jalgaon. It meant making sure you had that bag full of khaana and mithai for the hostel failing which one would not be allowed entry. It meants hours of sitting by the window and watching the countyside go by. It meant the time we were nearly 12 hours late cuz we were stranded outside Jamshedpur since a tree had fallen on the tracks. It meant calling home and telling Mom, don't come to the station since we don't know what time we are going to reach Cal (the whole journey is actually an entirely different story and I shall do justice to it in another post sometime). It meant 10 people and 3 tickets, it emant spending the entire journey sitting near the toilets since we didn't have enough seats. In first year it meant breaking the ice with seniors and actually talking to them, not being oveawed byt he fact that they were in their 4th year. It meant the time I came home in third year w/o informing anyone simply cuz I wanted to be with my first Valentine - my Dad. It meant Mom freaking out when she realized that i'd travelled along. Till 2nd year, it meant going home for prep leave. It also meant that in final year going to the station bidding our final adiue to friends (who were my family in Pune) and to my second home - Pune. It meant taking 5 years of my life back to square one.

It meant going from one home to the other.

JAI HO PRATIBHA DEVI KI !!!!

Pratibha Patil - the first Woman President of India. Despite that there is no sense of pride or joy when I say this.

When we say The President of India, it should inpire awe, respect, pride, patriotism - sadly this lady inspires nothing but a feeling of shame that we have a person (I shall not insult myself by calling her a lady anymore) who has allegedly conspired protected her brother who has a murder charge hanging on his head, someone who swindled funds from a trust fund set up for poor students, someone who claims to talk to godmen long dead and gone, someone who has not cleared debts to the public exchequer, someone who is not aware of the history of the country of which she is the President, someone who has been reported guilty of financial mismanagement of her family bank and financial irregularities in repayment of loans by the Cooperative sugar mills run by the Patil family.... Nope this is not the person I want to represent my country at the international level.

Till June 2007, noone even knew who Pratibha Pail is. She was the last choice for th post of the President....

On the flip side, I'm sure alot of other politicians would however appreciate her being in the same boat as them. Alot of our present day politicans have been accused of murder and have even served time in the jail n such charges. Alot of politicians' families have availed of various benefits using their connections (Remember the petrol pump scam). Politicians in Maharashtra think it is their birthright in fact to misuse loans granted to sugar mills. Well then, I guess our new President is just upholding the national tradition.

Long live Pratibha Patil....Long live our new President

Pratibha Devi ki jai ho jai ho jai ho...........

Would people think I'm crazy if I say I'm overloaded with work ad I like it and I also like cribbing about the fact that I have too much work?????????

IT IS INDEED A SAD COMMENT ON OUR SOCIETY THAT...

• That in order to get justice, a woman had to strip to the near basics to draw attention to her plight and get justice
• That while she walked, instead of understanding and empathising with her, men leered at her
• That the police wanted to book her on the charge on indecent exposure in public
• That despite the fact that she tried to draw attention to her plight by immolating herself outside the police station, no heed was taken of her matter
• That instead of pulling up the concerned officers who did not take cognizance of her multiple complaints, the police is debating on her mental condition
• That we still physical and mental harrassment because of dowry
• That we still have parents who buy grooms for their daughters and term the consideration as 'dowry'
• That her own parents have not taken her in despite all the emotional and physical torture she faced and she had to live in rented accomodation
• That her landlords fearing retribution from her in-laws have asked her to vacate their premises
• That all the people who were aware of the fact that she faced such atrocities did nothing, not even make an anonymous complaint
• That she has been penalised for having a daughter
• That her on husband was the perpetrator of all these atrocities
• That alot of people on seeing Pg. 1 of TOI showing her marching through the city in her underwear got titilated and did not read the entire cover story
• That alot of people have criticised Pooja for walking on the streets in her undergarments without even asking her why she did so

I can only thank God for the luck and His blessings that I was born into a family where I never faced any bias because I am a Girl and love me for who I am.

I thank God that I married into a family where I am a daughter and not a daughter-in-law (No pun intended)

I thank God for giving me Arjun.

