I Need My Magic Potion in the Morning!

Ambiorix

Copyright of ArtMechanic 

I was in the historic town of Tongeren in Belgium for two and a half days of meetings. I was the first one to check into the hotel reserved for the participants. I went up to my third floor room, deposited my bags. I freshened up and explored the room. The main purpose of the exploration was to find the kettle and coffee things for the next morning. I looked everywhere but, no kettle. Hmmm. Things were not looking good.

I had to explore because many of these hotel rooms are designed artistically and many things, for example, the coffee things, are not easily visible. I found an iron, ironing board and what not. But, there were no kettle and coffee packets. In any case,  I decided to explore the town – having explored it on Wikipedia already.

I came down to the reception and asked the young lady at the reception where the coffee things were, still certain that they were there and I had not found them. I was told that for the group booking the company had done, the coffee things were not included. I resigned myself to starting the day without coffee and was about to go out. I thought,  “what do I lose if I ask for it? If I get it, it would be great. If not, status quo!”.

I went to the young lady and said. “Hi, I am an Indian. I am a south Indian. For us, the day does not even start without a cup of coffee. Is there any way I can have coffee, first thing in the morning?”

She laughed and said, “Let me see if I can give you one from another room!” We went to the third floor. She opened a few rooms and, hey presto! She gave me a tray with the kettle, coffee pouches, tea bags… the whole enchilada! I was set for the few days at the hotel!

I had a spring in my step when I explored the town.

Here is something for Asterix fans like me. This is the place that commemorates a Asterix-like character from history – Ambiorix!

The picture of Ambiorix is the copyright of ArtMechanic and is used here under the https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Commons:GNU_Free_Documentation_License,_version_1.2GNU Free Documentation License Version 1.2

How I Came to Read Han Suyin

It was the winter of 1979. I was employed in Ranchi - then in Bihar, now Jharkhand. I frequently went to Dhanbad on work. The company I worked for then was in the business of electronics for mining, especially coal mining, and hence Dhanbad. I usually  took a 'de-lux' bus from Ranchi and reach Dhanbad in the evening.

Those journies feel unreal now. Roads were really bad. At many places, all that was visible around me was scrub jungle  without a sign of human habitation. The dust raised by vehicles on these roads had settled on the trees and bushes and the scene was incredibly dreary and depressing. What made me look outside eagerly was that in the middle of nowhere, there would be a single, thatched house, perhaps with a few goats or cattle, a couple of hens, smoke rising out of the whole thatched roof, no chimney there, a woman doing some chore with an infant on her hip, a little girl playing all by herself or doing some chore. No other human in sight. I have never understood why they were there. What did they live on? How did that poor lady end up in a place like that? What future did the little girl or the infant have? Only disturbing questions and no answers.

The bus passed a bridge on a small river with just a trickle of flowing water. It was at least a hundred and fifty meters below at the deepest point. It was a cantilever bridge built of steel, if my memory serves me right. It was painted with "silver" paint in some unrecorded and indeterminate past. Now only rusty patches were visible. The road on the bridge had holes in it in some places and one could perhaps see the river below. It creaked and groaned when the bus crossed it. The bus crawled across at very low speed, pitching and rolling like a small craft in rough sea. I let my breath out,  with relief, every time I crossed that bridge and become aware that I was holding my beath only then.

I have crossed that bridge a couple of times by the company jeep.  I remember the Jeep’s registration number even today. DED 757. The driver, Mohammed Naim, always bragged that he was a pilot piloting a craft more modern than the Boeing 747. I have often wondered what my mother would have done then, if she saw the bridge and the road I had used.

The owner of the company I worked for, once took a couple of Britishers on this road, by jeep, to Dhanbad. He called the bridge The Tower Bridge and recounted with great glee that they were livid!

After this perilous crossing, the bus crossed roads under which, deep in the fiery bowels of the earth, coal burned! The road here was more uneven and there were just patches of the original road surface left. There was a black dust covered board that read, "ROAD ON FIRE. DRIVE AT YOUR OWN RISK". For those who do not know what this is all about: there are large reserves coal in this area. Though they are underground, they have caught fire. Though still very much underground, the coal is burning. If you search on the net, you will find some details.

Here, there was human habitation around. Right next to the road on fire! Actually these houses were on land underneath which a fire blazed.  I am told that it is a distinct possibility that the earth under your feet could open up and you could fall into the inferno below. I have never heard that it actually happened, but the theoretical possibility exists. When I heard that, my first thought was that one won’t suffer much and the end would be mercifully swift. In this area, I have actually seen plumes of smoke rising from the ground. In spite of all this, there is some vegetation! You can only marvel  at the hardiness and tenacity of life. In this area the air is always smoke filled. There is a dull yellow streak to the sunlight. In Dhanbad itself, the air is so thick with smoke and coal dust that I have stared into the sun, still high up above the horizon, with naked eyes. You perhaps do not need any protection other than normal dark glasses to watch a solar eclipse.

