“Why we need a ‘desi’ Sherlock Holmes or a Hercule Poirot: maybe a real Shankarlal”

I have a distant relative – almost a friend, living close-by my Garment Manufacturing Unit in Attur, Salem District, South India. He had recently built himself a fabulous, independent two-storey House – a Bungalow in the true sense, on the Chennai – Coimbatore National Highway. I used to drop-in once in a while to say ‘hello’, talk about business and get friendlier. He and his wife were childless for a long period and after a ‘huge medical & personal effort’ they produced a handsome son, who grew up to neatly go into Medical College (before the NEET era). The House was built in an out-of-Town area, ‘guarded’ by a Polytechnic College in the front and an Arts College across the Highway. Buildings on the adjacent plots were in the drawing-board stages and were barren and lifeless. Safety aspects did cross my mind – the house being out of ear-shot, every time I visited them, but the couple seemed alive and out-of-jail on the issue, and I brushed the thought away.

One dark early July night, well past midnight a gang of four clever Robbers – wearing the now mandatory face masks – who had apparently been tracking the Chit-fund activities of the House Owner for a long time, found a nice ladder to help themselves on to the terrace, break open the Door and slip inside. The couple sleeping on the ground-floor heard a loud thud and the man of the House whacked it away saying that it must be the noise of a mighty-big accident on the nearby Highway (happens all the time), but the wife woke up and switched on the lights of the staircase leading to the upper floor. That was a signal, which brought the Burglars hurriedly down to confront the couple. The wife had the presence of mind to tell her hubby to pullout their Gun (they indeed had a unloaded licensed Gun) but the Invaders made lightening strides and quickly struck her down. Then, they tied them up, and with daggers-at-their throats, asked to be shown where they stashed their collection of gold, silver and cash. They found cash: 4 Lakhs in a drawer, and digging into the collection of silk saris, another 3 Lakhs in the folds. Next, they moved into jewelry: not convinced by the gold-covering bangles offered by the Lady of the House, they took her mangalsutra (sure gold in there – we are sentimental about that, aren’t we?) and other ornaments totaling about 40 sovereigns (The next day’s Newspapers reported as much, but I reckoned it might be much more). Meanwhile, the man of the House was pouring sweat – while shouting out to them to take what ever they wanted – and looked like he would collapse. The thieves were Doctors enough to get him his blood pressure medicine, call the lady-of-the House to warm-up some water and administer him to a healthy sitting position. Finally, they took the couple’s mobile phones, car keys and filed into the Owner’s Skoda car – parked in the driveway – with the loot, and showed a clean pair of wheels!

It’s unclear how the couple untied themselves and got help, but by then the Car with the booty had vanished and became untraceable…still is, for almost three ‘clueless weeks’ since the incident.

The next day’s vernacular newspaper’s ran the story, and being a devoted reader of the English Times Of India; Twitter feeds; theSkimm; Flipboard…and others OUTSIDE INDIA; besides watching CNN, BBC and the kind on TV – damn the local SUN News, Daily Thanthi etc, I missed the robbery altogether, and when I happened to call-up the relative two weeks after the incident, I found myself completely at sea, with pictures of Melania Trump, Duchess Kate Middleton swirling inside rather than PM Modi or Edapaddi Palaniswamy or the locals. Wow! I conked myself on the head for being so much ‘abroad’ and foreign in my own land rather than mindful of the local news and the neighbourhood. I momentarily forgot to recall the lessons of Japan’s Tokyo – one of the safest cities in the World, with hardly any noteworthy crime & theft happening – where safety hinges on local policing and being a cohesive society, with a strong collective identity.

I reckon there is a lesson in this story, and the obvious ‘Elephant in the Room’, is where are the Detectives? What are the crime deterrents in our area? Is the Police force competent enough, if they were indeed, why has no one been apprehended till date – even the car has not been traced and found. I wish, that instead of the many Engineering and Arts Colleges one sees educating the population along the National Highways, we have Crime Investigation and Detective Training Colleges to produce our own versions of Sherlock Holmes and Hercule Poirot –they might have been heroes of someone else’s stories, but we can make them real! In the days of Tamil Author & Fiction Writer Tamilvananan, I was a fan of his detective hero ‘Sankarlal – the nearest to the super sleuths of the West!

Don’t we need a parallel private Detective Force, which can coolly complement non-existent Police skills?

Research tells us that the fear of getting caught is the best deterrent against crime, more than a behind-the-bars jail term (where one may have friends with benefits and spend quality vacation time). Beyond all this, we need to stay watchful and mindful, don’t we?