Kolkata - City of Joy

Home sweet home....

Yes its been six years since I have left Cal now and I won't be going back to stay there permanently anymore - but the memroies are there.The rains here in Delhi are now bringing back my memories and making me all nostalgic for Cal. I always say Cal or Kolkata - I hate it when some of my non Bong friends pronounce it 'KOLKATTA with emphasis on the t'

You just don't get chat anywhere in India like the chat you get in Cal.I miss the puchkas (2 takaar 4 te) and the churmur (pronounced choor moor) - a gooey mishmash of papdi and broken golgappas and imli ki chutni and lots of masala eaten in a bowl made of dried leaves and you use a papdi as a spoon. I miss the jhaal muri. One sureshot way we knew we'd entered the domain of West Bengal was when the mooriwalas would board the train from Jamshedpur and we'd buy jhaal muri worth five whole bucks and even then we'd argue with the guy saying the quantity had decreased. I miss the chicken rolls and the kaababs (spelled the way it is pronounced) and the egg roll and the mutton chop and the momos and chicken haakka (again spelled the way it is pronounced) and I miss the ice cream walas ka ghanti going tring tring at 4 pm when all the adults would be fast asleep and we kids would pool our paisas together and then 4 of us would share a vanilla cup (which used to be the cheapest). I miss having fish fry from Benfish and telling people that the nearest landmark to my house is 'Paanjaab bank' (you get the drift by now).

I miss the camardarie and the warmth of my para where everyone knows everyone - where the moment my taxi would pull up in front of my house on my return from hostel all the doors and windows of adjoining houses would open up and immediately all the kakimas (aunties) and didas (sundry grandmoms) would start saying ' Eki re...Poonaye ki tui khaaoa daaoa korish na theek kore? Dekh ki shukiye geche re ei meyeta' (What is this - don't you eat properly in Pune? You'v become so thin). I miss going to someone's house and immediately being plied with jol, mamlet (you were fed omlettes if you showed up between 10 - 1 in the morning and 3 - 8 in the evening), parle - g ba marie biskut ( parle/marie biscuits), lotsa mishti (sandesh/chamcham/channar toast/ras malai)....the list is endless. I miss the community feeling where all of us would gather on Ekadoshi (The 11th day of the Durga Puja) to watch the natok (drama) put up by the baachas in the para. I miss serving the para kakus (uncles) during bhog who would sit down to eat only after they had ensured that every single person in our block right form the oldest to the youngest, the richest to the poorest had eaten the labda, khichuri, aachar, papod and chatni (That was always the menu year after year). I miss seeing the entire city decked up for the Pujo with people out in their Sunday bests roaming from Garia to Sribhumi to Deshapriya Park to see the pandals.

I miss the bhelpuri wala who used to sit right outside school. I miss my friends. I miss City Centre'er Crispy Chicken. I miss the evening walks and games which culminate either in CA Market having rolls and thereafter on the steps of City Centre. I miss the wramth of my city. I miss the feeling of knowing that its impossible to lose your way there - someone or the other would lead you onto the right track and tell you 'Take 235, and get off at Minto Park, cross the road and then take S21. Tell the conductor to tell you when the stop comes.' I miss knowing that wherever I maybe in he city I still have a home in every para (Thanks to my innumerable relatives and friends). I miss the fests of our school days and the intense competition we used to have in HAM, JAM, Quiz etc etc etc. I miss going all the way from Salt Lake to Golpark just to buy that one book which you were just not getting in Landmark and CRosswords, despite placing orders for it a hundred times. I miss roaming the gallis of New Market wanting to buy everything I saw. I miss the joyous feeling when we could see Howrah Bridge as the train was pulling in. I miss the tram rides along the race course and cutting across the Maidan to get to Sangam Gate.I miss the intense conversation I used to have with my co-passengers on the bus rides. I miss going to Central Park for bhutta. I miss the chuttis we used to get when it used to pour and the lane leading to our school would get flooded. I miss wading through knee-deep water holding hands.I miss the songs and dances of Cal. I miss the hazaar pujas we used to have. I miss the bandhs when we would play baddy and cricket on the streets. I miss my friends who are all now in different parts of the country because of studies and/or work. I miss the impromptu adda sessions we use to have across the balconies.I miss the early morning trips to Dakhineshwar and the achars you get right outside Gangurams and then the boat ride to Belur Math.

I MISS CAL. I MAY NOT BE LIVING THERE ANY MORE, BUT ALOT OF LOVELY MEMORIES ARE THERE - AND OF COURSE MY PARENTS

I MISS CAL...PERIOD

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JANTA KI RAAY???????

Doesen't janta ki raay count in the largest democracy in the world??????????

Don't I at least get to say who I would like to see as my President - as the Representative of my country - as the Leader of our Defence Force - the Final Decision Maker etc etc. Yes yes I know the President is only the titular Head bla blah blah - the de facto and de jure etc etc...

But I do have an opinion and I want a choice to exercise that opinion. I know we execrsie our franachise when we'r electing the Prime Minister.

In my opinion, the Prime Minister heads the Cabinet, he is the actual head of India, as in the working head. But its the President who is THE face of our country. His is THE signature which makes a bill a law, he is THE ONE who has the authority to declare India to be in a state of war, he is THE ONE who may grant a pardon to some poor soul and give him a fresh lease of life.

Why do we have to make do with one of the also rans as our President. Oour outgoing president, Abdul Kalam Azad, a world famous scientist, a visionary beyond par and a man who was above all the political games and muck. A man to whom we the next generation can look upto and learn from, a man who came from the back and beyond (as we the urban dwellers would say), a Muslim to boot to head ISRO, to head our country, a man who thinks its the children and students whose opinions are important and not to be dismissed, a man, an author, a motivator, a teacher, a leader, a man who would never compromise on his principles, someone we can all look upto and so will the rest of world. Which country can say with pride that they have been led by a nuclear scientist.

And now in his place who are the probable contenders - a bunch of political washouts, also-rans, yes-men and chamchas. Men who would never hesitate to compromise on their scruples and the country to save themselves and their party and their leader, not to mention a quick buck on the side. why don't we just auction off the chair. men who wouldn't think twice before passing some worthless bill into a law (something like more reservation for the SC/ST/OBC - others stop studying and working)

Imagine a scene where the auctioneer (now that would start another race) brings down his hammer to say "Going once going twice and sold to the man with the big red huge suitcase"

And while I am at it, how is it that in a country of more than one billion we cannot come up with some women as contenders for the Presidential post. I propose Shabana Azmi for one, Kiran Bedi as another and Renuka Chowdhury as a third. And no I will never ever consider Mrs. Sonia Gandhi's name as President becasue of the very simple fact that she is not an Indian by birth. She will never be able to gauge the pulse of the nation and at the risk of repeating myself, SHE IS NOT AN INDIAN.SHE IS AND WILL ALWAYS REMAIN AN ITALIAN.National pride is also something.

It appears that the elections for the highest post in the country turn into an arena for all the politicians to showoff their political might (read number of votes) and call in their favours. This should ideally be an election where we, the people of the country have a say - Of the people, by the people, for the people in the true sense of the term.

JANTA KI RAAY LI JAAYE AND JANTA KI RAAY SUNI JAAYE

MELTING MOMENTS

Its soooooooooooo hottttttttttttttttttttt.........

Common refrain yes, and I'm sure most of you are by now sick to death of hearing me say this (especially Arjun cuz poor guy has to bear the brunt of my anger when the light just conks offf at night)

Ughhhhhhhh, yes that is the WORST thing ever - trying to sleep and there being no light for 3-4 hours. Calling up those idiots sitting at the pumphouse is of no use cuz they are never informed about anything on earth except to say that 'Hume nahi maloom light kab tak ayegi'

So there we are swating like pigs and dogs and any other animal you care to name...I swear that if any HUDA official ever shows up before me at such time, I shall not be responsible for my actions and their aftermath.