After one such journey, I had reached Dhanbad and settled into an air conditioned room, a first for me I think. The hotel was called The Black Diamond. I had had a late dinner and slept. The next morning, I got ready to go to work. I came down to the restaurant for breakfast. When I looked out, the streets looked deserted. I did not wonder why. I went to the reception to hand in my keys and I was told that I could not go out! There had been some trouble the previous night and a curfew had been imposed. I do not remember if it was communal violence or a gang war.  Yes, you heard it right. There is coal Mafia in Dhanbad and a gang war could easily bring the whole place to  a standstill.

I had no idea what to do. There was no TV. I had carried a novel with me and it was over very soon. I had brought that more out of habit and not because I had not imagined that I would get any time to read! I was told that the curfew would be relaxed at noon for an hour, so that people could get some essential supplies. It so happened that there was a very good book shop near the hotel and made a beeline to it. While browsing,  I came across a two-volume set called “Morning Deluge”, by Han Suyin. I had not heard of her. I read about the her and what the book was about in the blurb and was intrigued. Her prose sounded very poetic. There was a portrait of Mao on the cover.  I asked the bookseller if I could buy just  the first volume. To my surprise, he said yes! So, I bought it and hurried back to the hotel.

The day was full of reading and many cups of tea. I loved the tea there because it was made the Bengali way, light, sweet, aromatic and very watery. I was so enthralled by the book and Han Suyin's writing that I had finished the book by noon the next day. Having read, Red Star Over China by Edgar Snow I was fascinated with China. This book had whetted my appetite. Han Suyin's writing is unpretentious and it often made me feel that I was reading a long poem. The combination made it impossible to put it down. By breakfast the next day the book was finished. I eagerly waited for noon so that I could buy the second volume. By the morning after, I had finished that too.

The curfew was lifted the next day. I did meet the people I was supposed to, but nothing really got done. In spite of it, I made the perilous journey back to Ranchi feeling fulfilled. Soon I looked for other books by Han Suyin and have read many with great satisfaction.

Extraordinary Kindness

I was travelling from Eindhoven to Schiphol to catch my flight back home. I was to change trains at Utrecht to go to Schiphol. The train from Utrecht was supposed to leave from "Spoor" (Platform) 5. The announcement had been in Nederlands and hence I asked a fellow traveler, a Dutchman with an Indonesian wife and a lovely baby) if I had it right. I had.

I go to platform 5 and the platform has been changed to 4a. I do not know and am waiting.

The Dutchman I had consulted, comes looking for me on platform 5 and tells me to hurry to platform 4a!!! After thanking him as profusely as I can in a hurry I rush to the other platform and catch the train.

But for him there was a distinct possibility that I would have missed the train and the flight!

Thank you my unknown benefactor, wherever you are and whoever you are!!!

(This happened on 20, April 2013)

A Fishy Story

Four of us colleagues went to England for a three month stint, not all together though. Ravi went first and after a month or so I. The other two followed with an interval of a month each.

It was time for Ravi to leave England and our host, Alan, took us for lunch at a special place. It was once the house of what we can call the gatekeeper. He operated the gates that raised or lowered boats and barges in a canal. This house was now converted into a fancy restaurant.

Ravi ordered fish.

He was not ready for what landed on his plate. There were two fish, each about 20 cm long, head, scales and tail and all. They were placed in a garden like arrangement of lettuce, mashed potatoes, chips, mayonnaise and herbs. The head of one was at the tail of the ohter. Both looked so alive that you would think that if you put them back in the water they would recover in a few minutes and swim away without much ado. Their eyelidless eyes stared at Ravi dolefully as if to say, "You are so cruel. Are you really going to eat us?"

Ravi took one look at them and refused to have anything to do with them.

Alan being a gentleman and a very considerate host gave to Ravi what he had ordered with great care and ate the fish himself.

This, however, gave me an opportunity to pull Ravi's leg. "Come on, you knew that you were eating fish. Just cover their heads with lettuce and eat the rest." and so on. Ravi was really shaken but in the end we all had a good lunch.

After my stay in England, on the way back home, I had to visit a few other countries. I landed in Germany - a place called Hof - late at night, had a restless night of sleep. I had breakfast early as my host was to pick me up early for the day's events. We had a busy schedule and it was late by the time we could break for lunch. I was tired, hungry and sleepy. My host took me to the best restaurant in town. He strongly recommended that I try the fish there as the restaurant was famous for it. I agreed without much persuasion. I needed to eat something and soon. Lunch was served.