Last heard: my friend was installing (Tata) steel gates in front of the breakable wooden doors, CCTV cameras, touch-sensors, burglar alarms and the kind, to make it a formidable fortress. Meanwhile, reading the local Newspaper (I’m more learned now) I learnt of a similar theft, a few days ago, in nearby Erode, on a House of the same dimensions…the story goes on! It’s no ‘mystery’: Tata Steel is back in business!

I’ve always been fascinated with good, clever, stylish, ‘chic’, ‘open’ – but decent dressing, especially by the fairer sex. Boarding School life helped keep the pinafore School Girl skirts ‘always up’, in the mind, and as I rolled into University I naturally tracked the best-dressed Ladies (with a small eye leaning-in on the Gentlemen, to improve upon my own sartorial tastes). I still remember having kept a careful watch on the College catwalk and hold vivid images, to this day, of those that hit that beauty-is-in-the-eyes-of-the-beholder eye, hard with cut, style and colour. I recall, some dresses, on some, never repeated over a 365 day period! Wow – that’s a lot of bird-watching time spent. I wish we could invent a means of transferring these images to a Mind Cloud and then printing them black & white or colour! Glad, I successfully passed through College without having to tear-up my clothes, in despair over my marks!

Over the years, as I travelled all over India and abroad I’m sure I imbibed a fair sense of fashion and now being in the Women’s Apparel Manufacturing industry my dreams run wild. Fashion TV filled-in many desert spaces with Oasis’ of green and rainbow colours. One style that beguiles and enthralls me is the Sleeveless Top and Sleeveless Sari Blouse, mostly on women! While the North of India has seen and shows-off much of this elegant, harmless style, the South is fighting awfully shy – steeped in endless prejudices and taboos. The Sari-blouse, for example, actually shows more than it hides, yet a ‘sleeveless blouse’ remains an unthinkable garment to many down South. When I challenged many a women on why they should not go for it, the answers were pretty weird: My Husband will not allow it; my In-laws will not allow it; oh! what will my father think; no, we cannot wear such a revealing dress; my arms are too stout and will show-off much of what I still want to hide behind a skimpy blouse; I don’t have a Model’s slender well-crafted arms…list is endless. I even argued that if India’s first Women Prime Minister, Indira Gandhi wore sleeveless blouses (on perfectly matched saris) with such elegance and carried if off with knock-down style, why can’t you? Well, modern-day Ivanka and Melania Trump’s have heard me and wear the sleeveless with Donald Trump abandon. On the sidelines, I’m trying my best to get my better-half into one of them – without success and bitter failure!

In Salem, Tamil Nadu, South India, where I now live, you do get to see the odd sleeveless – is a rarity – but there is too big a Permission List to pull-off the sleeve. Maybe, Indira Gandhi would have enforced a must –wear-sleeveless Emergency?

This is just one example, and Women in the South need to wake-up to the wonder of a wonderful range of beautiful dressing – without inhibitions! Women’s Kurtas, Tops, Shirts, Tops and the kind look equally good without the sleeve, or with cuts & slits, and wearing them is an opportunity not to be missed. I trust the great Indian Culture, will provide the checks & balances on any misadventures or is this the real problem? Meanwhile, I’m sleepless over being ‘Sleeveless in Salem’.

With the Indian Government openly going overdrive in making India open-defecation free, building toilets and upping the ante on cleanliness and sanitation with its ‘Swachh Bharat’ clean-India mission, my thoughts ‘went down’ in place and time, to delve in to my own, noisome, pooping history: re-live the relieving in the open!

I was born in the 1960’s in South India, during a period when electricity was just beginning to line-in into the small Towns but staying absolutely fused-out of the Villages; and toilets/rest-rooms/bath rooms were yet to be understood, and acquire meaning and quiet dignity. We were a poor ‘rising-up’ farming family and did our best to fertilize our fields with the worst that we could not hold within us – after digesting the best food of our times! I had never seen a toilet until I climbed the nearby Shevaroy Hills Station, Yercaud, to live as a stay-in guest with an Anglo-Indian family – to grow up sufficiently, to join Boarding School. That was at the tender age of three. It took me a while to find my way in the bath-room, beginning with the squatting style, and later graduating to the Western sitting position. I must say that I first squatted on the seat of the Western Closet before realizing that I have a right to indeed sit on the cold seat throne!

