Bashir Badr - V

Socha nahii.n accha bura, dekha sunaa kuch bhi nahii.n
Maangaa khuda se raat din tere siva kuch bhi nahii.n

Jis par hamaari aankh ne moti bichhaaye raat din
Bheja wohi kaagaz use hamne likha kuch bhi nahii.n

I didn’t think of good or evil, didn’t see or hear anything
Day and night, I asked God for nothing but you

On which my eyes dropped pearls day and night
I sent her that sheet without writing anything

*** *** ***

Mujh se bichad ke khush rahte ho
Meri tarah tum bhi jhoothe ho

Separated from me, you keep happy
You are also a liar like me

Another of Badr’s masterpieces, and beautifully sung by Jagjit singh!

*** *** ***

Koii phool sa haath kaandhe pe tha
Mere paanv sholo.n pe chalte rahe

Wo kya tha jise hamne thukra diya
Magar umra bhar haath malte rahe

Muhabbat, adaavat, wafa, berukhi
Kiraaye ke ghar the badalte rahe

A palm like a flower rested on my shoulder
My feet kept walking on embers

What was it that I rejected
But kept regretting the whole life

Love, enmity, loyalty, indifference
Kept changing like rented houses

*** *** ***

Yuu.n dil ko gududaayaa ki har gham jagaa diya
Usne hansi hansi mei.n hamko rula diya

Poocha bahut jo hamne kis or ab miloge
Chutki mei.n ret lekar usne uDa diya

She teased my heart so as to awaken every sorrow
In jest, she made me cry

When I asked a lot, where to find you
She took a pinch of sand and tossed it away

*** *** ***

Dhadkanei.n dafn ho gayee ho.ngi
Dil mei.n diivaar kyu.n khadi kar lii

Heart-beats would have been buried
Why did you erect a wall in the heart

Sense and Sensibility

Sense and Sensibility
[by Jane Austen]

I had not read before classics of the 18th century, at least not in the original form; I had only read abridged versions of a few of these quite famous novels, like 'Pride and Prejiudice' and 'Wuthering Heights', but could not find the patience to read the complete versions. I mostly read contemporary fiction, so getting a novel written in early 1700s was rather out of character for me. How did I happen to buy it, is quite another story.

This is the story of two sisters, Elinor and Marianne, who represent Sense (rational thinking) and Sensibility (emotional and impulsive behavior) respectively. The plot is very precisely outlined on Wikipedia.

The story is good, and the characters are finely described, which is perhaps the reason that Austen's works are still popular. However, I found it difficult to identify with, because the complete context is of a culture alien to us, and mannerisms which are outdated even for the current generation of people belonging to that culture. The language, of the prose, as well as the dialogues, was quite flowery, so that it was rather unnatural to me, and difficult to follow in some places. I found it difficult to understand why would people address their own family members in such a formal manner, and why one's mother and sister think it improper to ask what troubles them. Once or twice, it tired me so much that I thought of abandoning it; only the curiosity about the story stopped me from doing so. :-)

In all, I think it was fairly good read, but for now I am cured of "period classics". :-P

Now to the story - and I am still laughing at myself at this - although I knew that it was not my cup of tea, how did I happen to get it. Quite some time back, a book was recommended to me. By the time I went to the book fair, I had completely forgotten the name of the book, as well as that of the person who recommended it. Browsing in the fair, I saw Sense and Sensibility, and thought that the name sounded familiar, and thought that perhaps this was that book. I was also keen to see what it is in these works, that they continue to enthrall people for almost three centuries. So, I went ahead with my purchase. Shortly after I searched my Inbox, to realise that what I had intended to look for was 'Wise and Otherwise' on a recommendation by Cuckoo.

What flower are you

Came across this fun-to-do quiz while blog-hopping.

This is what it told me ...

This is What Kind Of Flower You Are

You Are a Daisy

"You are just a sweet person. When a friend needs a shoulder to cry on, you are happy to offer yours with a box of tissues as well. Once in awhile, you wish you could be a little more dramatic but then sensibility sets back in and you know that you are perfect the way you are."

What flower are YOU?

The Book Cover Tag

I have been tagged by Cuckoo. And it was quite an interesting one.

Rule (there is only one):

Go to the advanced book search on Amazon, type your first name into the Title field, and post the most interesting/amusing cover that shows up.

I expected the search for my Id [Sigma] to yield interesting results. But contrary to the expectation, it threw up hundreds of references to "Six Sigma" amongst the top results., which was definitely not an interesting subject. Filtering off the "Six Sigma" results, I still got a lot of results referring to Data converts [Delta-Sigma Data Converters: Theory, Design, and Simulation and Continuous-Time Sigma-Delta A/D Conversion], and also a number of scientific, theological or philosphical organizations/groups [Delta Sigma Theta- society, Sigma Nu Fraternity and Sigma Phi Epsilon Fraternity]. It was quite difficult to find an article of interest amongst these :-) My real-life name, as expected, yielded no interesting results :-)

Editorial Review

Robert Ludlum's trademark skills of intricate plotting, breakneck pacing, and high-wire drama are all on display in this gripping thriller. After his twin brother dies in a plane crash, Ben Hartman reluctantly takes his place in the investment firm started by their father, a Holocaust survivor. But then an old college buddy tries to kill Ben on a crowded Zurich street, setting off a chain of events that ultimately leads Ben into the thick of a worldwide conspiracy. Behind it is Sigma, a multinational cartel built on the rubble of World War II by industrialists and financiers bent on exploiting wartime technology and protecting their wealth from the threat of communism.

Accompanied by a beautiful American justice department agent, Ben eludes the assassins on his trail and follows Sigma's tentacles across Europe, to Brazil, Washington, and finally to a sanitarium known as the Clockworks in the Austrian Alps, where the horrifying agenda of a perverted new world order is revealed. Ludlum, who died between the writing and publishing of this book, was a master of the genre he helped popularize, and The Sigma Protocol shows him at the peak of his craft.

Reader Review [By Geert Daelemans]
The least you can say about Number 9 is that it is a remarkable book for many reasons. Not a lot of non-fiction books have the guts to address mathematics in such a personal way. The author Cecil Balmond even creates the character of Enjil to accompany the reader during his search for the truth behind the number 9. The claim of the author that it reads as detective story is certainly true for the first half the book. But be warned, you will not get a definite answer to the questions posed. Although more than once the author claims that the riddles have been solved, she does not seem to be aware that her so called solution is actually a redefinition of the same questions. But then again, you can ask yourself if a real solution would have fitted together with the magical atmosphere nourished by this book.
The weakest point, without doubt, is the fact that Cecil completely ignores to place Number 9 in its true context. Never during the whole narrative does she mention that number 9 is only magical in a decimal system. For the same reasons that number 9 is special in a system with ten digits, 15 will be magical in a hexadecimal system. It is clear that this kind of information will diminish the magical power behind number 9, but that cannot be enough reason to just ignore the facts. From an academic point of view such a denial is unforgivable.
But maybe this book was never intended to be an academic thesis and must be perceived as a declaration of love to the exciting world of numbers. Cecil has definitely succeeded in putting her passion for the subject on paper. After reading Number 9, even the most ignorant soul will have difficulties in trying to deny that mathematics is truly the science of beauty.


