Dead Man is never sad

Yesterday, my sister called at 8.45 pm to say a man was lying on the platform opposite her house since morning.  I immediately went and checked his pulse - he had been dead for a long time. He may have been in his 50s or 60s and there was a stick and a pair of slippers next to him.

Right away I went to the police station and informed - the police man asked me if it was man or woman.  When I said it was a man he was sort of relieved.  He took my name and number. I was both happy and sad.

I was happy that the police never troubled me and they never called me back. I later understood that they came with a photographer and took away the body in a van.

I was sad that there were so many people around the dead man and no one bothered or do anything about it.  He was lying right opposite a hospital.  Right next to it were vendors selling eatables and people eating right there.  It takes great courage or complete apathy to do something like that - I think it is the latter.

The dead man perhaps died because he was sad - but I felt he was never sad that no one bothered him after he was dead.  That was what I saw in the dead man's face.  Lesson to learn.

I would want to ask him why he had neatly kept his stick and slippers next to him before dying.

Legs are sweating

I have a middle aged, middle income and a middle of the road friend. An ideal employee, an ideal husband and father, he never had big dreams or ambitions and small pleasures of life made him happy.

The family used to live in a rented house. With his kids growing up, his wife wanted a house so that they can call something their own. So he took his first big loan and bought a second hand house. His income immediately reduced by more than a half while the interest rates continued going up. He can see the smile in his wife’s face when guests complement the public park situated right opposite the house.

He used to own an old battered 15 year old car. He was quite happy with it – it took him where he wanted to go – no powered windows, no power steering, no AC and not even a radio. He never spent much on it and never had to worry when it is going to get bashed next.

She started working to manage the ever increasing expenses.

Now the car wasn’t much of a looker to suit the house. He did not care much for these things but then one day he had to give in – he got a new car with all the bells and whistles. All were very happy till one day the wife commented while taking a spin in the shiny new car – “my legs are sweating”. Standards change very fast, you see.

The friend is obsessed with the thought of making his wife happy – to keep his wife’s leg cool. Who cares if he and his wife have to slave for the rest of his life – not him anyway.

Domestic Lizard - Garage

Not sure if rare - at least I haven't seen one around for what I remember.

A spotted garden/domestic lizard in my house.

Beautiful but lethat

This is a night sky of Bangalore. Do not be fooled by the orange colour - this is reflection of city lights!

A Wasp 'Couple?' building a nest

The photos do not do justise to be the beauty of these insects building their nests. It was power, knowledge, resources, function and wonder that is driven by instinct. Hope they live happily ever after. I am not sure - while taking photos of these wild wasps - I saw the drama of a clutch of eggs hatching closeby - whether they were wasps - I would not know - but they were equally wonderful to watch.

Selim Sesler, Mac Crimmon - Roman Havasi - Turkish Clarinet

Swati Dance

Sampath Kumar's spoon flip trick

Calcutta or Kolkata

I am an Indian and lived throughout in India – and I can’t believe that I am visiting Calcutta, now Kolkata, for the first time.  I was excited, enthralled and looked forward to getting drowned in Kolkata culture.  I was never disappointed – I did drown and what a feeling it was. 

It was quite late when I landed in Kolkata – the first thing that struck me was the Ambassador taxi.  These extinct behemoths were there everywhere – and I loved it – my first ride in a four wheeler was in an ambassador car.  I fell in love with the city immediately.

Next day I just walked down a while.  The difference from other cities was glaring and stark.  The British Raj buildings still existed there with work still being done out of these ‘offices’ – no flashy glass frontages, no multi storied concrete structures.  The place reeked of old world charm and aesthetic cultural montage.  Work moved at the same pace as the bullock carts – it reflected the mentality of the people.  The taxi driver proudly showed us the building burnt several years with the soot all over it still fresh.  They lived life and in between somewhere, work moved. Take it easy. The people had a weird attitude – they did everything they could to ensure they did nothing.  That’s a great way to view life and death.

The tea in the mud containers told everything that Kolkata stood for – crumbles easy but great on the green.  What is more important to life is what we stand for.  You need to compromise on what you need to do and what you do not need to do – each has its pros and cons.  I feel I am more of a person that would root for a life there.  I don’t want to rush life and take my environment for granted.  I need to merge into it and dissolve.

And lo, for the first time in my life I saw a tram in India – they disappeared from other cities of India ages ago – but, no sir, not in Kolkata. It was a pleasure to see people getting on and off wherever they wanted.  I wondered why they had stops at all.

And then I saw the Birla temple.  The security guards won’t allow me inside with my back pack (actually my lap top). I told very gently but sternly that I have come a long way and there was no way I am going to return without a darshan.  He hesitated, but took care of my bag till I returned (despite the fact that my placing a bag in their custody was a bigger security risk – in my opinion).  I offered to open the bag so that he can inspect – he refused.  I was humbled by his trust.  And when I returned, I was too ashamed to open the bag to check – he made me open the bag and check if everything was there.  I left the place having got the darshan of the Lord right outside the temple.

Next day was my ambassador ride day.  It was a great ride – I will remember this for a very, very long time indeed.  I was sorry it came to an end so soon – I just rolled the names of the streets and loved the twirls of my tongue – Shakespeare Sarani, Park Street and so on.

That night I wanted to walk back.  The street hawkers bring life to the city.  Just name it and it is found there – cheaper than anywhere in India, well, mostly.  And while bargaining they have a language of their own.  “Please, brother, take this.  I’ve been here for 17 years and if you find a defect and come after two years I will be here to exchange it for you – for free. And bloody, I bet you can find that guy in the very same spot with a few more grey hairs.  And perhaps, selling those very same wares.

I thing, I can bet on – you cannot get cheaper and better food than in Kolkata.  Of any type be it sweets or junk food.  Street foods of course, stand out, literally.

And before the culture could seep in, it was time for me to return.  I came to the airport – it is the blandest airport I have ever seen.  The bus stops in some metros looked better.  But the laid back attitude pleased me – I was in no hurry either.

I missed travelling by the metro – the icon that is trying to change the image of Kolkota – am I glad I did not travel.

Not sure when I will travel back – when I do I plan to go to the park street hawker and ask for a replacement lock and key that I got last year for Rs.30/-.

Liked Calcutta better than Kolkata.

Swati's clay eyes