Of manners...

While I was at college, and especially at university, manners were something everybody looked down upon. When a friend did you a really huge favor, thanking him only meant you’re not his friend yet. When in college, it is a friend’s bounden duty to do whatever you want him/her to do. (Of course, it works both ways, you also will have to go out of your way to help them) Thanking a friend, or making sure you split the bill when you have tea is an insult to friendship. And that’s only when we’re students.
But when you start working, you have to pay special attention to what you take and give. “It’s only natural” to make sure you pay-back in some way or the other the treat that particular friend took you out on. I hardly ever used to do that in university and now I begin to wonder how many people I have offended that way. I guess this ‘mannerlessness’ among friends is one of the things I like about the North Indians, who take favors done by friends for granted.

I find it distracting, but everybody else does it! Talk about a cultural shift! Well, this is what moving on means… You do not complain about how shallow friendships have become, but learn to accept the fact that no one trusts nobody else in this big bad world, and every small thing that involves money should be treated as business, no matter how they act about it.

This post, I feel is one of the most haphazard ones I have ever written, but this is just what my mind feels like at this moment of confusion.

I, Stammer

After an extremely long orientation period, I finally begin to work on my job, and it isn't as easy as I thought it was. There was a time I used to pride myself for the choice words and ingenious metaphors I used whenever I spoke.

Part of my job is to get contacts. Networking. This requires me to pick up the phone and call up influential people and tell them about myself and ask them if they are interested.

Today, I made my first call.

Watching Will Smith talking on the phone to various customers in "Pursuit of Happyness" makes tele-comm look easy. But today, after 15 minutes of preparation, All I was able to do was stammer and slip through a sorry explanation of Shalom and what I do.
Thankfully, the person on the other end was patient and listened (I felt an incredulous smile) and asked direct simple questions that would make me feel better.
After I finished with the call, my heart-rate at twice the speed, I thought to myself. I'd get better...

I'd better...

721

he mini-van I used to take to work burst a tire on the way, delaying me five minutes. The only option was to get into another bus, to make it at reasonable time. The only bus available was the 721. Reputed for the most irate conductors and the densest crowds.The bus was packed beyond compare. The Mumbai locals at rush hour are DEFINITELY more comfortable than the 721 (emphasizing my opinion in the previous post.) It was this young short, loud-mouthed bus-conductor who tried to push people into the smallest crevices that made all the difference. I guess the more people you can squeeze into the bus, the more you're are respected as a bus-conductor in these parts.I climbed in from the rear entrance amid the usual clamour. Once in, I decided to stay near the rear-door because my stop wasn't too far. The conductor issued the ticket. He was standing on his 'conductor seat'! (guess, he was a little short) and yelling at everybody to move into the already crowded bus. He began pushing and shouting at me in unrecognizable Hindi - I figured he was asking me to get into the mass of flesh in front. I just stood there, and quitely told him that I would be getting down at a few stops. He again said something in loud Hindi that I couldn't understand. He began pushing another person who refused to move. The conductor's unrecognizable hindi was buffetted with another tirade of unrecognizable Hindi - this time on the part of the indignant passenger. The passenger later berated the conductor about the pushing. The conductor quickly justified himself.
"I am the conductor. I have every right to push you. If I don't push you, who else in the bus will?"
I need to check the "right to push" part with the Judicial system. Anyone have the time to file an RTI to check if the conductor does have a right to push?
After that conversation, the conductor cooled down and began to collect tickets normally. Suddenly he looks at me and says.
"Remember, I won't let you get down this entrance. You'd better start making your way to the front, or you'll never get down at your stop"
(And I thought ragging got over after college!)
I tried politely making him understand. But he didn't seem to be in the mood for explanations. I'm not the sort that makes a lot of noise and puts up a fight, so, I put my tail between my legs began my journey to the front of the bus.
With a barrage of excuse-me's and sorry's I pushed, jerked and shoved past indignant old people, understanding and co-operative young men and disgusted young women. There is no place to put your feet down. Even the hand-rail is full of people's hands that it is a rare opportunity to actually touch that rail! I was so surprised I reached the front just in time for my stop. The conductor in front gave me a glare and asked said."What are you doing here?"
I really felt like giving him a good dose of my sarcasm, (the question was sooo tempting) but he had quite big arms, and I was already late for work. I smiled and told him that I was there so I could get down. Disarmed, he stepped aside and let me down. I breathed fresh air and instantly knew it would make a hell of a post!If I ever meet that conductor again, I would definitely want to thank him for letting me tour his bus for free even in the peak season!