And now for the victims though Cuckoo has already laid her hands on most of my potential ones :-D]
BendTheRulz
LeziBlogger
Maverick
And anyone else who wants to try it for fun ...

Bashir Badr - IV

Meri in aankho.n ne aksar gham ke dono pahloo dekhe
Thahar gaya to patthar aansoo bah nikla to dariya aansoo

My eyes have frequently seen both the sides of grief
If it stops, the tear can be a stone; if it flows, the tear can be a stream

Beautfiul! Comparing a tear with a stone and a stream in the same vein!

*** *** ***

Na koii khushi na malaal hai ki sabhi ka ek sa haal hai
Tere sukh ke din bhi kaT gaye, meri gham ki raat bhi guzar gayee

There is no joy, no sorrow, everyone is in the same state
Your days of happiness also got over, my night of grief passed away too

Ah! What a perspective!!

*** *** ***

Na jane kab tere dil par nayee dastak ho
Makaan khali hua hai to koii aayega

Mai.n apni raah mei.n diivaar ban ke baitha hoo.n
Agar who aayaa to kis raaste se aayega

There may be a new knock on your heart anytime
The house has become vacant, so someone will come for sure

I stand like a wall in my own way
If she comes, what path will she take

*** *** ***

Ujaale apni yaado.n ke hamaare saath rahne do
Na jaane kis galii mei.n zindagi ki shaam ho jaye

Let the light of your memories be with me always
The dusk of my life may arrive in any street

Now, this is THE BEST couplet of Badr. Very well known, and rightly so!

*** *** ***

Us moD pe ham dono kuch der bahut roye
Jis moD se duniya ko ik raastaa jaataa hai

Dono se chalo poochei.n usko kahii.n dekha hai
Ik kaafilaa aataa hai, ik kaafilaa jaataa hai

Duniya mei.n inki kahii.n taaliim nahi.n hoti
Do chaar kitaabo.n ko ghar mei.n padha jaataa hai

Both of us cried a lot for some time at the corner
From which a road goes towards the world

Let me ask them both if they have seen her somewhere
A carvan arrives, and a carvan departs

In this world, these are not taught anywhere
There are a few books that have to be read at home

Orkut vs. Facebook - The survey result

Sometime back, I mentioned that I was invited to join the networking site Facebook by two of my friends, MHP and AD (both of whom were already on Orkut, to which I was also subscribed). Since I was not convinced about maintaining yet another site, I tried [yes, tried would be the right word rather than conducted, given the small number of respondents :-)] a survey of the popularity of Facebook. I sent it to all my "friends" on Orkut, and posted it on my blog as well.

As soon as I sent a mail to the Orkut junta, one of the friends [MHP] who had recommended Facebook, got back to me, rolling with laughter, "dont believe u r taking a popularity poll on this one..."
A few days later, when he asked me for the results, I had to reply with a certain disappointment:
"What poll results?! Out of the 100+ friends I have on Orkut, only 5 bothered to reply. I am wondering if there is any point of any of these networking sites at all!"

The summary of responses from Orkut and Blogger (along with the most interesting responses):

Do not use Facebook (5)
- Have no idea(4)
- Have heard of it(1)
don't use facebook, never heard of it and to be honest am tired of so many sites inviting friends etc. i guess there more sites than i have friends :D

Use both (5)
- Prefer Orkut (2)
- Prefer Facebook (3)
I use facebook a lot and it is much cooler than Orkut and has got good interface and a very addictive "update your status" field. In my opinion Facebook is lot better than Orkut and given a choice, I will go for Facebook. But for some reason facebook is only popular with foreign people while Orkut is full of Indians e.g. I have only one Indian friend on Facebook. This is the only reason why I am still using Orkut.

Neither (2)
- Never signed up (1)
- Got disillusioned (1)
I've an Orkut account - and have stopped using it now...
Though we can find good old friends, it's total time-waster...


The conclusion:

If I assume that ~100 Orkut friends who didn't reply to my message are unaware of anything called Facebook, I can safely conclude that Facebook is not popular amongst my friends. The general feedback I received echos this - people who tried out Facebook, find that it has nice features compared to Orkut, but since they are much more likely to find [Indian] friends on Orkut, they maintain the account there. This is working as a cycle - since there are already so many people on Orkut, newcomers prefer Orkut. It appears that Orkut is more popular in India, Facebook in Europe, and Myspace in US.

I ended up creating an account on Facebook, specially since I wanted to see the large number of photos MHP had uploaded on Facebook. There seemed to be a lot of "fun" things there, but I felt out of my depth, since there was too much to do, and the interface was not easy to use. I remember that I found Orkut very easy and intuitive to use when I first joined it about two years back (when it had not yet been bought by Google). Ironically, at that time, there were not too many people on the network, so after few months I got bored and deleted my account.

And this is what AD said a couple of days back:
I don't get much time for facebook either and now that the initial excitement of the innumerable applications has subsided, I don't log on all that much.

The bottomline is, since my sole purpose to enlist on a social networking site is to get back in touch with lost friends, and I am more likely to find them on Orkut, and I find it easy to use [I dont bother with fancy applications], I stand by Orkut.

Bashir Badr - III

Most of the visitors to my blog are not into poetry, and some are not versed with hindi/urdu. But I love poetry, and when I come across lines that make me stop, think and admire them, I like to record it, for myself, and for any others who share my enthusiasm.

So, some more selections, from Bashir Badr ...

Yeh dil ki raakh kured mat, use muskura ke hava na de
Yeh chiraag phir bhi chiraag hai kahi.n tera haath jala ne de

Mai.n ghazal ki shabnami aankh se, yeh dukh ke phool chuna karoo,n
Meri saltanat mera fan rahe mujhe taajo-takht khuda na de

Do not prod the ashes of my heart, do not fan it with a smile
The lamp is still a lamp, it might burn your hand!

With the dewy eyes of my poem, let me pick the flowers of sorrow
Let my art be my kingdom, I do not pray for crown and a throne

Again, this is so tender – yeh chiraag phir bhi chiraag hai.n – but it is not utter despair – there is a sense of hurt, but along with a pride – kahii.n tera haath jala na de.

BaDe shauk se mera ghar jala koii aanch tujhpe na aayegi
Yeh zabaa.n kisi ne khariid li, yeh kalam kisii ka ghulaam hai

Yahaa.n ek bacche ke khoon se jo likha hua hai use paDho
Tera kiirtan mahapaap hai, mera sajda karna haraam hai

Set my house on fire, with pleasure, you will not be in the least risk
My voice has been bought out, my pen has become a slave

Read here what is written in a child’s blood
Your singing hymns is a grave sin, my bending in prayer is illegal

These are the lines that I found most powerful and moving, and impressed me most. They are very unfortunately still true, or perhaps truer, decades after they were originally written. The goriest of crimes go unpunished, since the witnesses are bought out, or wiped away, by money or power. There are so many crimes against children, the innocent beings, on whom we rest our hopes of a better future – of what use is the religion, any one them, if we cannot protect their childhood from such trauma.