On returning from Boarding School, on the first School-end holidays I found that my family had relocated to an interior Village, near a forest–without even a volt of electricity, and with lots of earth & rock to sit upon, without charges. The toilet now looked farther than ever before, given the scenario of abundant bushy spaces around us, and the complete indifference to the farming community about defecating in the open. Every year, it was a nightmare when I came Home; to rush to the fields many times a day to do the ‘ones & two’s’ and play hide and seek with shrubs and bushes. The scariness level of the nightmares depended on the crop at that time of the year: if it was tapioca it was a pleasant shady sit-out; if it was sugarcane, I had to hunt for space to squeeze in and squat without being bruised by the sword-like sugarcane leaves. During these times I got the closest to Nature, that I possibly could, and became friends with armies of ants, webs of spiders, leaves of caterpillars, lengths of centipedes and millipedes, and fangs of snakes, tails of rat, and a sting of bees and wasps! On one of those stomach crazy rumblings, I had rushed to the nearest field – damn, it was sugarcane – and almost squatted on a coiled afternoon-nap taking snake, when the great hiss stopped the poop in its tracks, actually went back-in to exit again – hissing with smelly disgust, another time!

Over a period of twelve long years nothing much changed on the open poop front at Home, but it got a lot more crowded and competitive. Some-times, I found a ‘poop-mate’ (a Labourer’s son about my age) and both of us used to squat back-to-back and talk about Tamils songs and films. When it was done, my poop-mate would often use the nearest rock as a toilet paper – a few quick crafty rubbing strokes did the job – while I used to get up, pull-up my shorts (just enough to cover the bare essentials) and walk bow-legged to the water tank area to find a tin-mug and a secluded spot to cleanup! Meanwhile, I left Boarding School went through Engineering College and got a job in the Power Sector further South of where I was born: still not toilets at Home, though by this time I had become skilled in using toilet-paper. My many pleas and cries always fell on ceramic deaf ears! Who would give-up the fresh vibrant landscape of the open for a walled toilet, argued my family! The nearest we got to a toilet was a four-walled open-to-atmosphere bathing-only room, with a firm door, which also served as a wash-spot after the adventures in the open. I heard tales of a cousin of mine joyfully parking himself atop the ‘bathroom’ wall, refusing to vacate even when the women-of-the-house (Moms & Aunts) came over for a bath! He had to be pulled down in a bundle of kicks and punches. Those were the mud-walled roof thatched house days, when concrete structures were more than a peep away. Most men wore lungi’s or dhotis, and the women, saris, which gave absolute freedom to squat just about anywhere, maybe lift a leg and do it doggy style!

Then suddenly, as if someone understood my anguish and heard my cries, toilets started popping up in the neighbourhood – but outside the House and in the typical Indian squatting style, without a flush; but with a tap, a bucket and a mug (The Indian Railways had them chained to the water pipes). But, it never got built outside mine…I still had to find space (sometimes invent) in the open.

Years rolled by, and it was time to find a bride to share open spaces of the mind & body and get close. I demanded that we build a modern house with inside Toilets – just like the West. I got a plan made and ensured it was built exactly that way! Wow, that was in the year 1990! But even then it wasn’t without a fight – my Dad questioning the large room size and why I required a wash-basin inside the Toilet (He wanted to save on the fittings!) and I had to do a lot explanation about washing hands & hygiene, to get one; but I never told him I intended to install a bath tub, one day!

Over the years, when I travelled all over India and to a few places abroad, I learnt the pleasure of closed defecation and struggled to understand why such a convenience (and a ‘pleasure’) took so much time to invade India.

I now live in the small South Indian City of Salem and it is not uncommon to see many roads lined with blind-snakes (we used to call poop that, while in School) and during my morning walks I often run into people squatting or peeing gleefully, just about anywhere they could find a spot; and during those rides to home, while passing through a small Village you could see man, woman & child, torch or lantern-in-hand (a night) squatting on the road-sides in the light of my car head-lights. I shamefully dip them and cover up! Tomorrow is always open!

Prologue: I first wrote this Essay in the year 2012, when India turned 65. I’ve kept the age the same and tweaked it a bit to publish it again this year – 2017. Have we improved? Be my guest!

Over the years it has been a personal, and perhaps a public one too, revelation that the best ideas pop out while in the shower or simply resting in the ‘Rest Room’, managing the in’s & out’s – mostly the latter – of the human body. Archimedes got ‘his water-floating’ idea in the bath-tub and went ‘virally naked’ with it – getting truly well deserved attention. I got mine this morning, sitting on the WC and am coming to you with clothes ‘fully-on’. Einstein said imagination is what really matters. Well, I do not disagree.

