GHOST STORIES

Today at office, during the coffee-break, some of my senior colleagues shared some interesting information.

A couple of years ago, a bank functioned in our present office premises and an employee had committed suicide and his ghost still haunts the ladies’ toilet (of all places).  It was discussed with sincerity and great belief. 

Though I laughed at them, like everyone else, I am curious to know about the “ghosts”.  When I was young, I was afraid of many things and based on the ghost stories I have heard and the way ghosts are projected in films, I developed fear, but as I grew up, with my scientific temper and rational thinking, the “fear of the unknown” slowly vanished.

The first ghost story was narrated to me by my eldest brother.  It was a story he had read in a magazine.  The story goes like this; a photographer took photos of an old deserted building for its aesthetic value and when he developed the negatives and printed photographs, he was shocked to see the image of a nun standing near the gate of the old house.  After listening to this story, for a very long time, I was scared of every nun I saw.

My brother later shared his personal experience as well.  When my brother was in his early 20s, he lived alone and worked in Hyderabad.  He usually spent his weekends with our relatives in and around Hyderabad and one weekend, late in the night as he was walking towards my cousin’s house in a remote suburb, a westerner along with his gigantic dog came close to him and asked for time in chaste Urdu and both the person and the dog vanished within seconds of my brother replying.  My brother was very surprised with this incident and on an enquiry, he was told that several years before, an Englishman, who had a dog, lived and died there.

My friend too, narrated his friend’s experience.  My friend’s friend, when he was young, had a friendly old man in his neighbourhood.   The old man greeted the boy in reference every time the boy walked past his gate.  The boy went on an excursion for a few days and upon his return, the old man stopped the boy, greeted him as usual and discussed details of his excursion.  The boy returned home cheerfully, only to learn that the old man had died the same day the boy went on an excursion and that the funeral too was over by then.

(It is always better to hear from the horse’s mouth and as and when my brother and my friend share this information in their respective blogs, I shall share it)

A couple of years ago, while I was asleep, I suddenly woke up due to a very uneasy feeling and was very confused.  The next day, I woke up at the same time and experienced cross-ventilation of chill air.  I can rationalize my experience thus.  However, I am very eager to know more about the existence of ghosts.

LIFE IS A JOURNEY

Life is full of surprises.  We do not know what is in store for us.

In the last decade and half, I have been commuting to my place of work on my two-wheeler (scooty/scooter).  The moment I get on to my vehicle, irrespective of my moods, I start singing or whistling (yes I do).  But the rides are not always pleasurable, particularly in traffic jams.  I avoid riding through the main roads to escape traffic and keep discovering new routes through residential areas.  Many such roads are narrow, bumpy and crowded.  Driving on main roads is more pleasurable than driving in residential colonies, due to speed constraint.

Last monsoon, while I was returning home from work on my vehicle late in the evening, I was caught in a bad traffic jam on the main road.  To escape, I entered into a quasi-residential colony.  My God!  The road was flooded and all vehicles were stranded on the road.  I was completely drenched, stuck and could neither move forward nor go back to the main road.  The water level on the road with several potholes was rising due to continuous and heavy rain.  After a while, the vehicular movement stopped and there was a rumour that a live electrical wire was snapped.  I was so scared and worried how I would reach home safely.   Though I don't have any desires in life, I don't want to leave this world while I am still productive, particularly before my parents.  Though I am agnostic, at that particular moment, I remembered the “Gajendra moksha” episode from the Bhagavatam and addressed to God; “the same manner in which you saved Gajendra, grant me moksha from this situation, from this traffic, from this route, from riding the vehicle and from this organization. I am fed up.”  I was at that stage very unhappy at work and was looking for a change desperately.  I somehow reached home that evening safely.

Soon after this episode, a new organization came up near our house and I contemplated to walk-in and look out for a suitable job for me. Surprisingly, I got a call from their office inviting me to attend an interview, after they saw my profile on a job portal.  I was so happy and started day-dreaming; going to the office by walk, coming home for lunch and reaching home before sunset.  They were very impressed with me and after several levels and rounds of interviews, sought time to give a formal offer.  I thought, God had heard my prayers and was creating an opportunity for me to work close to my home. I waited and waited for the offer and one day, I received a call, offering me a very low salary and I could not accept it.

I continued with my efforts to get into another organization and I landed in my present job. This monsoon, I am not riding on my vehicle to work.  The location is very far away from my home.  I need to travel by train to work and travel to the nearest railway station by bus or an auto rickshaw. 

Life is funny, still beautiful.