Bombay vs Delhi

Another Delayed Post (Was supposed to post this in Bombay, but I am not famous for being organized)
As a guy living in Dwarka, travelling in a mini-van to work, shoulders touching the low roof, my neck, back, knees and every other part of my body bent double, and eyes in a perpetual frown, concentrating on not bumping against that low tin roof everytime we hit a bump, I thought I had seen it all. (If you thought that was a long sentence, brace yourself.) The noise of some constant fight in the vehicle, the sweaty shoulder against your chest, the stench of his hair in your nostrils, tells me that this is the most uncomfortable way to travel.
Bombay gave me a new perspective. Watching hoards of people with different goals walking in the same direction at top speed, managing not to bump into anybody though even lifting an arm to scratch your head would mean elbowing the guy next to you. There is an extremely loud silence amidst all this rush (only experience can tell you what that means) at the VT train station. The crowd is bigger than a Delhi one, and could be very uncomfortable if it was a Delhi crowd, where there would have to be someone shouting at the other for some obscure reason.
People in Bombay walk twice as fast and talk at around the same pace. While you are focussing your mind on trying to keep up with what people are saying and what they mean and how you can keep up, someone's hand has already been in your pocket and has left it empty.

A true Mumbaikar can do anything from setting up a shop on the roadside to making friends to bargain with the guys at fashion street without any emotion. He sets a goal for himself and will not let emotion get in the way. Even if he is accidentally pushed by someone in a crowd that he falls on his nose, he would get up, wipe his shirt, maybe hurl a few abuses and move on.
A true Delhiite however, lives on emotion. One cannot drive a car, or get into a crowded bus or haggle with the auto-guy without a display of emotion. (preferably aggression). The emotion itself is a fierce sort. Love is expressed by fighting against the friend's enemies; Jokes are cracked with an angry faces.
While Bombay has evolved into a cut-throat cosmopitan, Delhi is still a giant village, in many ways. There is no sense of anonymity. Sure, some mumbaikars stare (sometimes I think they're actually Delhiites on vacation) but not as much as the Delhiites. My female readers (who've visited Delhi) will agree with me. Forget the usual sexually-frustrated male lechers, numerous as they are. Even a 7th Standard Delhi girl in the bus would stare at you constantly for five minutes (or more) sweeping you from head to toe with her eyes, making you wonder if you have worn your shirt inside out.
In conclusion...
I don't want to draw any conclusion on which is a better city. Each city has its flaws and its strong points. I prefer Mumbai to Delhi (guess it's because I've been there first) but I would love to hear someone with differing opinions.

Plebian Travel

W A R N I N G ! ! !
Mothers and grandmothers (especially mine...) read at the risk of increased BP. Certain paragraphs contain explicitly scary scenes. You have been warned!

Though I am entitled to travel by A/C Chair Car, I decided to see how it feels like traveling in the cheapest unreserved compartment of the train. I have seen these compartments every time I took the train from outside, and was quite horrified seeing people stuffed in like cattle. I have been traveling in buses stuffed the same way everyday, so I was brave enough to go through this crazy experiment.
I took the unreserved ticket from Kazipet Junction to Secundrabad. A two hour (scheduled) journey (Rs 51. The A/C tickets cost Rs 204/-)
-- Oh I took an unreserved ticket at Secundrabad Station to get here, but very smartly, I sat on the reserved compartment, wondering all along why it was so comfortable. Thank goodness the TT did not come to check. He might have yelled at me in Telugu and all I would have said was "Enneru" (I just caught that from a conversation, I don't know what it means) and he might have , in all probablity, used his boot to eject me off the train moving at 235 kmph. Before I get accusing fingers pointing at me (saying, besharam! ticketless traveller!) I'd like to inform you that I didn't know (really! really!) that the Chair car was for reserved passengers only!