India is a 65 year old, under-developed baby with rich ancestry and cultural traditions. It is crying for attention in every dimension: mind, body and soul. Good governance is at an abysmal level, graft is at Mt. Everest heights, National discipline is stuck in a Peter Benchley ‘Abyss’ and the traffic in every sphere of the common man’s life is so thick & dense that everyone is looking for the smallest possible opening to charge into – despite flashing red lights. Elected Representatives are abdicating their responsibilities the moment they seize power –branding all of us as Maoists (including simple-minded Farmers) and we in turn look at them as Nazis, or Fascists, or weird Dictators. Believe me, Hitler and Mussolini – and others of the clan – never actually died!

Good honest citizens, such as me, have tirelessly ‘tweeted’, posted on Facebook, and blogged fertiliser, power-grid hungry ideas in the ‘windows of time’. Gandhian Annas (elder Brother), Babas & Yoga Gurus are giving their best possible twists & turns and indulging in various ‘fast’ techniques to enlighten and ‘rub-on’ all of us. I guess we are listening, and perhaps many ideas are ‘breaking’ and ‘streaking nude’ across that wonderful mind of ours!

Well, I have a dream; I have a plan, for a Great India; read on.

The President of India, the Prime Minister (PM) and the Chief Ministers (CM) of all States should be elected directly by the people, in addition to the Members of Parliament (MP) and Members of Legislative Assemblies (MLA), in a party-less manner. Yes, there will be no Parties and Party (and Symbol) based Elections and everyone will have to ‘cat-walk the mighty ramp of India, strutting their valuable assets’ to get noticed. Only like-mined ideas should be allowed ‘to party together’ after the Elections. Every candidate should win an Election on the strength of his/her character, integrity, skill and ability to govern and get things done.

The President shall remain the fundamental monitoring Head of State, owning the Government, and shall be responsible for making a comprehensive ‘minimum’ achievable India Development Plan (IDP) – taking into consideration all fundamental ‘sine-quo-non’ aspects of the Country: Defence, External Affairs, Economics & Commerce, Sport etc. The IDP shall be made, in the manner of a Budget, with inputs from various technocrat arms of the Government, such as, Planning Commission, Defence Research and Development Organization, Indian Space Research Organization, Comptroller and Auditor General of India etc and various Citizen Forums and Private Industry Captains. The President shall discuss with such teams and finalise the IDP, which shall be handed over to the elected PM to implement as the ‘executing’ Head of the Government. The PM should necessarily, over and above the IDP – and in addition, make his own plan, after discussing with like-minded elected MPs and obtaining a consensus, to achieve greater development heights, and hand over the same to the President for vetting and monitoring. The President shall have a six-year term (to overlap the five year term of elected Governments) and it shall be his responsibility to ensure that the IDP is 100% executed in letter & spirit. He shall be assisted by the Planning Commission, and other Central & State Government Departments in project progress tracking and monitoring. He shall knock the Government on its head, if he finds things are going astray.

Likewise, the State Governors shall follow the work-break-down of the IDP and hand over a ‘minimum’ state-level, State Development Plans (SDP) and monitor the CMs, reporting to the President.

The PM and the CM’s shall have fixed terms whereas the MPs & MLAs may be recalled if found to be under-performing or not cooperating with the PM or CM – on baseless reasons or parochialism, or chauvinism. The MP’s and MLA shall constantly engage the people of their constituencies, in Town-hall type meetings, and ensure dialogue, discussion and participation, which shall happen on a continuous, ever-evolving basis. They should be able to sense the pulse of the people at all times.

The basic structure of the Constitution, Parliament and powers of the President, PM, Governors, CM remains unchanged – with minor tweaks. The ‘Political Party’ may remain, at best, a loose circle of like-minded, ‘benign influence’ over the MPs & MLAs from a particular State or Region.

I now leave it to you to expand, deliberate, discuss, provide further insights and carry forward, if worthwhile.

 

 

 

 

We are at the beginning of another brand New Year and I’m sure most of us make resolutions faster than we break them: some facing sudden death, within a few hours or day’s time and quietly buried as an attachment to the dead year gone-by. But then, at least we try, which itself can be awfully inspiring, year after year – until we fall off the grid, like dead leaves off trees, on old age.

This time, I think we should look inward and try to focus on selfishly working on our mind & body to improve its lot: to become better persons, inside out. It’s simple, with a healthy mind living inside a healthy body, there is nothing you cannot do. While being healthy is strictly within our control, there are two other things that we should perhaps religiously resolve to do in the New Year.

