Moving Up...Or Is It Down

I have changed my car from Maruti 800 to Estilo. And acquired a Lalu Prasad Yadav syndrome.

I met the ex-chief Minister of Bihar when he was lodged in Patna jail for the Fodder scam. Even in the jail, Lalu Prasad was in full form and ease. The conversation moved from opposition-bashing to how people change with passing of time.

Says Lalu, “When I was a young boy, of about eight or ten, I used to ride a bicycle. You know whom I used to hate the most at that time? The car-owners. They used to move like the road belonged to them. I had to often get to the side road or drain when a car approached.

Today I travel by car. Do you know whom I hate most? These cycle-wallahs. They are slow, obstruct your way, and often ride like the road belonged to them.”

After moving up from 800 to Estilo, I have started pitying the Maruti 800 or other similar car owners. They are so slow, don’t know how to drive…

Which MP3 Player?

IPod or Creative? 1 GB or 2 GB capacity? Nano or Video? Or settle for a more affordable Made-In-China knock-off? I am asked these questions too often, and my answer these days is invariably, “None.”

I don’t want to belittle the looks and features of iPod, or the audio superiority of Creative MP3 players, but today even a middle-rung mobile phone would give you the same features. On top of it, it would give you radio listening and recording facility, in some models not just FM but also AM.

More importantly, for most of the people a mobile phone is a necessity, while an MP3 player is an add-on. So while buying a mobile phone, or upgrading to a new model, look for its music playing capabilities. Open today’s newspaper or a magazine. You will find among the features advertised for a new cellphone a line or two about 1 or 2 GB MP3 music playing capabilities. In fact, I would even suggest paying a couple of hundred rupees more to get a higher capacity MP3 playing capability in your phone.

As far as video is concerned, you had been using even your vanilla mobile phone for sending/playing MMSs for ages. Its screen is much bigger than that of an iPod, and the colour comes handy.

What’s more, if you double up your mobile phone as a portable music player, the usage would be more. That’s value for money. Also, less chance of its getting picked and being left on the bill payment counter.

Wide Awake at Jaipur

Last weekend I was in Jaipur. Though the occasion was a visit down memory lane to Aditi’s college friend Sudarshana, who has just turned mother-in-law, I thought it would be an opportunity to drive up the much-touted Delhi-Jaipur highway.

Unlike in most other countries, journey on any highway in India is unpredictable. So the 250-odd-kilomtere distance took more than six hours while going, but just three hours while returning. The smooth, wide tars gave way to a 2-lane service road after the tollgate at Manesar. And to complete the chaos, huge 24-wheeler trucks vied for space with newly bought Skodas and Mercs, rickety Tata Sumos and tortoise-slow tractor trailers. The slow march continued till Kotputli. Starting at 7.30 in the morning, we reached Civil Lines at Jaipur famished and tired at around 2 PM.

I last visited Jaipur a little more than eight years ago. And this Rajasthan hub has changed a lot in the meantime. According to the Google map, I needed to cross the Tripolia Bazaar, Johari Bazaar and Jal Mahal to reach Civil Lines. In my memory, camel-carts, cycles and pedestrians made a chaotic procession at dusty Tripolia, while slush overflowed on the road by Jal Mahal. Miracle of miracles! The road bordering Amer fort, Jal Mahal is now at least 100 feet wide. I made up to Hawa Mahal at the speed of 80 kmph. Johari Bazar too is now wide and organised though the narrow old gates remind of the chaotic past. Quite a few high-rise malls dotted the roadside, while cars of all makes filled the roads. The traffic police must be hard-pressed here, because the oncoming of new cars didn’t mean old scooters and cycles going off the road. Driving in Jaipur is often the best test for patience.

A visit to the next-door cybercafé was also an eye-opener. Even before announcing the tariff, the proprietor asked for my identity-proof, and duly filed in the photocopy. The tariff was a reasonable Rs 15 per hour, and the download speed a zippy 2 Mbps!

I have always thought Amer fort and City palace are the only tourist attractions at Jaipur. Sudarshana’s husband Mahipal insisted on visiting the Jaigarh and Nahargarh forts. And now, I recommend them too. I found the mahals in Jaigarh more well-preserved and ornate than the ones in Amer fort, manicured gardens, and the view of Amer Fort and serpentine fort walls across the distant hills breathtaking. While the Madhavendra Palace at Nahargarh fort was bare and somewhat boringly symmetrical, the 360-degree view of the pink city atop the rampart was enthralling.

One and a half days in Jaipur, under the canopy of dark clouds and mild sunshine, display of the new richesse and pride of the old tradition, the languor of the lazy lifestyle - it was just not enough a recess.

Fuelling the Corruption

Dispensing less fuel than what it shows in the meter is nothing new in Delhi. In fact, there is hardly any Petrol Pump in the city where you get the correct volume and/or right quality. But yesterday on a petrol station dotting the Rohtak Road, I faced a new kind of cheating. As you go from Nangloi to Ghewra Crossing, you’ll find an Indian Oil outlet just after the side road to Hirankudna is past (just about 100 metres before the Ghewra More). When I moved to the bay with an almost empty fuel tank, there was no other car around. Two attendants came up.
“Is the Credit Card machine working?” I asked.
“Yes sir.”
“Five hundred rupees, normal.”
One of the attendants downs the dispenser, and starts pouring in petrol. The speed of dispensing was extremely slow. Meanwhile the elderly attendant goes up to the front of the car, and asks, “Do you want a wipe?”
Free service, so why not. He starts wiping, and asks, “Is the water hose working?”
I take my eyes off the dispensing machine and go up to the front. The attendant shows the two sprinklers on the bonnet. But to start them, I need to start the car, and I need the keys. He shrugs and continues to wipe the windshield with the water he has got. I return to the dispenser to see that the other attendant has already put back the nozzle and is closing up the tank. I look at the meter, the LED is blank.
“How did it fill so fast?” I exclaimed.
“It’s over,” he answered. “The meter sometimes goes blank. You’ll see the average, sir.”
“But that would be later…”
“Come back after a few days.”
“But…”
“Yeh Tyagi pump hai, sir. Idhar cheating nehi milta (This is Tyagi Petrol pump. Here you don’t talk of cheating.)”
Of course, in the Jaat heartland how dare you suspect a Tyagi!
I was on the road again. After a little while, when the fuel meter settled, it was clearly showing petrol reserve of about Rs 300.
How could I know that the attendant actually wanted to wipe off my wallet, and not the windshield.

The Mermaid, an Enchantress

On 12^th July, my friend Manjari Gokhale (now Joshi) had her marriage reception at Pune. Aditi and I had to be there. While at it, we thought why not visit Ajanta caves and also soak rains at Goa for a few days. I will write about these places as soon as I get accustomed again to the humid hell that is called Delhi.

For now, just a few tangent strokes.

Did you say mobile phone is a recently invented gadget? In cave no 26 at Ajanta, I found this sculpture of a Royal lady on a panel on the wall (created in 2nd century AD). If she is not speaking over the cellphone, what else is she doing?

I saw the statue of a mermaid in one of the roadside parks at Panaji, Goa. It’s there near the main market, beside the Indian Oil petrol pump. The Mandovi river flows on the other side of the road. I was wondering what would happen if similar mermaid statues are put up in other cities of India. I asked some of my journo friends for their opinions. A Times of India Senior Correspondent said, “I am not sure about other cities, but can talk about Kolkata and Delhi. If it’s set up at Kolkata, the ruling party would call for a day-long Bangla Bandh, and then destroy the statue calling it ‘symbol of degenerative culture (apasanaskriti)’. In Delhi, half of the men folk of the area the statue is put up, would visit the place at night to caress the statue.”

I already said it’s raining most of the time at Goa. If you are visiting any part of it now, don’t leave your vehicle at the roadside for long. It will have the same fate as this truck had and the parts would have public usage as you can see in the photographs.

Wait for more such different strokes as I finish going through the photos.

Who Cares for Koel?

Every morning, my wife Aditi takes her office staff bus to Narela from the ITO crossing. To reach there, she takes the Metro from our Dwarka home. Once she is in ITO area and is waiting for the bus to arrive, she phones me up for a chit-chat.

Surrounded by concrete monstrosities, the ITO crossing is one of the busiest traffic intersections in Delhi – according to an estimate nearly 250 vehicles pass this area every minute.

Today morning also I got her call at around 8.45 AM. But while speaking to her, I could clearly hear whistles of a Koel at the background. Amazed, I asked her the source of the sound. She said it must be coming from one of those few roadside trees in ITO…the bird's kuoo-kuooo was regular, mellifluous and very high-pitched.

I wondered how a Koel is surviving in that area full of huge concrete buildings, tarred roads and hardly any patch of green.

“It must be an urban Koel,” she ventured.

“But how did it come? How could there be a crow’s nest around?” I exclaimed.

And on that note, we hung up.
Will the same Koel sing at the same time at ITO tomorrow?

The Perks of Recession

Sanajay left the Business Desk of our TV Channel two years ago. Though a very well networked, agile journalist, he jointed a real estate firm in Bangalore as partner. We remained in touch, though not regularly, and every time Sanjay spoke to me, he prodded me to find out huge pieces of vacant land in prime locations of Delhi, and convince the owners for distress sale. I should make a handsome “side-money”, he advised. But ill-informed about the realty sector that I am, and lazy to the bones, I could hardly help Sanjay. Or for that reason, myself. It’s another matter that I loved the big chunks of land in Delhi to remain as they are, vacant lots, than being transformed into glitzy malls, or huge condominiums.

About a month ago, Sanjay called me again.

“Can you find me a job in the media?” he enquired.

I knew about the downturn in the economy and fall in real estate prices. I gave a poignant rendering of the speech that I usually give to all my friends and interns these days, about job-cuts at media houses—Times of India, Hindustan Times, Indian Express, et al. I even threw in some astronomical figures to make it more convincing.

Then I wondered if it was too harsh of me to turn down Sanjay. At the end, I asked rather apologetically, “I know the real estate industry is in doldrums. But is it really that bad?”

“Well…actually…it’s not that much,” Sanjay became a little pensive. And then, as if he was sharing a secret with me, he said, “In fact, it suits me so well that last month I lost about 5 kilos.”

As Sanjay ports most of the features of a “very healthy Indian male”, the news was indeed good. Besides, coming from a wealthy family, I knew Sanjay didn’t lose weight because of malnutrition.

“Tell me about it,” I urged.

“It’s like this. Earlier when the real estate sector was booming, I had to work late everyday, visiting the clients and prospects in the evening, discussing the deals over dinners and drinks. Today, I leave office at around six, go for a swim, take a sumptuous evening high tea (he actually said 'high Rum', sounding more like ‘Hai Ram’), and then spend time with my wife and daughter at the Tennis Court. No going to office on Saturdays and Sundays. I am doing a job with this company, you know, so I’ll get the same salary whether I leave office at six or eleven at night!”

“Of course,” I sounded emphatic. “Enjoy the perks of recession, my dear.”