CIVIC SENSE

CIVIC SENSE

I read somewhere that in some Scandinavian country, those who reach office early park their cars in remote corners of the parking lot so that the late comers can park theirs more easily. Can't imagine anyone here including yours truly doing this. But we can surely try to be a little more civilised in our public behaviour. I really hate it when seasoned air travellers    Stow away their bulky what-can-hardly-be-called-handbaggage in the luggage rack over the first or second row even when they are sitting in the 17th row. Saves them the trouble of hauling it till the 17th row. Smart! But pity those poor souls sitting in the first or second row who have to find storage space over the 13th row. Have you ever tried going from first row to the 13th while disembarking? Getting down from the Virar local at Dadar is much easier.

Women's Lib

WOMEN’S LIBARATION

I fly frequently on business. I normally try to reach the airport well in time to avoid the last minute rush. After coping with the unpredictable Chennai traffic, there are queues to be negotiated at every stage which are manned by the people who are not known for either their efficiency or their courtesy. So I often reach the airport with some time to spare.

            I was standing in the first queue near the entrance at the airport, clutching my id and the ticket in one hand and the weather-beaten suitcase in another. A well-dressed attractive young lady, 35ish, rushed in waving a phablet in one hand. “May I go in please? I am late”.  She pleaded. With their hearts full of human kindness for the plight of the working woman, the other passengers readily agreed. The security guard at the gate shrugged. She breezed through.  Likewise, she sashayed through the second tier of security and the check-in counter.

By the time I had managed to check in, she had already sailed past the long queue for security check. When I went past the humiliation of security check, I found her sitting in one corner, sipping coffee, chatting idly with a colleague/friend.  I was surprised. I thought she was late? It turned out she wasn’t. She was going on the same flight as mine and had ample time on her hands. All this subterfuge was to avoid standing in tedious queues.

A little peeved, I couldn’t stop myself from asking “madam! You said you were late but you weren’t”.  She gave me a withering look which clearly said “mind your own effing business” and declined to favour me with a verbal response.

She again managed to glide past the queue for boarding the bus and the final queue for boarding the flight. When I went in after a while, huffing and puffing after the exertions of standing in 5 different queues, the lady in question was snugly ensconced in her seat, chatting idly on her cell phone. She looked at me with a smirk and turned disdainfully away from my accusatory glare.

My heart bleeds for the battered, bruised and abused Indian woman.

THE CIDER HOUSE RULES

THE CIDER HOUSE RULES

There are many books, which, once started, you don’t want to put down. But there are some which are so good that, as you start nearing the end, you want to go on but at the same time, don’t want it to end. THE CIDER HOUSE RULES is one such book. As I was nearing the denouement, my heart was filled with the sorrow that the exquisite pleasure which I was deriving from it was soon going to end.

                A very unromantic setting in a decrepit orphanage, an apple orchard and a Cider House; a very unlikely hero- an ill adjusted erratically educated orphan, and a subject as controversial and relevant as abortion form the background. With such an odd assortment, John Irving has weaved a magical tale of intense human emotions, an epic love story with his trademark twists and turns which leave you amazed at his total mastery over his craft. In his inimitable style, independent unconnected events inexorably converge into a crescendo of breath-taking catastrophe which you can see coming but can do nothing about.

It also has a poignant war story with predictable ingredients. But it is not the wounded soldier who meets with a tragic fate.

The issue of and the moral angle in ‘abortion’ is handled with sensitivity and without any ideological bias. Exploitation of blacks by the landed gentry is also touched upon in a non-judgemental way, more like a chronicle of those times rather than as a social commentary on the ills of slave labour. Even rape and incest are depicted without dramatization and without condemning the offending persons as black villains.          

In short,  it is an unlikely masterpiece from a great author.

Reading such books also shatters all my fond hopes of ever becoming a writer. I despair I can never write half as well, howsoever hard I may try.  

FACEBOOK

FACEBOOK

One day, at least one day,

            I want to open my Facebook homepage, without anybody uploading       photographs of 

·        Hindu deities,

·        Sai Baba,

·        Their own nocturnal trysts;

Without anybody gushing about

·        Narendra Modi,

·        Rahul Gandhi,

·        Arvind Kejriwal,

·        Nitish Kumar;

Without a request for

·        Clicking on a photo to see magic,

·        Liking a jingoistic rant,

·        Be proud to be an Indian,

·        Forwarding a miracle report;

                                        Or,

Anyone making profound statements, like

·        Friendship is –blah blah blah…

·        Why am I bored today,

·        Why am I not bored today.

That would be the day.

 If you like this statement, please forward it to at least 10 friends and you will be blessed by Lord Ganesha within 7 days.