One, keep religion tucked deep inside your minds and allow only the effects of it to be visible as an omnipresent shine – continually polishing it with a strong sense of values & belief’s – in your daily actions. Let me illustrate, albeit in a slightly different manner. One of my all-time favourite movies is Ben-Hur – a story of Jesus Christ, which I’ve never tired of watching. In one of the scenes, in the second half, a sermon by Jesus is about to begin. The scene is filmed in an unforgettable manner, in keeping with the script of the movie of not showing the frontal face of Jesus Christ at any point in the movie. People are slowly gathering on a small hill, waiting for Jesus to arrive. When the sermon begins, the camera focuses only on the listeners, capturing the slowly growing luminescence on their faces as the teachings are assimilated and as they get gold-rich with the wealth of the knowledge of the Kingdom of God. Only the effect of Jesus is shown – never him!

Similarly, whatever your religion, do not show the source or the markings: instead, show the results of the teachings and learning’s in your everyday actions, which should speak louder than the loudest neighbourhood loudspeaker! Going a bit lateral, think about it as the evaporating car freshener on the dashboard (or elsewhere) of your car spreading its fragrance within the car and enabling you to carry-off a smile when you exit!

Two, learn all the rules of the Land – of the country and locality – you live in and ‘break them’ in a positive way, by doing better than the Rules demand, so much that the Rules themselves become redundant. Do not allow Rules to force you to act – it will only serve to amplify your fears. Adapt yourself to abide by the rules voluntarily, improving upon them – doing better, and watch the results. Also remember, the Rules of the Land you live-in always come first and overrule any contradictions with your religion – should there be one (or many)!

To sum up: put your religion to work in your everyday life without showing it; be mindful – fully in the present (Mindfulness is a clever word these days, in mindful circulation) applying your religion within the Law of the Land; let someone tell you that you do your work with such excellence that you are ‘religious in your work’ (delivering to the specifications of your Employer or Customer). Spread the word!

Happy New Year – 2017: this year, and every year hereafter, belongs to you. Be an example!

[Background: This is based on a true story in the southern state of Tamil Nadu, India where a yesteryear, hugely popular film-star,  M G Ramachandran (MGR) started a political party, the ‘All India Anna Dravida Munnetra Kazhagam (AIADMK)’ – with ‘Two Leaves’, as a Party symbol – breaking away from the parent ,’Dravida Munnetra Kazhagam (DMK)’ headed by M Karunanithi – which has the ‘Rising Sun’ as its symbol. On coming to power, MGR ruled as Chief Minister for over a decade until his death, at age 71, due to illness, while in harness. His heroine of many Tamil films, Miss Jayalalithaa, was brought into the AIADMK as Propaganda Secretary and later took over as Party Head and became Chief Minister, as well, until her death at age 68, a few days ago, on 5^th December 2016, again in harness. While Karunanithi could never get near Chief Ministership in MGR’s lifetime of heading the AIADMK, he could squeeze into power during Jayalalithaa’s stints as Chief Minister, until her metamorphosis as “Amma” – when she went on to win and stay in power in consecutive terms. While MGR was married but had no children, and Amma stayed single, Karunanithi had three wives – now two, one having died – and six children. Though always wheel-chair bound he has scored well on the health front, and is still active in politics as the head of the DMK, at the age of 92. He has seen six Chief Ministers die during his lifetime and hopes to become Chief Minister, yet again! The DMK & the AIADMK are bitter rivals, constantly at other’s throats and endlessly playing the ‘Tom & Jerry’ game!].

While we watched the iron-lady of Tamil Nadu rust away despite her steel mettle, we cannot help make the comparison with a nearby well-dhothied, almost bald, yellow-shawled, iron-man, living in the neighbourhood, who may just about have the last laugh, yet! He has outlived ‘two dead leaves’ and in grand style, mind you: with more than a couple of wives, lots of family – to draw support and be wheeled about – and a never-day-die attitude, despite numerous defeats in battle. If the Hero was a boxing, stick & sword-wielding fighting one in the movies, he failed to overcome the villainous ill-health and fell prey. His Heroine and protégé followed in similar footsteps, ‘covering-up’, hiding the poor health and again failing to get the better of it, despite the support of the Gods of Apollo. Didn’t someone say, that the only thing you have true, and can control, is your mind & body? (That’s written in the script of our lives). Why then, with all the iron & steel at their command, co-mingled with self-confidence, grit and tenacity, the Hero & Heroine couldn’t win the health-war? Is it because they are just leaves – which have to wilt & fall? (Re-growth is an option – not in this lifetime). Meanwhile, the Sun is out scorching the country side and the neighbourhood iron-man, once a movie script writer, barring a rouge allergy – now & then- has kept his cool, kept his ever growing family, KEPT HIS HEALTH, and the shine is definitely a bright YELLOW, almost red (& black) on the horizon! Colours & Wives work wonders, I guess? Tomorrow is another day!

[Prologue: I first wrote ‘The Smoking Ladies of Delhi’ in the year 2008, when I was in the ‘elite’ Project Management Team in-charge of developing and modernising New Delhi’s bursting-at-the seams Indira Gandhi International (IGI) Airport Terminal-2: well before the now spanking Terminal-3 fully grew-up; and while Domestic Terminal-1 was simultaneously getting an alphabetical make-over: Terminal IA, IB IC, ID, and the kind!

The recent Delhi air pollution stories brought back a pack-full of memories and rushed me to smoke out this article, light it up and post it here]

Ever since I started working at New Delhi’s IGI Airport Terminal-2, in December 2008, I had never seen so much smoke exhaust itself from a Lady. Literally. I am a strict non-smoker – not even the passive kind, and was dumbstruck on seeing so many women smoking. The fairer sex is indeed awfully liberated in New Delhi! When did you last see a Sheila Dixit (she was the then Chief Minister of New Delhi) or a Sonia Gandhi (she was actually running the Manmohan Singh Government from behind a smoke-screen, they said!) smoke? Ever?

There was this, cannot-miss-daily-sight of a large impressively clad Lady, cat-walking and sashaying back & forth, like a tigress caught in a circus cage, outside the Air-India ‘mishandled’ Baggage Office, cigarette in hand, as a ‘light-house’ would show: she looked stylish with a Stacy London dress sense, shoulder length cascading silky hair, probably handling all of Air-India’s ‘miss-delivered’ baggage with smoking ease. One of the key targets in renovating the Airport being to kick-out Airlines Offices occupying precious Passenger space, I ran into her many smoke rings while making mischievous plans to throw out her smoke & Baggage – to a new location outside the main Terminal. Never mind her smoking-hot killer looks!

Next to this ‘constantly hot’ Lady was the Jet Airways Crew & Ticketing office: two to tango? Pretty-Young Things with new golden overcoats, butterfly in and out. Often, I could see a beautiful Air-Hostess (must be), probably on a quick ‘smoking date’ with another male Crew Attendant (must be) outside their Office, Guess, there are no-smoking signs inside! The heavy make-up on an already naturally beautiful face, held sprightly on a svelte hourglass figure, did not match the ugly cigarette in her slender well-manicured fingers. May be, she should switch over to Virginia Slims! Gosh! I do know a few Cigarette brand names myself!

I run away from these smoke-generators only to crash into more smoke. This time, it was ‘from foreign terminal sources’ – an International Airline had just offloaded its crew and the short-skirted blonde beauties are waiting for the ground transport to take them to their Hotel. They were all hidden in tall self-made clouds of smoke-which beautifully dissolves into the troublesome IGI Airport November fog.

By this time I had become tired and headed home to Gurgaon, hounded by the smell of the seemingly omnipresent cigarette smoke. Thank Almighty God, my wife does not smoke!

I start the next day by driving down, early in the morning, to the Airport, from Gurgaon, on the newly laid flyover filled expressway. It’s a wonderful drive, except that there is this particular Maruthi Esteem, which competes for space in my lane, driven by a smart Lady (must be) with a Catherine Zeta-Jones black mane (that’s the best I could see from behind) and sculptured hands circumnavigating the steering wheel, but with a menacing cigarette in hand! Wow! Beauty just flew out of the window and rose up in the Sky!

Meanwhile, it was not uncommon, in Gurgaon, to see Ladies jostling for space with the Gentlemen, near the local road-side Tea-shop – off the great high-rise buildings – glass tea cup in one hand and the great cigarette in another – both spewing their kind of vapour or smoke, which quietly rises high, and effortlessly mingles with the already heavily polluted air!

In the small Towns and Villages, back home in the South of India, I’ve seen an occasional old woman smoke a ‘beedi’ holding it briefly between beetel-nut stained, almost falling teeth, but the North of India, was a revelation.

Am I becoming ‘lady cigarette smoke’ sensitive? Only time will tell. Let the smoke ring on! God bless the Smoking Ladies!