One look at my plate and my stomach did a triple somersault with two and half twists, good enough to earn a gold in any olympic diving contest except for the thud and a splash of bile in the pool, I mean, my stomach.

The same arrangement as Ravi's fish. Two doleful eyes looked at me and said, "Du bist so grausam. Wirklich willst du uns essen? Ja", if I remember right.

To make matters worse, the waiter had said, with great pride that he was serving his guests really fresh fish, "Both of them were swimming just a few minutes ago! Guten Appetit!" My hunger remained but my appetite had fled.  That had added greatly to my discomfiture.

At least, I followed what I had preached.

I covered their accusing faces with lettuce and ate the rest of them. My host was stealing curious looks at my plate. I told him the whole story and we had a great laugh.

That night I was taken to another special restaurant and that is another story.

Good Boy

I went to Ranchi for my first job. When I tell this to most people, they ask me if it was Mecon. Older people could ask me if it was HEC. Neither, I worked for a small private company.

Once I had settled down, I went around making friends and visiting people to whom I had been introduced - in absentia. One such was a professor who was my father's classmate. I was at home in his place. So much so that very soon, I was spending weekends under his roof.

On one such weekend, in December, it rained and it got very cold. I had hardly ever left Mysore in those days and this cold was really cold! We - his family and I - were sitting around chatting and the professor went in, brought a small bottle of brandy and gave a couple of spoonfuls of the contents to his son and daughter and then offered it to me too.

I declined. He wanted make me comfortable and hence cajoled me. "It is OK, it is purely medicinal, your father won't mind," etc,. I was resolute. He felt he could not persuade me and had a few spoonfuls of it himself and went in to replace the bottle.

His daughter, very pretty I must add, asked me with her eyes wide with wonder - "you never drink?" I said no. "Never? Not even as medicine?" she wanted to confirm, looking ready to be impressed

I said "No!" and added in a theatrical undertone, "At least, not in those quantities!"

Maaf Karo Saab

A few friends and I had been to Cal. No . . Not California, Calcutta. Cal being the undergraduate slang for Kolkotta nee Calcutta. A major book exhibition and a leather goods exhibition were the attractions. In the morning, five of us had reached the railway station on three bicycles. One the way back, we met another friend and hence we were six, we returned.

One was tired, another was not used to riding in the dark. Dark indeed, as there were no street lights either. We hired a rickshaw. A cycle rickshaw. We hated this inhuman mode of transport. Whenever we decided to hire one, we eased our consciousness by getting off it on upward gradients. We even pushed the rickshaw to help the rickshaw wallah (RW) cross the railway level crossing which was nowhere near level. We agreed to pay practically any fare the RW quoted and sometimes more.

As we started the cyclecade with two bicycle outriders, the unmistakable smell of alcohol and sweat hit us. The RW, obviously, had had a couple of shots.

We commented about it, made jokes about it. We speculated about our fate if the sozzled RW missed the gentle turn before a culvert and we all landed in the sewerage flowing undeneath. Vaitarani we called it.

After an incident free ride we arrived at the VS Hall (Vidya Sagar Hall) and alighted. I was about to pay the RW when he asked me, still breathing hard, sweat pouring down his cheeks - even on that cool early winter night, "Saab, you were talking about my being drunk, weren't you? You thought that I can not understand English. Saab, I can. I have passed BA. I can't speak English but I understand it well. What to do saab, I have to do this hard work for the sake of this traitorous stomach. I tried for a job. Without influence and money to bribe how can one get a job? I do this job. It is hard, Saab. At the end of the day, when I lie down, the whole body aches. The only way to ease the pain is to eat a little and drink. Pardon me Saab, I know it stinks."

He said all this without rancour, with very little self pity. Without anger. Without humiliation.

I have never felt smaller.

The Tendulkar

It was 1981. I was a member of a sales team of two, selling Sony professional and semiprofessional video equipment. My boss was one Minoo Adajania, a dapper, gentle, super methodical Parsi gentleman.

One day, he told me that he had got a lead that TISS (Tata Institute of Social Sciences) was looking for video equipment. He asked me to organise a meeting with the concerned. I called a contact in TISS. He told me that 'one Mr Vijay Tendulkar' was their adviser and should meet him. He gave me the phone number too.

I called the number and talked to Mr. Tendulkar. I got an appointment to meet him at his home. He gave me the directions to his house and was about to end the call when I said, "May I ask you something more sir?"

I asked him, "Sir, are you THE Vijay Tendulkar?" