Solitary shoes

I was passing by the Om Shakthi temple just after dusk, as I often do during my evening walks. Except for a devotee or two just outside the temple door, I usually find the temple compound deserted and dark. But yesterday was different: the compound was alight with hundreds of lamps and abuzz with the chatter of devotees. Of course! it was night of the supermoon, I suddenly remembered. It was also the birth anniversary of Guru Nanak, the founder of the Sikh faith, and an auspicious day for Hindus.

I digressed from my usual path and soon found myself at the temple gate. Once there, I hesitated - there were hundreds of shoes outside the main gate, almost upon the road. I recalled all the horror stories I knew about shoes lost from temple gates. Some of the stories were my own experiences, which is why I take the precaution of putting on my most dispensable pair of shoes or sandals whenever I plan to visit a temple. But this was unplanned!

Undecided, I peered through the crowd to satisfy my curiosity about the lamps. As I stood there motionless, people trying to enter or leave the temple cast curious glances in my direction. I suddenly felt shy; those people probably thought it was the time of the month when women did not enter temples. Had they known the real reason for my hesitation, they would have been aghast- what kind of a person worries about shoes when at God's doorstep?

I sighed as I remembered my original destination, the neighborhood departmental store, which would soon be crowded by folks returning from work and looking to pick up grocery items on the way. Window shopping at the store is a favorite pastime and my secondary motivation for evening walks, the primary being Bangalore's infamous power-cuts. The regular evening power-cut compels me to leave my solitary confinement and take a walk. I tore myself away from the temple and completed the first leg of my walk.

At the departmental store, I noticed a huge stack of new arrivals in the shoes section. I thought that was a funny coincidence, but proceeded to check if there was anything I liked. From the corner of my eye, I could see the irritating salesgirl approaching. Before she could open her mouth to say "may I help  you," I smiled at her and politely said. "no, thank you." But she refused to take the hint and persisted, "sorry ma'm, no your type of shoe here; here only casual shoes."
"I'm sorry?" I did not get what she meant.
"No medical shoes," she explained to my further bewilderment. "you need spacial shoe, no?" she continued, not one to give up easily. But this time, I looked down at my feet and lo and behold! I was wearing two different shoes!

They were both mine, both black, both covered my toes, but one was broader than the other. In other words, they were from two different pairs.

After the initial shock, a great surge of giggles threatened to erupt from my belly and reveal my foolishness in front of the silly shop girl. I could blame it on the power-cut, but that would not really absolve me of my careless mistake.

With inhuman effort, I suppressed the giggles and bravely looked up, straight into her eyes. "Hm," I said, as if disappointed, and ran out of the store.

I did not stop till I reached the temple gate. There, I quickly removed the shoes before anyone could notice the weird pair, and boldly stepped into the compound, silently wishing the shoe thieves good luck.

Old posts

Found a couple of very old posts once published in a now obsolete blogging site:

Of mosquitoes and rebirth

 In the very last biology class that we had in school, we learnt about different food chains and their importance in their respective ecosystems. The teacher took up several examples, such as crows, fishes and algae and explained how extinction of each would affect the environmental balance. That evening, on my way home from school, I noticed civic authorities out on streets, trying to implement a mosquito eradication programme and I wondered briefly if extinction of mosquitoes would harm the environment in any way. Since I never attended a biology class again, I still do not know the answer.

 I have not, however, bothered myself too much with that question because I have since realised that it is quite impossible to annihilate mosquitoes. They are everywhere, Kachhuas and GoodKnights notwithstanding. Tending our itchy limbs has become so much of a habit with us, that often we are not aware of the action. Take for example, a friend of mine who was coming out of a posh restaurant when I bumped into him. While greeting me with a broad smile, he was nursing what was distinctly a mosquito bite on his arm. Yet, when I asked him if there were mosquitoes inside the restaurant, he was taken by surprise and couldn’t recall seeing any.

 Another friend once proclaimed that there were no mosquitoes at her place. A visit to her place confirmed this. I felt relieved as well as a bit envious of her good luck. A week later she was in hospital with malaria.

 Why do all our efforts to destroy mosquitoes always result in failure? If you are a believer in the theory of karma and rebirth, my aunt has a plausible answer: All evil people are reborn as mosquitoes. (It is God’s way of giving them a chance to do what they like doing best – sucking other people’s blood.) That is why the number of mosquitoes never seems to dwindle.

A corollary to this theory could be: All animal and insect species that are on their way to extinction are probably being reborn as humans. This could explain why more and more humans are demonstrating animal behaviour.

A wail of a time

(Note: This was written when Kingfisher Airlines let you watch TV on domestic flights)

 

I hate early morning flights, because it means losing several hours of sleep. That morning I was particularly tired and determined to get two full hours of sleep during the flight to Kolkata from Delhi. I did not carry a book and deliberately refused a window seat so as not to be tempted to look at the amazing sights I always lose myself in. The window seat, therefore, went to a lady who had a baby in her arms. Now babies, you will agree, are a great pastime, especially during a journey. You can either watch their antics or perform some antics yourself to get their attention and hope to be rewarded with a smile; and if a baby can talk a little, well, nothing can be more amusing.

 

Thankfully, this baby seemed to be asleep. I too made myself comfortable and shut my eyes. But no sooner did sleep come to me than the baby gave out a shrill shriek and my eye lids flew open. When I gathered my wits, I stared at the little body contorted with rage. You had to be there to believe that the little thing could shriek so loud. Not that he could sustain the loudness and pitch for long, and so the shriek was replaced by a heart-wrenching baby wail. Needless to say, the mother did everything in her power to quieten him; the stewardesses offered every help, but to no avail. The little minx continued to wail, without a break. 