[Epilogue: We completed the renovation of Terminal-2 in a record 18 months and the Smoking Ladies were an inspiration in getting the air-balance calculations technically right (I’m an Engineer, remember) for the Smoking Rooms we had built inside the newly developed Terminal. There wasn’t a Smoking Room before and I’m sure ‘The Smoking Ladies of Delhi’ would appreciate the space!]

In the weeks preceding the past few weeks, we in India were bombarded with Surgical Strikes, and later we married it to Talaq-Talaq-Talaq. These two words invaded our minds (our word power improved by three milestones) and occupied precious space – notwithstanding any border security posts, or the daily TV serials.

Well… lots of fireworks happening before Diwali, after ISRO stopped surgically launching rockets & satellites, for a well-deserved (and well advised) rest! If the Indian Government said Talaq-Talaq-Talaq to terrorism from across the Pakistan Border, the Samajwadi Party, in the northern State of Uttar Pradesh (UP) got fired-up and kept shooting the word, in as many rounds. Mulayam Singh could have used his wrestling skills better to pin his son onto the UP ground mat; instead he went to battle on a falling-apart bi-cycle. Could have asked Olympian Sakshi Malik for some tips, at least to win Bronze – Gold being ruled out (hanging on a second family neck)!

Meanwhile, the steel nerves of the Tata’s cracked, they too heard the sound of money in their Bank Accounts; the polished brand losing some shine; and suddenly & mysteriously said Talaq-Talaq-Talaq to its young Chairman, who I think was doing a fairly good job of re-building the Tata Empire – without his famed father’s help! Talk of Corporate governance, values and principles in the grand old Bombay House? My! I’m sure many of us in the Corporate World of India, can empathise with the sacked, now ex-Chairman of Tata, having been in similar situations – no explanation, no packing, no good-byes – just plain simple ta-ta!  Move over Hollywood, our own Indian feudal Terminator is back, to guard the family jewels!  The Tata’s have become the new Reliance, while Reliance is only getting bigger and better, being at being truly Reliance – brutally commercial, bhai!

At this rate, Atal Behari Vajpayee may say Talaq-Talaq-Talaq to PM Modi and get back to business dragging along a Hospital. Infosys Narayana Murthy did it, but was ‘soft enough’ to hand-over once again. The DMK Party Chief in the Southern State of Tamil Nadu is wiser, is tied to his chair, moves with it and may wheel & ‘stretch’ it to occupy the Chief Minister’s chair, once the sling finds its mark. He whispers to the horse that his ‘sun son’ will take over, while other Families, in the background, are listening-in. Watch this space!

Honesty, and bluntness in calling a spade a spade, as a religion, has just been Talaq-ed! Indian Corporates have the best Vision and Mission Statements, framed beautifully on a polished wood-panelled background, in the Board Room – and that’s where it stays hanging for dear life. Meanwhile, it’s riot on the streets and execution (of Statements) is buried deep underground, beneath an iron-ore mine!

Having a cracking Diwali: it’s always bursting – fireworks & crackers in India. Watch the Skyline! Lights, Camera, Action!

 

It has been more than a year since I relocated from Chennai, to the small City of Salem in Tamil Nadu, which is near my native Sembiyanoor Village, Bommidi, Dharmapuri District. I settled here, after having ‘lived well and in style’ in Puerto-Rico (USA) and the big cities of Hyderabad, Bengaluru, Mumbai and Gurgaon/ Delhi – prior to the Chennai stop-over. Luckily, I had squirrelled away my earnings sufficiently enough to buy a brick & mortar house in Salem – for commercial gain – never once imagining that I would ‘settle down’ (that’s a much used word in these parts) with my life’s inventory and spread myself vertically in the second floor two-bedroom Flat. The Apartment holding the Flat, is located in quite a serious, law conscious neighbourhood: near the Collector’s Bungalow, beyond the District Courts and Central Prison, on the road to the nearby Shevaroys Hill-Station of Yercaud, which does message me some cool evening breezes and offer Technicolor sunrises! It’s not a Flat any longer: it’s now a place called Home!

Salem derives its name from the fact that it is surrounded by, or among, Hills on all four sides. It is said to be the birthplace of the ancient Tamil Poetess Avvaiyar: maybe, I should search for any roots to a possible poetic ancestor? Salem is also the home of the once famous, now defunct, Modern Theatres, where many a Kollywood Tamil movie was successfully shot: especially the James Bond and gun slinging Western kind. There is even a River called Thirumanimuthaar naughtily flowing through Salem, which is now one great open sewer stream!