Back to the story...
The train was 40 minutes late, and I had to sit on my suitcase on the platform, watching trains go past, wondering if I could open my briefcase, spread out my towel on the platform, put some change on it, and juggle my deo-spray can, cellphone and toothpaste tube! The policeman on the platform across gave me such a stare I had a feeling he read my mind. Business on the platform without a license is strictly prohibited.
The train arrived at long last, and I hopped in, pushing and shoving everybody else, but I wasn't fast enough. I only managed to find a place for my suitcase, but all seats were packed. I resigned myself to standing in the aisle.
It was a 3 hour journey, and standing for the entire journey was out of the question. I remembered dad telling me something about spreading a newspaper at the door of the bogie and sitting there, feet out. I guess there was no jeans during dad's time, so I promptly sat at the door alongside another guy.
The breeze and the thrill was nice, and I would rather sit here than share a wooden seat with somebody else. I took out my cell-phone and timed the passing of electricity poles, calculating th speed of the train. I got 360 kmph, but I gave up realizing that Indian trains don't travel that fast!
Ah well...
With the sun in my face and silence for company, I started nodding away to sleep, confident that the person next to me (whom I didn't even know)wold wake me up if I start leaning too much. I was suddenly woken up from my shut-eye when a water packet landed on my arm! Yeah, "disgusting" we say, as we try and wipe ourselves dry. Guys, improper waste disposal is not the only reason you throw your garbage out the window!
I got comfortable and shut my eyes for five minutes. I opened them to a shock! I could just see my legs! The background, usually fast moving grass or stones or whatever, was replaced by swirling water 100 meters away! I felt like I was sitting at the edge of a skyscraper wall! Any slip meant certain death! That bridge put things into perspective! The illusion of safety!! Falling out of a fast moving train, though not so scary, is equally hazardous!

My feet were resting on the stairs near the door of the train, and at the approach of every platform, I used to wonder if my feet would get cut off. I always pt my feet up then. The person next to me assured me that all the station platforms from Kazipet to Secundrabad were not high enough to cause any harm. Yet, zooming past these platforms always made my feet involuntary lift and my heart involuntarily climb from its place to my mouth!

The journey was uneventful, except for a cat-fight between two lady fruit-sellers. There was not much violence, and so the crowd watched the drama with grins on their faces! Interesting, no?
I ws exhausted at the end of the three hours and walked into the nearest restaurant for a Rs 30 lunch! (to keep the plebian style going). After that, I jumped into an auto (Rs 50) for the ride home!

Hypocrite?!
I plead guilty!

Young Yoke Bearers

This post has been written in rural Andhra Pradesh yesterday, where the word 'internet' is almost unheard of. I was there on duty, to study how other organizations combat HIV/AIDS. The catholic run facility here is one of the best in AP and is run with typical catholic efficiency.
I arrived here nine hours ago. After a 2 hour journey by train, I was escorted from Khazipet station, by a young father who did not speak much. Insecure as I sometimes am, I started getting stressed out, especially after I entered the lovely furnished guest-room (all for me!) and looked at the mirror. I suddenly was able to see myself through his eyes. Suddenly, I began to wonder... Am I too young for this?
The entire day went off talking to everybody in the organization, and getting all the information I needed. (Well, I can't tell that I was entirely satisfied, because, this wasn't exactly the organization I was looking for). After all the interviewing and cajoling information, (most were willing to share, as long as it didn't look professional) out of everybody (except the director, who was extremely diplomatic), I sank into one of the chairs outside their dispensary, wondering if there was more to be done. At this point, a young man came and sat beside me and ventured a "What is your name?"
Thus began a one hour conversation with someone as old as myself, and at present, carries the weight of his world on his shoulders. At 24, MA Pol Science (I'm MA sociology! something in common!) he has a mother who is infected with our friend, the HIV. His father, brothers, grandma... nobody in his family know that his mother is infected with HIV. Her CD4 count is 15 (it should be above 900) and the doctor a few minutes earlier had non-verbally pronounced her death-sentence. The young man is the oldest among four, and he has to take care of them all. When all the villagers ask about his mother's condition, he gives them excuse after excuse. To top it all, he is married, (like everybody else his age in the village) and his wife is 9 months pregnant. She has gone to her mother's house to deliver. I constantly asked him why he did not tell anybody about his mother's real sickness. Sharing the burden would make life easy for everybody! Every time I asked him that question, he either changed the subject or pretended not to understand. I already knew the answer to the question. I just wanted to hear it from him.