Khuda hamko aisee khudaaii na de
Ki apne siva kuch dikhaaii na de

Ghulaami ko barqat samajhne lagei.n
Asiiro.n ko aisee rihaaii na de
[asiir = bandi]

May the Lord not reward me with such greatness
That I am unable to see anything but myself

That they consider slavery a blessing
May He not give such a release to prisoners

Ab kise chaahei.n kise dhoondha karei.n
Wo bhi aakhir mil gaya ab kya karei.n

Dil, muhabbat, diin, duniya, shayari
Har dariiche se use dekha karei.n

Now who should I want, who should I seek
I’ve found her [/it/him] at last, now what do I do

Heart, love, religion, world, poetry
Let me look at her [/it/him] through every window

I think here again, the two couplets say two very different things, though it is not a stark contrast. But I loved them both. In the first one, the poet conveys that the longing is better than achieving – it keeps you motivated. In the second, he talks about looking at his beloved from every window[way of looking at things] he has.

Taking back my due from Flickr

A few months back, I ranted about the issues with Flickr, after I migrated my photos from Yahoo Photos, which was closing down. On my free account on Flickr, I was limited to:
- uploading 100 MB worth of photos in a month
- displaying a maximum of 200 photos at any given time
- having three sets at maximum [sets are equivalent to albums]
- if the account remains inactive for 90 days, it will be deleted

The last two of these bothered me most. I decided to move to picasaweb, but not finding a way to do so, I sought help from the visitors to this blog. I received ample sympathy, and a lot of helpful advice too.

The suggestions were as follows:
http://manishrjain.googlepages.com/flickrfs
http://greggman.com/pages/flickrdown.htm
http://www.flickrleech.net/
http://sunkencity.org/flickrbackup/

I went to the flickrfspage first. A quick scan through it made it look rather difficult to do, so I decided to check out the others. I might have been mistaken in my perception, but I decided to revisit this option after evaluating others.

Next, I tried flickrleech. It seemed pretty easy to use - it could find photos on the basis of username, userid, etc. Though it made me rather sceptical too - since if it worked, it also meant that anyone could download anybody's photographs, in full size too. Quite a violation of copyrights! Still, since was no harm in trying it, so I provided the required inputs. Result - nothing, nil, zero. Perhaps because my photos were private.

On to Greggman's flickrdown. It seemed somewhat promising, but the caveat was, it was available only for Windows and Mac. I was trying out this thing from office [hey! dont tell my boss!!], and I have a UNIX based workstation. So this was out, though I could always try it from home later.

Down to my last choice, I opened the sunkencity flickrbackup page with a sinking heart. A little bit of good news, at last. It was an open source software, hosted at sourceforge.net [which is quite a respectable, I mean reliable, source - I do not want to download viruses along with software!] Btw, inspite of all the disadvantages, there is one advantage of UNIX systems - you have no fear of viruses :-) Further, the software was in Java, so it was platform independent. I downloaded the s/w, unzipped and untarred, and was greeted with some jar files. I have had only a little programming experience with Java, and that was way back in college, so I wasn't sure what to do with the Java files. I wondered that even if I did manage to execute the correct binary, how would it interact with the browser. I tried to search the page for the documentation, or even two lines of "how to", but no help there. After asking around in vain, and some trial and error, I found the key:
java -jar FlickrBackup.jar
Simple, eh? [I also needed to include firefox in my path.] It opened a dialog box, and flickr page in the browser, and required me to authorize it to access my data. It was then I learnt that Flickr has provided hooks that one can use and write programs to customize Flickr! [though don't ask me how.]

To end the story, I did get my photos back, though I got multiple copies of some, and with strange names. But of course, they didn't bother me too much :-)

Down the Memory Lane - VIII

Try this for Fiction!


Yesterday, I was talking to a senior colleague R, who pulls my leg quite often. During the conversation, he kidded me about demanding a piece of office equipment ...

R: Go and tell GD that the only thing you need in life is a US-connect+caller-id extension phone, rest everything in this world is going great!

Me: I have no great wish for one [and added as a good measure] Only few days back N concluded that I do not crave for any materialistic thing in this world.

R: [laughs] N must be really happy.

Me: Well, I don't about happy, but yes, it is true, that I am not crazy about anything. Perhaps the only thing I am really fond of is books.

R: [dramatically brightened up] Is this really so? [looks around at the technical documentation lying around] I will give all you these conference proceedings, this techinical literature, these publications, when I leave. You can read them with pleasure!

Me: Hold on! Let me clarify! When I meant I like books, I meant FICTION.

R: So?? Who said all of this stuff is for real? They say, do it in this manner, this works great in this way - it is all actually Fiction!

Me: [straightfaced] It is not fiction. It is FANTASY.

Bashir Badr - II

As I have said many times earlier, one of the things I admire about ghazal (as a form of poetry) is that it does not restrict itself to one single theme – different couplets may express different ideas. One couplet may be sufficient to express one idea, so it is very concise and powerful.

Many of Badr’s ghazals provide beautiful examples of these characterstics. To post here, I have selected one or more couplets from many ghazals, the ones that I found best. [If someone wants to read a complete ghazal, going by the couplet(s) I have posted, do let me know. I’ll send you the complete version, and in hindi fonts, if possible/preferred.]

Akhlaak wafa, chaahat sab kimti kapDe hai.n
Har roz na oDha kar in reshmi shaalo.n ko
[Akhlaak = Naitikta]

Maula mujhe paani de, maine nahi.n maangaa tha
Chaandi ki surahi ko, sone ke pyaalo.n ko

Ethics, loyalty, affection – all are expensive garments
Do not wear these silken shawls everday

Lord, give me just water
I didn’t beg for silver jug or golden cups

It’s beautiful the way the second couplet presents a simple [though not easily understood, or rather followed, idea] – that riches may not be sufficient to fulfil one’s needs!

Yahaa.n libaas ki kimat hai aadmi ki nahi.n
Mujhe gilaas baDe de, sharaab kam de

The dress [appearance] is valued more than the person
Give me a larger glass, even if you give me less wine

And this one presents quite a contradictary view to the previous one!

Muhabbat se inaayat se wafa se chot lagti hai
Bikharta phool hoo.n mujhko hawa se chot lagti hai

Meri aankho.n mei.n aansoo ki tarah ik raat aa jaao
Takalluf se, banavaT se, ada se chot lagti hai

Love, benevolence, loyalty – they hurt me
I’m a shedding flower, the wind hurts me

Come into my eyes like a teardrop one night
Formality, superficiality, style, hurt me

I specially liked the second of these couplets. It is so tender, so vunerable – only a tear can represent the true emotion, even if it is brought about by grief, rest of the feelings and expressions can’t be so pure.

Wo farishte aap talaash kariye kahaaniyo.n ki kitaab mei.n
Jo bura kahei.n na bura sunei.n, koii shakhs unse khafa na ho

Wo firaak ho ki visaal ho teri aag mehkegi ek din
Wo gulaab banke khilega kya, jo chiraag banke jala na ho

For those angels, search in the fairy tales
Who do not hear or speak evil, noone is angry with them

Whether it is separation or confluence, your fire will be fruitful some day
How will he bloom like a rose, he who has not burnt like a lamp

How true! It is only angels who can be so ideal! A normal, mortal cannot hope to please everyone in this world!

Wanted : A Versatile Author

On my last post, Maverick asked me if I know of an author who is truly versatile. I started composing a reply, but it turned out quite long [Books is the only subject I can talk endlessly on ;-) ], so that it converted into this post.

Frankly speaking, I have never wondered, or perhaps cared, about the versatility of authors. With some of the authors it feels that if you have read one or two of his books, you've read them all [the strongest case in point being Robin Cook]. But usually, find that even though there is a "specialization" in an author's domain, the content is significantly different. For example, works of Agatha Christie (murder mysteries), Erle Stanley Gardner (murder mysteries + courtroom dramas), and Jeffery Archer (stories of personal triumphs) follow one theme, but most of them are significantly different to keep one interested. Similar is the case with Suspense thriller writers like Alistair MacLean, Fredrick Forsyth and Ken Follet. But even amongst thriller writers, there are some who have chosen a wide range of subjects, for eg,
o Arthur Hailey - Airport (air traffic control), Detective (espionage), In High Places (international politics), Moneychangers (stock market), Wheels (automobile industry)
o Desmond Bagley - Bahamas Crisis (politics/espionage), Spoilers (drug trafficking), Vivero Letter (treasure hunt)
Perhaps I'll call them versatile, because their works are very well researched in the concerned domain, and provides you an insight into the working of a field you know little about. Then there are fiction writers, whose work I find difficult to put in a particular genre:
Eric Segal - Acts of Faith, Love Story, Class
Nevil Shute - On The Beach, A Town Like Alice, Requiem for a Wren
Perhaps I can call them versatile, even though these are mostly human interest stories. But primarily it will perhaps depend on what we call as versatile.

As for myself, for most part, I have a few favorite genres, and few favorite authors in each of them, and grab unread works by them :-)) And time to time, I read books that are highly recommended by friends or media. :-)

Angels and Demons

Angels and Demons finally moved from my "next in my reading list" to "book review" section, many months after I acquired an intention to read it. It must be a rare few who would not have heard of 'Da Vinci Code', the book that took the world by storm, and propelled Dan Brown into fame. Frankly, I had not heard of Dan Brown (or his earlier works) before 'Da Vinci Code' arrived on the scene. When I read it, I adored it [even though there were certain things that were beyond my comprehension because of the context and the culture I am not familiar with] for the ingenious plot, as well as the well done research that tends to diffuse the line between the fact and fiction. Later on, I read his first book, 'Digital Fortress' as well [which made more sense to me, since codes and computers I am quite familiar with!] Earlier, and also then, I was recommended to read 'Angels and Demons'. Some of the people claimed that it was far better than 'Da Vinci Code'!

When a book captures my interest, I do not take long to finish it. So, one day on weekend was enough for me to complete 'Angels and Demons'. It was fortunate that I didn't have much else to do [or else I might have ended up reading half-way through the night ;-) ]. Yes, I liked the book, quite a lot, in fact. It was fast paced, with ample twists and turns [and the inevitable double cross]. It was also well researched, on facts of science as well as the church, as his other books. And it did not require as much understanding of Christian history as the 'Da Vinci Code'. However, to say it was better than 'Da vinci Code' would be quite a stretch. For one, there were a lot of similarities between the two, so it seemed somewhat repetitive. And secondly, the profiles of the murder victims - a Pope and four Cardinals, stretched the imagination too far. Perhaps my bias is in favour of 'Da Vinci Code' since I read that one first. And similarly, it is possibile that people who liked 'Angels and Demons' better, would have read that one before the other.

Seen on a T-shirt

I took the road less traveled ...
.. and now, where the heck I am?

The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time

This novel by Mark Haddon won the 2003 Whitbread Book of the Year, and the 2004 Commonwealth Writers' Prize for Best First Book.

The story is written in the first-person narrative of Christopher John Francis Boone, a 15-year-old boy living in Swindon, Wiltshire. Though it can be easily deduced from the content that the narrator suffers from an autistic condition, it is never stated within the story, but the summary on the book's inside cover states it to be Asperger syndrome. This is wonderfully developed and depicted through the narrator's thoughts and the events that take place in his life.

Christopher is brilliant at mathematics, has a photographic memory, and exceptional observation powers. However, he has difficulty understanding fellow human beings - he is baffled by human emotions, gestures and relationships. He is unable to comprehend facial expressions [for example when represented by emoticons] besides 'happy' and 'sad' and has difficulty in understanding metaphors and jokes. He does not tell lies, because he cannot - he cannot imagine things that are untrue or infeasible. He likes lists and facts, but cannot deal with un-quantitative statements. He loves numbers and puzzles - that is he way of calming down when he is disturbed. He loves playing with numbers so much, that he has numbered the chapters of the book in prime number sequence [2, 3, 5, 7 ...]. But interaction with other human beings, specially strangers, completely overwhelms him. He is oversensitive to more than a little amount of information, due to which he reacts violently - by screaming or groaning, when he has to deal with new people or places.

The title is taken from a remark made by the fictional detective Sherlock Holmes in the short story "Silver Blaze". Late one night, Christopher finds that Wellington, the dog owned by his neighbour, Mrs Shears, has been killed with a garden fork. He is extremely sad to see it, and picks up the dog. Mrs Shears sees him then, and thinking that he had killed the dog, gets him arrested. Christopher's father gets him free, but Christopher resolves, against his father's advice, to find the killer, and embarks on an investigation, like Sherlock Holmes. He believes that since the dog didn't bark, he must have been killed by someone known to him. [That the dog didn't bark, is the curious thing mentioned in the title - this is the similarity with Conan Doyle's story.] He is encouraged by his teacher at the special school he attends, to write a book about himself, and this is "The Curious Incident ...". In the course of the investigation, and the events that follow, he learns more about the world [though barely understanding it], himself and his family.

Well, so much about the book. I'll refrain from describing the story, as usual, to avoid spoiling the pleasure of those who might intend to read it. I really liked the book - I initially intended to read a few pages before going to sleep, but kept on reading late night, till I finished it. The story was good, and very well presented, with subtle humour, and an underlying irony. It gives the perception of the world and "normal" human beings, from the perspective of a person with cognitive disabilities. There are so many things we take for granted, but which are not so easily understood by someone who cannot comprehend the complexities of human nature. It also depicts how stressful it can be for the parents of a child with such disabilities, and how it can transform their lives. It makes one deeply empathise with Christopher, and still more with his father. Extremely touching, and eminently readable.

Nida Fazli

In my last post, in which I posted poetry by Bashir Badr, I mentioned the introduction of the collection had been done by Nida Fazli. Its a good time to introduce some poetry by this well-known poet too! I have come across some very beautiful ghazals by him, and quite a few of his ghazals have been sung by Jagjit Singh. I admire his poetry for two main reasons - the philosophical bend usually conveyed through everyday objects, and the rhythm.

Right now, I am posting two of his ghazals, that I like most. Will post more in time to come.

*** *** ***

dhuup meN niklo, ghaTaao meN nahaa kar dekho,
ziNdagii kyaa hai, kitaabo ko haTaa kar dekho,

wo sitaaraa hai, chamakne do yuuNhii aaNkho meN,
kyaa zaruurii hai usey jism banaa kar dekho,

pattharo kii bhii zubaaN hotii hai, dil hotaa hai,
apne ghar ke dar-o-deewaar sajaa kar dekho,

faaslaa nazro kaa dhokhaa bhii to ho saktaa hai,
wo mile yaa na mile, haath baDhaa kar dekho.