The journey continues.......

FOOD FOR THOUGHT

A colleague of mine has been demanding a cake from me for quite some time.  The reason behind his demand is not so interesting and so I am not discussing it. Bored with his demand, I decided to buy a few pastries for him.  Last week, on a fine morning, I went to a bakery in our neighbourhood.  Most of the shops were still closed.  The counter at the bakery too was not open.  There were two teenagers in the bakery, who were busy attending to the chores.  While one was sweeping, another was cooking something in a large vessel. 

Out of curiosity and nothing else to do, waiting for the counter to open, I observed what was being cooked.  I wondered, what can be cooked in a bakery!  I thought everything is baked there.   A large aluminium vessel, which probably was never washed, was placed on an indigenously designed gas stove in front of the bakery, on the road.  The vessel too, was not covered with any lid.  The water in the vessel was very dirty.  Dirty is not the appropriate word.  It was muddy.  Potatoes and carrots were being boiled in that vessel. (Probably, the root vegetables were not washed)  I also saw a thick polythene bag inside the vessel that floated partially in the boiling water and I told the boy sweeping the floor, assuming that it was dropped into the vessel along with the vegetables, inadvertently.  While he maintained silence, another boy who brought a tray of eggs and dropped one after the other into the boiling water replied that, he had dropped a sealed cover containing peas into the water.  The eggs were not white and bright like the ones I have seen in the provision stores or the supermarkets, but were off-white and dirty.  Some eggs were stained. I just could not digest the scene and it troubled me a lot. (It continues to haunt me).

I discussed it with some of my colleagues at office and a lady, who lived near a bakery in her childhood, told me that, they boil eggs for making puffs (egg puffs).  But why potatoes, peas and carrots was my question?  She replied; they are for the veg-puffs.  “OMG” was my reaction.  “Is this the way they boil vegetables for veg-puff?”  Another colleague asked me; “can you guess how oil is replenished in roadside eateries?”  Even before I attempted to answer, she said, “oil sachets are just dropped in to the wok and after a while, when the plastic cover melts and the oil spills into the wok, the plastic cover is removed”.  Why on earth should they do such things?  Is cutting a sachet and pouring oil such a difficult task? I discussed the same topic with several people that day.  My brother, who had worked with a firm manufacturing poultry feed and had visited several poultries during his tenure told me that, the dirt on the eggs I had seen that morning could be bird droppings.  Yuck.

I am not satisfied discussing this with just my family and colleagues.  I want as many people as possible to know how unhygienic the bakeries and roadside eateries are.  Kindly share this information with as many people as possible.

LOVE AUR DHOKA

I wrote this blog a few months ago.  I was little skeptical about posting this. I shared the draft with my close friends and sought opinion. Surprisingly, while my male friends advised me against it, my female friends encouraged me to go ahead.

My perception about love, courtship and marriage are all idealistic.  I observe couples and try to understand their love and loyalty for each other.

Several years ago, a colleague rushed to my table immediately after she entered office in the morning and sought my permission to use the phone.  I had a direct dialing facility whereas she had to seek the operator’s assistance. 

She picked up the phone and asked the person on the other end “Are you fine?  I am so scared. Please don’t ask me any questions.  I can’t explain. Just listen.  Don’t drive to your office.  Please hire an auto.  Am I clear?  Call me after you reach.”

As she spoke, tears rolled down her cheeks. Wiping tears, she thanked me.  Looking at her anxiety, I asked “All is well?” In an emotional tone she replied; “The flowers from my plait fell down as I was on my way to office and soon after I reached, my bangle broke and I consider these bad omens.  I am very sentimental about these things and I foresee a danger, so I have cautioned my husband.” she replied.  I was very surprised with her sentiment.  Being single, I could not comprehend her feelings. I had never seen my mother, sisters-in-law or sister, expressing such sentiments at home.  This episode reminded me of a discussion I had with a prospective groom years before.  He was of the opinion that a working woman can never be a faithful and a committed wife.  I was very offended by his statement and argued with him that people carry their values wherever they go.  To be honest, looking at my colleague’s anxiety and concern, I was very happy that Sati Savitri kind of women still existed.

Over a period of time, this colleague in reference flirted with every Tom, Dick and Harry.  There was also a rumour about a serious affair. It was very shocking to me as I had formed a different opinion about her based on the telephonic conversation she had with her husband and also I thought only men philander.