Unable to be of any help, I desperately wanted to put on my headphones, shut off the wailing with the mindless noise of a TV channel  and make the best of what remained of the journey. But that would be bad manners and the mother would feel embarrassed. On an impulse, I switched on the TV in front of the baby and then, a miracle happened. The wail suddenly stopped and the little one stared, mesmerised, at the pretty face of one of our Bollywood actresses on the screen. At the sudden silence, people turned to look in our direction and I beamed at everyone, but … only a couple of minutes, and the wailing began anew. Was I stupid enough to imagine that TV could hold a kid’s attention for long? 

A few more minutes passed, before he gave us another break. This time too, it was the same lady’s face on the TV screen! Soon enough, the face was replaced by another and our little hero resumed his wailing. When this happened a third time, we (the mother and I) realised that it was too much of a coincidence to be ignored. The little brat was totally in the actor’s power. 

Well, one cannot expect a TV channel to continuously beam one particular face, however pretty. For who knows, there may be baby girls out there somewhere, wailing their lungs out for a glimpse of Salman Khan or Akshay Kumar. (Some people are born with an eye for pretty faces, huh?) Luckily, someone had the wit and the intelligence to pass on to us a post-card size picture of the actress in demand. Believe it or not, the baby eagerly took it and clutched it so tightly that he almost crushed a part of it in his baby-fist. As there was no reason to cry any further, and as so much crying had probably tired him, the baby soon fell asleep.  

I looked at my watch – only about half an hour’s journey left. With no time to sleep, no book and no window, there was only one thing left for me to do – turn on the TV and watch Bollywood faces.

Goa in monsoon

This was my first visit to Goa. Sun 'n' Sand? - nopes - some wet sand, but no sun at all - it was monsoon in Goa!

There were 10 of us. We hired five bikes and then, we were on a roll. We rolled through incessant rains. At one point, we stopped to buy us flimsy raincoats that made us look funny - yet another reason to laugh.

We had plenty of reasons to laugh; being together outside work was one of them. So excited were we that we created a Whatsapp group long before we started for Goa, first to make plans, and then to stay connected whilst in Goa.

Goa is not only about beaches. It is also about old forts, long rides and long, long lunches and dinners in picturesque eateries (especially long because Goan restaurateurs take their own sweet time to serve food).

Soaked to our skins, we rode through lush greenery, rain on our faces. A wrong turn led to a petty skirmish with the law, but that was part of the experience of Goa - a wet, green Goa.

But oh yes! Goa is definitely about beaches. And what lovely beaches! Some of them we had all to ourselves. The waters rolled and roared loudly, as if to call back the seasonal revellers who avoid the monsoons. But there we were, having the time of our lives. Mobile phones went click, click, click - capturing us in various poses against the lovely backdrops. There was the fear of the rains damaging the phones, but the views were irresistible.

Didn't I mention drinks and dancing? Those in the group who love their drinks regaled at the lower prices. Some drank and danced through the night, while others went off to sleep, to garner energy for the following day's adventures.

Three days and two nights were all we had. But the return journey by train was no less beautiful. As long as we could, we fell over each other to watch the scenic Western Ghats and the magnificent Doodhsagar Falls in all its monsoon glory.

After sunset, the train took a longish break at Londa, where we resumed our photo sessions, pretending to pull and push the train and asking every other passenger on the platform to capture the group in a snap.

Like all good things, the trip ended, but we are still holding on to the Whatsapp group, still exchanging photos and memories. Perhaps we'll use it for another trip in the not-so-distant future.


 

Colonization of the mind?

This evening, I had the pleasure of watching "A Terrorist Hanged", a thought-provoking play, at Jagriti Theatre, Whitefield, Bengaluru. Written by Arun Mukherjee and directed by Ranjon Ghoshal, the play was brilliantly performed by Forum-Three (in collaboration with National School of Drama, Bengaluru).

As the name suggests, the play is about a prosecution in the British period. But the person who is hanged as a "terrorist" is not really a terrorist or a revolutionary - far from it, he, Jagannath, is a dim-witted victim of circumstances and of an oppressive society. Dim witted he may be, but his mind functions in a curious manner, interpreted by many as cowardly; which is why it is not easy to fathom why he gladly accepts the noose in the end.

 

The story may appear bizarre to some, but to the Bengali mind nurtured by Sarat Chandra, Bibhuti Bhusan and Rabindranath, the social structure of the colonial era is not entirely unfamiliar. The plight of young widows, the whiplashing and wily landlords, the overzealous extremists, and the poor, daily labourers are all too familiar. A character like Jagannath's fits perfectly into this picture.

 

It is amazing what the actors achieved with a simple set on a small and intimate stage, with nothing  but the spotlight to take you into each scene. Jagannath's home, for example, is marked by the spotlight on a small area of the stage, with a just a box to depict his meagre possessions.

 

Rajeev Gupta, as Jagannath Das, or Jaga, was exemplary in his gestures and body language. While he enacted the role of a dimwit to perfection, other actors were no less believable in their roles. Prithesh Bhandary as Nando, Kishore Kumar as Janardan, and young Antarleena as the brash Bijli, deserve special mention.

 

In short, the director put together an excellent show, with laudable performances and seamless change of scenes with a perfect play of the spotlight. So immersed was the audience in the play that when the electricity went off for a few seconds, no one felt the interruption as the actors resumed from the exact point at which they had frozen.

This being the first play I watched at Jagriti (I hope to watch many more in the days to come), I was taken in by the cozy and comfortable ambience of the theatre. The general atmosphere of the establishment is friendly and informal and the audience gets a chance to mingle with the cast and crew of the play. There are also delicious sandwiches, cupcakes, and juice to keep you going :-)