*** *** ***

Go out in the sun, take a shower in the rains
Put away the books, and see what is life

It is a star, let it shine in your eyes
Is it necessary to see it having a body [to know it]

The stones can also have a voice, a heart
See it - adorn the doors and walls of your home

The distance can be just a perception
You may find it [him/her] or not, spread your arms to find it

*** *** ***

duniyaa jise kahate hai.n jaaduu kaa khilonaa hai
mil jaaye to miTTii hai kho jaaye to sonaa hai

achchhaa-saa ko_ii mausam tanhaa-saa ko_ii aalam
har vaqt kaa ronaa to bekaar kaa ronaa hai

barasaat kaa baadal to diivaanaa hai kyaa jaane
kis raah se bachanaa hai kis chhat ko bhigonaa hai

Gam ho ki Khushii dono.n kuchh der ke saathii hai.n
phir rastaa hii rastaa hai ha.Nsanaa hai na ronaa hai

aavaaraa_mizaajii ne phailaa diyaa aa.Ngaan ko
aakaash kii chaadaar hai dharatii kaa bichhonaa hai

[aavaaraa_mizaajii = wanderlust/habit of wandering about]
[chaadar = sheet; bichhonaa = bed]

*** *** ***

That what is called world, is like a magic toy
If you get it, it's dirt, if you lose it, it's gold
[dirt => worthless, gold => valuable]

A beautiful weather, a solitary moment
Crying all the time is useless crying

The rain cloud is crazy, it does not know
Which path to avoid, which roof to wet

My wanderlust has extended my courtyard
I have the sky for a sheet, and the earth for a bed

*** *** ***

Bashir Badr

As I mentioned earlier, I bought two collections of ghazals by Bashir Badr. One of them had an introduction by Nida Fazli, another very famous name in urdu poetry. He does not seem of have a very fantastic opinion of Badr - he thinks that most of Badr's greatness as a poet is only accepted by Badr himself, and he has expressed this opinion in quite an amusing and witty way.
"apni kitaab mei.n unhone kamzor shayari ki pehchaan ke saath tandurust ghazal ki bhi kuch nishaniya.n ginaayee hai.n. Kamzor shero.n ki misaalo.n ke liye unhe taqriban 700 barso.n ke itihaas ki khaak chhaan-ni paDi, lekin tandurust shero.n ki talaash mei.n unhe jyada waqt nahin kharch karna paDa. Ghar me allah ka diya sab kuch tha, ji khol kar apne shero.n ka istemaal kiya"
[In his book, apart from identifying characterstics of weak poetry, he has also enumerated the traits of good poetry. For examples of weak couplets, he had to search through 700 years of history, but he didn't have to spend much time in search of good poetry. The lord had given everything at home, he used his own couplets whole-heartedly.]

Fazli opines that Badr is more famous for being part of 'Mushairas' [Poetry recitals] than actually the quality of his poems. Even so, he agrees that Badr's poetry showed more maturity, and finally deviated from the conventional symbolisms, with time, and concludes that Badr is a wonderful poet of the post-independence urdu ghazal.

The introduction was amusing, due to the humorous style Fazli had written it in (even if it was at the expense of Badr). But what was interesting to note was that unlike the usual introductions, which unquestioningly felicitate the author/poet, Fazli expressed his honest opinion.

I am a novice, as far as the history of urdu/hindi ghazal goes, and I am not well versed with individual poets' styles, but I have read quite a few poems by many writers, and have found favorite ones from all poets' works. I have come across some beautiful ghazals by Badr as well, and I was glad to find them in this collection.

*** *** ***

Kabhi yu.n bhi aa meri aankh mei.n ki meri nazar ko khabar na ho
Mujhe ek raat nawaaz de magar iske baad sahar na ho

Come into my eyes some time that my sight is not aware of it
Allow me just a single night, but let not the dawn arise after it

*** *** ***

Mai.n tamaam din ka thakaa hua, tu tamaam shab ka jagaa hua
Zara thahar ja isi moD par, tere saath shaam guzaar loon

I am tired after the entire day, you have stayed awake the entire night
Pause at this very corner, and let me spend an evening with you

*** *** ***

Charaago.n ko aankho.n mei.n mehfooz rakhna
Badi door tak raat hi raat hogi
Musafir hain ham bhi musafir ho tum bhi
Kisi moD pe phir mulaaqaat hogi

Keep the lamps safe in your eyes
The night (darkness) will spread far and beyond
I am a traveller, you are also a traveller
We shall meet again at some corner

*** *** ***

Ajeeb shakhs hai naaraaz hoke hansta hai
Mai.n chahta hoo.n khafa ho to woh khafa hi lage

He is a strange person - he laughs when offended
I wish that if he is angry, he should look so

*** *** ***

Kisi ki raah mein dehleej par diye na rakho
Kivad sookhi hui lakdiyo.n ke hote hai.n

Kadeem kasbo.n mei.n kaisa sukoon hota hai
Thake thakaye hamare bujurg sote hain


Do not light lamps at the doorstep in someone's wait
The doors are made of dry wood

There is such a comfort in old towns
Our weary forefathers rest out there

*** *** ***

Koii haath bhi na milayega jo gale miloge tapaak se
Yeh naye mijaaz ka shahar hai zara faasle se mila karo

No one will even shake hands, if you eagerly hug them
This city has a new mindset, here, meet people at a distance

*** *** ***

Jis din se chala hoon meri manzil pe nazar hai
Meri aankh ne kabhi miil ka pathar nahin dekha

Yeh phool koii mujhe viraasat mei.n mile hai.n
Tumne mera kaanto.n bhara bistar nahin dekha


Since the day I started, I have my sight on the destination
My eyes have never watched out for milestones

Do you think I inherited these flowers
You have not seen my bed of thorns

Whose fault is it anyway?

Whose fault is it anyway?

Today's newspaper reported yet another unfortunate accident that took place in Delhi. A person was driving a scooter on the wrong side of the road,on a flyover, when a speeding car coming from opposite side hit him. He and his child were fell down and sustained injuries, while his wife was thrown 15 meters down the flyover, and died immediately. The driver of the car is absconding, and a case has been registerd against him.

Now, I will not even remotely disagree with the fact that in general, people in Delhi drive rash. Nor will I not empathise with the poor man who suffered an irreplacable loss.
But I still wonder, whose fault was it (a case of rash and negligent driving has been registered against the car driver). In the city, where people consider it their fundamental right to drive on whatever side they please, whatever lane they fancy, traffic rules like helmets, seat-belts and signals be damned, perhaps one always needs to watch out, even if s/he is following the rules, for people who are not (coming from the opposite side, or jumping the signal).

A colleague of mine learnt this lesson, and more, the hard way, a few years ago. Late evening, he was returning back from work, driving well under speed limit. A person on a motorcycle jumped a light and crashed into him [the colleague was crossing rightly on his signal]. Worse, that person was not even wearing a helmet. My colleague took him to a hospital, and paid for the treatment. After a few days, the motorcycle guy demanded money to keep quiet, and threatened to file a FIR against him otherwise. Now, my colleague, in all righteousness, refused to pay up ransom money. So, the other guy filed a FIR, and my colleague was entangled in a court case for some years. Every two weeks or so, he had to go to the court for the hearing, only to get the next date. On every visit, everyone involved in the process wanted a bribe, including the peon who demanded 50 or 100 bucks only to let him mark his attendance.


Whose leader is it anyway?

I am strictly apolitical, politics is something I find more than uninteresting. But still, the mindset of the people in general, which is still more aligned to monarchy than democracy, amazes and frustrates me at the same time.
For years, Rahul Gandhi has been seen (or projected) as the savior, of THE PARTY and the country. A person who has spent a substantial part of his youth outside the country, and another substantial part safely ensconced in a private world - how can he understand and solve the problems of the common people. Someone who wakes up one fine day, decides that he is ready to assume the supreme responsibilty, and enters politics with a definitely chartered plan [a five-year plan ? ;-) ]. Someone who is so naive to believe, or at least state in public, that the country is only safe in the hands of his family.
The worst part is that there are people who fall for it.


Whose hair is it anyway?

I seriously think that the consumer today is spoilt for choices. Speaking for myself, the choices sometimes overwhelm me so much, I come back without choosing anything at all.
For example, I need a shampoo, for normal hair, and if possible, something that would prevent regular breaking/fall of hair. So I go to a supermarket, and find shelves upon shelves of shampoo. There are old players, new brands, and the ones that have diversified into shampoos, from other items. Each brand has several "specialized treatment" shampoos - for dry/normal/oily hair, for colored/highlighted/straightened/permed mane, with this oil, that conditioner, fruit extract for your crowning glory ... multiply, and how many choices have I got? A hundred? No? Okay, Fifty at least. Will coconut cream do wonders for my hair, or is it the chamomile oil my hair needed? Would my hair love those micro-granules (whatever they are!), or would an affair with apple extract be more fruitful? I start feeling dizzy, and return to the safety of my home, empty-handed.
Ditto for moisturizers, perfumes, clothes, mobiles, cars ....


... and ditto for the topic to blog about. Whose blog is it anyway ? ;-)

Dinkar

This is the 100th Idle Thought I have had in this space. My blog completes a century! :-)

And what better way to celebrate, than with a long-loved poem, by my favorite poet - Ramdhari Singh 'Dinkar'. A very bried introduction of the poet, for the uninitiated - Dinkar was known as 'Aag ka Kavi' [The poet of fire], for his poems raised the voice of the oppressed - in the pre-independence era, he fought for freedom; post independence, he stood by the poor and unprivileged. His repertoire also includes a number of poems celebrating beauty and love.

Amongst the treasures I found at the book fair, there is a collection of Dinkar's poems published by Bhartiya Jnanpith; the poems selected by the poet himself. It is a lovely, hard-bound edition, titled 'Sanchiyata' [The Collection]. My only lament is that it does not contain two of my favorite poems - 'Aag ki bhikh' and 'Kalam Aaj Unki Jai Bol' [these phrases can be translated as 'Begging for fire' and 'O Pen! Hail those (heroes)']. But what I did find, was a poem I had been searching for a long time [even pleaded bloggers for it :-)] - a poem that I had read in school in textbook - a four para poem, 'Kyun Yeh Aag Bujhaoge' [Why will you douse this fire'. And what I also found was that, those four paragraphs were part of a longer poem 'Bharat ka Reshmi Nagar' [The silken city of India], i.e. Delhi - the centre for power and wealth.

And the lines I had been lookng around for years? Here goes ...

Reshmi kalam se bhagya-lekh likhne waalo.n
Tum bhi kabhi abhaavgrast ho roye ho?
Biimaar kisi bachhe ki davaa juTaane ko
Tum bhi kya ghar bhar peT baandh kar soye ho?

Asahaya kisaano.n ki kismat ko kheto.n mei.n
Anayaas jal mei.n bah jaate dekha hai?
Kya khayenge? yeh soch nirasha se paagal
Bechaaro.n ko cheekh rah jaate dekha hai?

Dekha hai graamo.n ki anek rambhaao.n ko
Jinki aabhaao.n par dhool abhi tal chaayee hai
Reshmi deh par jin ablaao.n ki ab tak
Resham kya? saari sahi nahin chadh paayee hai

Par tum nagaro.n ke laal, amiri ke putle
Kyun vyatha bhaagya hiino.n ke man mein laoge
Jalta ho saaraa desh kintu hokar adhiir
Tum daud daud kar kyun yeh aag bujhaaoge?


And an attempted translation ...

You, who write the destiny of others with a silken pen
Have you ever cried, suffering from acute deprivation?
To be able to buy medicine for a sick child,
Have you ever gone hungry, alongwith the whole family?

Have you seen the fate of helpless farmers
Being washed away by merciless flood waters?
Have you seen them cry out loud, all hope lost,
Thinking, what will they sustain on, the rest of the year?

Have you seen those village beauties
Whose radiance is still covered in dust?
These poor, helpless lasses cannot afford
Let alone silk, even simple dresses.

But you are living luxurious lives in cities,
Why would of think of the sorrows of the ill-fated?
The whole of the nation is ablaze,
But why will you get restless and rush to douse the fire?

Ismat Chugtai - ChiDi ki Dukki

I had been aware of the name of Ismat Chugtai as a well known writer of hindi/urdu fiction, but had not had an occastion to read any of her works. When I found this collection of her short stories, I thought that it might be a good place to start, in the absence of a direct recommendation from someone who is aware of my taste :-)

The collection is titled 'ChiDi Ki Dukki' [The Two of Clubs], which is the first of the five stories in the collection. All the stories are based on marital relationships in middle class Muslim families. There are certain aspects which are typical of Muslim family settings, due to which I found the stories different from the little of hindi/urdu prose I have read so far. The first story had a bit of humour, and all of them projected the ironies of human life. I liked the stories, but did not find them very interesting. I will probably not read it again, but it was a good one-time experience, and I might explore other works of the author.

The collection had a foreward by another famous author, Manto. He starts with a question he had been asked by a few of his fans [why did he not marry Ismat], and devotes quite a space to his imagination of the events this eventuality might have led to. [BTW, both of them were already married when they first met, so this was just a wild question.] I found that rather absurd way to start an introduction, though later when he narrated his interaction with Ismat, thus describing her personality, it became an interesting narrative.

Till sometime back, I used to completely ignore the forewards and prologues of the books I was reading, in order to get to the story. But, of late, I have found an interest in reading these introductions. It gives me the opportunity to get a perspective from another person who is better informed [than I am :-)], and look at the broader context, the life and times of the author/poet whose work I am about to read, and probably enable me to appreciate it better.

Orkut vs Facebook

About a year back, I joined the social networking site, Orkut. It helped me get back in touch with long lost friends from school and college. For people who are not familiar with Orkut, it is similar to mySpace, and from what I know, the most popular networking site in India. [For people who are not familiar with either, well, what are you doing online ? ;-)]

Recently, two of my friends urged my to join another social networking site Facebook, citing that it has much more features than Orkut. Now, I get invited to join a new networking site every few days (as I guess would most of you), but it is difficult to maintain membership on multiple sites, so usually I decline or ignore the mails. However, since this time the recommendation has come from reliable sources, and as a personal note rather than an automated mail, I am pondering over it.

For me, a networking site would only be useful, if I am likely to find people I would like to remain in, or re-establish contact with. Frankly speaking, I had not heard of Facebook before, so I am trying to determine its popularity by how many of my friends use it. So, I have requested my Orkut friends to respond back, telling me
- if they also use facebook, alongwith orkut
- if they have friends who use facebook
- a comparison of the two, if possible

Meanwhile, I'll be glad to hear anything anyone has to say on this.

Delhi Book Fair

The 13th Delhi Book Fair concluded last week. I was out of town in the initial days, and busy with work in the later days of the week, so I managed to visit the Book Fair last Saturday, the second last day of the fair. It was quite crowded, against my expectations, and this time I didn't find it as good as it was in the last few years. The primary focus was on Children's books, and choice of books for adults was less compared to previous times. Penguin didn't have a stall, and Rupa and Rajkamal Prakashan had smaller stalls this time. This was also the first time I saw stall owners selling used books at "heavy discounts" - if one wanted them, one could instead easily get them from different road-side stalls or Daryaganj market at lower prices.

Even so, I browsed through the stalls for more than four hours, specially since the book fair is the only source for hindi literature. One can find english fiction and non-fiction in many book stores in the NCR, but good hindi literature is hard to come by - a deplorable state. Apart from the variety, an attractive feature of book fairs are some very good deals one can get. However, the discounts on fresh copies were also not as high as earlier times - I got a discount of 10% on my purchases.

In spite of these facts, I returned with following prizes:

Hindi/Urdu Poetry:
Bashir Badr (2)
Daag Dehlvi
Dushyant Kumar
Ramdhari Singh dinkar

Hindt stories:
Ismat Chugtai - Chidi Ki Dukki

English Fiction:
Rider Haggard - She
Jane Austen - Sense And Sensibility
Mark Haddon - The curious incident of the dog in the night-time
Erle Stanley Gardner - Perry Mason (2)

PS: Reader reviews to follow later ... :-)

On abusive comments

Quite a few bloggers, whose blogs I visit, have written about abusive comments they receive, mostly anonymous. I received my first taste of it today - and unbelievably, on something as innocuous as an interpretation of a sher!!
I am more surprised than offended. It was not a heated argument, or even a debate. Why should someone get rude on a thing like poetry? After all, poetry is a subject matter of interpretation.

PS: And no, this reader was not anonymous.

A Town Like Alice

This is another book by Nevil Shute I had got along with On The Beach. Since I had read it once some years back, and found it fairly good, though not wonderful, it was a long time before I was inclined to read it, though my brand new copy was lying prettily in my shelf, untouched, for almost six months.

The story is set against the background of World War II. The premise is the atrocities of Japanese on the prisoners of war, when they invaded the eastern parts of Asia. The first half of the story revolves around a group of English women and children, who are forced to march on foot, from one city to another, since there is no camp for women. Although the Japanese do not want to cause them harm, no commander wants to take the responsibility of this group. They have to struggle against lack of bare necessities - food, medicines, clothes, while they are forced into an aimless walk, which takes a toll on the group which reduces to half its initial number. The leader of the group is young Jean Paget, who takes over the responsibility of her friend's child after her death. During the march, they meet an Australian prisoner, Joe Harman, who is driving trucks for Japanese. Joe steals food from Japanese for this group, and is crucified for his "crime". Joe assumes that Jean is a married woman, while Jean gives him up for dead. After months of marching, Jean's group finds refuge in a Malay village, where they spend the rest of the war.

Years later, Jean receives an inheritance, and desires to give back the Malay village something for the generosity they had shown her group. So, she travels to the village, and builds a well and wash-house, as the village women had to fetch water, two or three times a day, from a well some miles away. Here, she learns that Joe Harman survived the Japanese torture. So, she decides to go to Australia to find him, although she does not know much about his place, except the name of the cattle station he used to work on as the ringer. When she reaches there, she learns that Joe has gone to England (talk about ironies!). She finds that although the station is huge, the town is very small and dreary, with nothing to do, and so people tend to move out as soon as they grow up - a "dead" place, just as Joe had described it, in their brief encounter in the war. While she waits for Joe to return, she visits Alice Springs, which is also a cattle station, but is a thriving, lively town. So, she comes up with a plan to develop Joe's rundown town into "A Town Like Alice".

Meanwhile, Joe learns that Jean was not married as he had assumed, and travels to England to find her. When he returns (unable to meet her, or even learn of her whereabouts!), he finds her waiting for him in his homeland! Knowing that it would be difficult to settle a family to adjust in his rundown town, Joe talks of leaving his job, and moving to another livelier place. Jean disagrees, mot wanting him to leave the work he loves, and tells him about her plan ...

The story is narrated by an old lawyer, Mr Strachan, who has the responsibility to find the heir to the legacy (Jean), and disburse it to her. He forms a strong bond with her, and helps her judiciously. Overall, a nice, heart-warming story, although predictable. I liked the first part of the story, the war years - they feel very authentic, and gripping. The second part, when Jean goes back to Malay, and then to Australia, are fine, though embedded with too many coincidences. The last part, where Jean (with help from Joe and other) proceeds to build up a whole town single-handedly, stretches the imagination a bit too far.

The Dark Crusader

As I mentioned in the previous post, my most favorite fiction genre is Suspense Thriller. And IMHO, no-one can beat Alistair McLean, when it comes to thrillers. I can state this with a fair degree of confidence, having read 28 of his titles. Many of his books have been made into famous films, eg, The Guns of Navarone, Ice Station Zebra, Where Eagles Dare, Fear is The Key, and many more. Of all these movies, I have only watched The Guns Of Navarone, and I strongly recommend it to anyone and everyone :-)

Generally speaking, what I like about McLean's stories is fast pace, witty style, underlying technical details, and characters who are not superior in physical strength, but in mental strength and dndurance. And then there is drama, twists, and treason. In this way, 'The Dark Crusader' is typical McLean, and thoroughly enjoyable. The 'hero', John Bentall, is a solid-fuel specialist, who is recruited by the Brtish secret agency. He has just returned from a long, dangerous mission, when he is sent on another, with a beautiful female agent, who poses as his wife. Eight top scientists and their wives have gone missing, after they accpted lucrative jobs in Australia. After a while, advertisement for a ninth position appears, and Bentall is volunteered by the agency for the position, under the obvious conclusion that one of the the scientists has befallen a tragedy. He goes on to encounter an eccentric archaeologist and his chinese henchmen, find out what is 'The Dark Crusader', and finally come to a realization that he has been double-crossed! And that is all I'll say for now, to avoid spoiling the suspense in case someone intends to read it. :-)

Not a Penny More, Not a Penny Less

Not a Penny More, Not a Penny Less - Jeffery Archer

Archer is one of my favorite fiction authors. My most favorite genre is suspense thrillers, and although his stories are not really thrillers, I like then for their fast pace and lucidity. I had read "Not a Penny More ..." the first time, way back in college, borrowing a friend's copy. For a long while, I have been wanting to get my own copy, and re-read it. However, most of the times, I have new stuff to read :-) But the last time when I went browsing in a bookstore, and could not find anything interesting, so I finally decided to buy it for my collection.

The premise of the story is simple (even artificial, according to my brother), but it is fun nevertheless - a big-time crook sets up an elaborate stock market scam, and four people who have no understanding of stock market, but a fairly good amount of money, get conned of almost all of their assets. One of them is a mathematical mind, he gets all of them to join forces, and plan to steal back there money - "not a penny more, not a penny less". And the way they set about it, is enough to keep one amused for a few hours.