I did feel a bit shaken after talking to him, but it was not like it was the first time I have spoken to someone with a life 10,000 times harder than mine. This is a case where I feel I can't do much, but pray and be a friend. I wonder how he felt about me. Here's my imagination of his thoughts.

"Some tall young man from Delhi, who can't speak a word of Telugu is here to watch how people treat People living with HIV/AIDS. Two years younger than me, not as qualified as I am, no idea about life, about love; doesn't know how to talk (Doesn't know when to stop asking questions). How come he is the guy with no problems, traveling the country, earning 10G a month, while I have to juggle my business, my mother, my estranged father, my pregnant wife and my unemployed brothers while I try to get the entire village to stop asking nosy questions? I am also a Christian, same as him, may be even more mature than him. But why me?"

Suddenly all those thoughts about me being too young seemed to disappear.
And in it's place, came a question...
Two men were on a race for a prize. Both had trained equally hard. But one was made to start 10m behind the other. He still caught up with the first. While the first athlete had no obstacles in his track, the second had all sorts of stumbling blocks before him. Is this a fair race? What should the first athlete do to make it fair?

AP makes you 'Appy!

First of all, an apology for such a late post... Second of all, another apology, because there'll be more posts after this, dated before this! Third of all, I am in a cyber-cafe, typing out this post at top speed, from my dirty looking journal. So, there'll be a lot of spelling mistakes. More apologies for te same. Ok, To the topic...

Here I am, safely on Secundrabad (AP - err.. Andhra Pradesh, Get the pun?) grounds. I am being pampered by the lovely hospitality of the Smart Young Doctor's (SYD) mother. 36 hours ago, rushing against time on the Delhi Metro, my mind playing an important role, mentally pushing the train past its top-speed to catch the AP Samprant Kranti Express. During that time, I was doing a bit of what you might call "faith-stretching". Two weeks of thought and planning and a month long correspondence has been spent on this trip and I wasn't ready to throw it all by just 'missing the train'. But still, I tried extremely hard to slow my mind down and stop making me jump up and tear my hair.
It was kinda harde telling myself "it's okay if you didn't catc the train, you tried your best"! But that brought me to think... If God wants me to go, I will go, if not, He won't (darnit) By the time I had completely surrendered my will to Him, I was kinda sure I would reach the station on time!
The train journey was as uneventful as an average day in solitary confinement.
SYD's mother picked me up from the station and has been hospitable ever since. She told me that taking care of God's workers was her 'ministry'. It then struck me that as I myself was a 'full-time-ministry-guy!' I stayed in the room the entire dayreading. Did no work at all.
At 4.00, I went out for a walk and on the way back, I realized I was making myself the laughing stock of the city. For some reason, I couldn't hide a broad 32 teethed grin on my face. I was cracking jokes, reminding myself of funny youtube videos and jnucf jokes and was literally bursting into splits all by myself walking down the road, oblivious to everyone else! Whenever I noticed someone's bewildered face, I would try in vain to hide my silly giggles. But I was so happy because it was a long time since I laughed so hard.
I decided that the reason behind the laughter was may be the extra helium in hyderabad, or something, but later I realized, that it was joy over-flowing from inside (after a long time) because of the love I had recieved from such a hospitable family. May God bless er and may she be a blessing to more like me.