While studying in boarding School, at Yercaud, I had to find base at Salem to climb the hills, kissing the twenty hair-pin bend ghat road – there being no other approach, at that time. Salem is well-connected to most parts of Tamil Nadu, and the Country as well!

I found that Salem was still stuck in the small city syndrome, refusing to grow-up: narrow roads – barring a few broad-way ones; open sewers; a congested people-infected-lake-turned-into Bus-Stand; a busy Railway Station; dingy superbug infested Hospitals; Less-than-5-star Hotels & Boarding Houses, a choked 1^st & 2^nd Agraharam, Bazaar prime shopping area; railway crossings with hardly any flyovers; cattle grazing or sleeping on the roads; and, the typical Indian traffic crawling slowly on all four legs. People seemed to be everywhere, collecting and shipping off bits & pieces, like an army of ants, except that there was no sense of orderliness. On the positive side, there is a half-hearted waste collection system in place with ever overflowing green garbage bins, and stiff ‘keep Salem clean – this is your City’ hoardings, and a work-in-progress underground sewerage system! Cheers! This sure is some sign of future greatness?

I’m no Town planner or City designer, but I believe that a City is primarily meant for people, to move around effortlessly ‘on their legs’, without obstruction; and, clever infrastructure – in every dimension – to complement the walking. How do you modernise Salem? I shall start with one skeleton solution and pad it up with a few more to give it some flesh and muscle. This one thing that could bring about remarkable change, is to build PAVEMENTS, pedestrian walkways – like crazy – all over Salem, wherever you can, and especially on the streets where there is scope for people to hustle & bustle. We must construct large pavements to guard both sides of the street and squeeze the automobiles giving them just the tiniest possible space to ply in single file, or at best, in a two-way drive. A great City should encourage people to walk: it would keep them fighting fit!

There isn’t one decent pavement – except maybe around the Collector’s Office – to speak about, and the few ‘attempted sidewalks’ you can find have been hacked either by animals or temporary pavement Vendors and permanent Dwellers, or simply made unusable with earth and dirt dumping.

Now, the padding: Parking space is hard to come by and the traffic Police have brilliantly put up ‘No-Parking’ Boards (typically, 50m either way) on almost every area, where you wish, you could naturally park. Let me give you an example: Whenever I come over to shop in the Agraharam Bazaar, near the Old Bus-Stand, I park my car in the Corporation Paid Parking, in front of the Fort Temple, on the banks of the River Thirumanimuthaar – perhaps the most noisome region of Salem – where you can experience the heavenly sounds of just about everybody either “passing the one’s or exiting the two’s, aiyho! (it has been added to the Oxford English Dictionary). A holy collection, I swear! I then walk to the Bazaar, through the Town Police Station, the front of which, if sufficiently policed, can serve as a clever parking area (with free security by and of the Police); we can also build a futuristic vertical! Further, we should provide well-marked and controlled small distributed parking spaces for the two and four wheelers, wherever there is space, to fit them without mowing down the walking pedestrian.

The next is the flesh & muscle, actually a bundle of three applications to keep the pavement concept alive. First, cleanliness – with garbage bins placed at vantage points and collection religiously monitored. Second, superb public transport – Buses best suited at this stage, stopping & starting in clock-wise precision, only at pre-determined Stops and with fully closed doors  – to feed the shopping and commercial business areas with the public transport Terminus’s of the Bus-stand(s), Town Railway Station and City Railway Station. The objective should be to discourage private vehicle movement. Thirdly, efficient & handsome policing, with the citizen made to mindfully respect every signal and zebra line, without honking, and prevent the pavements from being occupied by stationary men and hard-to-move beasts. Without strict discipline, even the best-laid plans may go awry and the Police should be called to duty on enforcing this one, with a stinging whip!

We should be able to beautifully thread the leg-walking with the wheeled public transport system to get to anywhere in the busiest part of the City! Modern theatrics can come alive again to make Salem a smart City!

Footnote: The picture at the head of this essay shows the busy 1^st Agraharam Shopping area, hobbled with Street Vendors occupying nearly 50% of a seemingly broad street. They should all be sent packing for illegal-occupation of the tax-payer’s territory!

Noise, sourced from automobile honking, and the Loudspeaker menace emanating from the ‘Houses of Religion’, are my other favourites topics, which need to be vanquished, if not throttled to make Salem peaceful. Then, there is the need of the city oxygen-generators of parks and greenery; and, maybe a statue of poetess Avvaiyar, along with some artistic ones thrown in, to beautify the City. I shall visit this in another essay! Meanwhile, let’s pave the way for a modern Salem!