An unlikely experience

I have been out of circulation from the blogosphere for so long that now it seems to be sheer inertia that is holding me back. Well, that is not exactly true, that (dis)credit goes to hectic work schedule that has sapped up most of my energy for last couple of months.
I have hardly been able to post anything on my three blogs for almost 2-3 months. However, till 3-4 weeks back, I still managed to check on my reader from time to time, and each time it showed 100+ unread items. But now, I am so overwhelmed by the reading I have to catch up on!
In the middle of all the chaos, I managed to get a much needed break, for a trip we had been planning for quite a while - a trek in 'The Valley of Flowers'. The trip was rendered partially unsuccessful by heavy rains and landslides - we could not even get to Joshimath, but we finally made it to Kedarnath. I will hopefully post pictures of the trip on 'Travel Memoirs' soon; in the meanwhile I'll share an unlikely experience here ....
We had planned to travel overnight from Delhi to Haridwar by train, and take a taxi from there for the rest of the journey. The train we had reservations in, goes till Dehradun, reaching Haridwar very early morning. Though heavy rains were reported in the region, the train departed from Delhi in time. But when we reached Roorkee around midnight, the situation in the higher areas had deteriorated, and the train stopped there for a considerable time. After an interminable wait, the train started from Roorkee, but stopped again after some time - in the middle of nowhere. After dawn, when there was some light, we could see it was a very small village station, with no platforms even. One of the attendants informed us that the train will stop there for an undetermined time - there was water on tracks on the way from Haridwar to Dehradun; so the trains scheduled to go to Dehradun had piled up at Haridwar station, leaving no space for more trains to be parked there. The attendant advised us to board another train that was going to Rishikesh (and would therefore be given a pass at Haridwar) which was about to cross. And so, we jumped down on to the tracks (no platforms, remember!) with bag and baggage, stood by the side of the other track (along with several other passengers), and waited for the other train. When it arrived, we waved it to stop, and climbed up!
Though I have had varied experiences in trains earlier, this was something I never expected to have to do!! I have done this number of times in buses - the roadways bus breaks down on the way, the conductor stops another bus going the same way and helps you board that bus. But never ever have I done it on a train!!

Returning to school

Last weekend when I went to my hometown, I also visited my school, the second time since passing out 13 years back, and almost 5 years after my last visit. This visit was motivated by a desire to meet my mathematics teacher, Mr RS - he was transferred away shortly after my last visit, and I recently learned that he has returned, this time as the Principal of the school. If the wish to meet my old school teacher, after all these years, seems surprising, let me just state that of all the teachers who taught me in school and two colleges, there are two for whom I have a high regard even today. One of them is JC, a CS prof from REC, and the other one is RS.

At the school, I had to leave the car at the main gate, and walk the rest of the distance to the school building. When I was in the school, initially the gate was not there, and later on even when it was placed, it remained open in the school hours. As soon as I entered the gate, I was asked by a guard about my purpose to enter the premises. This was an entirely new development - in fact it caught me by a surprise, for a few moments I didn't know how to explain my purpose. I composed myself, and told him that I wanted to meet RS sir. I was in for another shock - the guard told me that the Principal's visiting hours were over [in my time, there was no concept of visiting hours!], and I could meet him only after the school gets over, in another hour or half. I tried to convince him by stating that I was coming from another town, and it was not possible for me to return back later, or on another day. Finally, he found a "workaround" - in the entry register, I was to record the purpose as just "official" instead of any teacher's specific name. The apparent "anarchy" may be explained by the fact that this was a government run school, in a small town which was not prosperous, and where most of the students came from families which were not well educated. The small percentage of students from well educated background also existed for the sole reason that it was the only school in the town where the medium of instruction was english for science stream.

Walking to the school building, there were a lot of physical changes I observed - on one side residential quarters for teachers were constructed - earlier the area used to be just open land, covered with shrubbery. A "park" which had a little grass and some swings was now in much better shape. Another part of unpaved ground where we used to park our cycles was also organized better, with clearly marked area, fence, and a couple of small single-storey buildings. However, the other thing that struck me was that the distance from the gate to the building was not as much as I remembered, and the building itself was also not as large as I remembered it. This is something that has happened with me before - things that looked or felt huge when I was a child, do not look big now. I wonder, if we determine the largeness of an object relative to our own size...

Of the teachers who had taught me, there are very few who are still there with the school, and who I care to meet. I met my maths teacher of junior classes first, and she was happy to talk to me. To be honest, she did not recognize me, but when she I introduced myself, she had no difficulty in recalling me either :-) There was a repetition of the scene with another teacher, before I was seated in the principal's office. He was teaching the last class of the day at that time, and after that he watched over the students as they left the school. When he came to his office, he expressed his pleasure at my visit. He asked after my well-being, and I asked after his, and that of the school. He grumbled about the students' disobedience, and expressed his disapproval of young people taking extreme steps for small matters. He was interrupted quite often with people needing his attention on administrative matters of the school, and I felt quite guilty in reaching there without an appointment. Finally, after a little while, he asked if there was anything I needed from him. For a moment I was taken aback, but told him that this was not the case, and I was there just to meet him and other teachers, probably my last chance to do so before my parents moved out of town. I think he was a little reserved earlier, thinking that I had come there with some personal interest, because after this he seemed more relaxed. He seemed more pleased, and told me that I had come a little late that day, and next time I should come at some earlier hour, before the school got over, and talk to the students. Though I wonder what good I could do even if I did that - he had just told me that students are no longer willing to let someone talk any sense to them :-P

In the while I was talking to RS sir, one of the teachers came over to the room. She didn't recognize me either, but when she was told that it was me, she was quite happy to see me too - I used to be one of her favorite students. And then, she proceeded to something totally unexpected. In the space of 15-20 minutes, she filled me in with the details of not just her sons and daughters-in-law, but also her neighbors, her relatives, her neighbors' relatives, her relatives' neighbors, etc. Including asking me to look out for a suitable match for an acquaintance of hers! I was completely flabbergasted!! I have come across such people before, who keep on talking without realizing what they are saying, but I didn't expect to find one of them amongst the teachers. But more than being surprised, I was annoyed, because she didn't give me or RS to speak anything, let alone hear what we had to say!

Later on, I gave quite a bit of thought on RS asking me if I had come for something. In fact, I was even a little hurt, because I had gone there only due to the attachment I feel for my school and the teachers, and not because of any vested interest. But then I realized that this is how the things are today - people don't have time to socialize just for the joy of it. They call up their friends or relatives when they need some help. They complain that they don't meet them frequently enough, but never themselves make an effort to meet. In this age of selfish interests, who remembers their school teachers? So, it was not altogether unjustified on his part to assume that I needed his help in some regard, especially since he is in a position of importance.

N teased me later, saying that people in school showed no unbound joy to meet me, and RS even asked me if I came to meet him with some interest. I replied that I didn't expect anything more than that [I really don't know what could I have expected], and then retorted by asking," does anyone in your school even remember you after all these years" :-D. I was one of RS's favorite students, and as I am told by school students many years my junior, he used to cite my example to his classes. But, my academic achievements notwithstanding, I concur it as a good fortune that my teachers remember me after all these years.