During all these years of my professional life in different organizations across industries, in my social circle and neighbourhood, I have met several Savita Bhabhies disguised as Sati Savitris. There is something common in all these women.  They are all very expressive of their love for their husbands.  They never complain about the husbands in public.  They wear all religious symbols like Sindhoor, kumkum, mangalsutra, rings and toe-rings.  They fast for their families, particularly the husbands, but simultaneously get involved with someone else and have fun. I am really curious as to how they manage things so well; their men, emotions and guilt pangs if any.  Surprisingly, not many discuss about these kinds of affairs.

What two consenting adults do with their lives is nobody’s business including me.  I am just thinking aloud.  

Is love temporal? Or can it happen several times or it’s just a concept like many other things?

TWO STATES

No. Don’t worry. I am not going to discuss Andhra and Telangana.  It’s about the book I read a few years ago and the film that’s going to be released tomorrow. The film too like the book is certainly going to be a success. There is no doubt about it.

I might sound cynical.  But let me be honest.  I did not enjoy reading it.  It is not the style, the language, or the taut storyline that I did not like.  A writer of Chetan Bhagat’s caliber certainly doesn’t need a testimonial from a person like me. But I am entitled to my opinion. 

I didn’t like the way Madrasis, particularly the Tam Brams are portrayed in the book.  There are many things that are exaggerated.  Take for example, when Krish visits Ananya’s house, he describes a scene where her family members run holding food served on banana leaves.  How can that be possible? Yes, even today in many homes, on auspicious occasions and during functions, food is served in leaves, particularly in tender banana leaves and is considered an honour.  Such food is always served on tables or on floors, but never in buffet style. 

His comparison of the delicacy murukku to fossilized snake is not in good taste. It is such a wonderful snack and one needs expertise to make it.  (Why should he compare a snack with a snake?)  So is the comparison of Carnatic music to wailing and his criticism about the awards.

I don’t dispute about the clichéd and stereotypical perception of people.  Every community has an opinion about the other communities and cultural shocks are inevitable. But I strongly feel that when a person is in love, he or she is natural to get attracted to and celebrate the cultural differences and not ridicule or portray them with a negative connotation as is the case in the book referred to.  I would like to quote Khushwant Singh who said; “I do believe that if you fall in love, your very perception of the other person’s community changes.  You begin to feel closer to that community.  Before I met Ghayoor I’d stereotypical notions that most Hindus and Sikhs are brought up with. But all that changed. And my attachment for the Muslim community increased in the years that followed.” Isn’t it true?  I failed to find this attachment in 2 States.

I have seen many couples from different States adapting to their partners’ religion, culture and language so well in our relatives’ and friends’ circles that it is very hard for some stranger to make out that their backgrounds are different. 

Please do not jump into a conclusion that I am a Tam Bram.  I am not.  Many of my friends are and they are all very smart, in every respect.

Thank God, things have changed!

Very often we hear our elders talk about “good old days” and we too refer to a bygone period as a golden era. But, without prejudice; it is untrue.

When I look back, many things have changed since my childhood.  Some of them are quite significant too and I am happy about the change. One such is invention of the disposable syringes. 

I was a very obedient child and never made fuss over going to school, not even once.  But every year during monsoon, there was a day, I didn’t want to go to school and my parents insisted that I should.  Those days, cholera was very rampant and to combat the epidemic, Government appointed sanitary inspectors (SI) visited schools.  The first time I saw an SI at school, I did not panic like my seniors.  To me, he was just another visitor. But what I experienced that day, I can never forget.  I can feel the pain even today.

My school authorities welcomed the SI and soon after the morning assembly, set up a table in the corridor.  The SI with the help of an assistant, (probably a nurse, I am not sure) placed a kerosene stove and boiled water in a vessel for sterilization..  They also kept some vials, cotton, a small bottle of antiseptic lotion and a large syringe.  The students were made to stand in a queue and with the same syringe and needle, the SI injected all students.  He sterilized the needle once in a while.  The teachers not only ensured discipline in the queue, but also used their authority to make sure that everyone was inoculated.  The nurse helped in tucking the sleeves and applying antiseptic before and after injection.  While some students cried after the injection was administered, some wailed in fear even before it was done. Some bold students tried to break the queue and run away and the school peon had to chase them and bring them back. 

The needle after multiple uses became so blunt, that it was very difficult for the SI to inject. Some students bled as the syringe was drawn back and for some, the blood coagulated. It was so painful and we could feel lumps in the muscle that remained sensitive for almost a year till the next season.  Though there was no fear of HIV, most of us got a fever after the ritual. After a year or two, if we had information about the deadly event, our parents permitted to take leave from school.

Thank God! We have fine disposable syringes now.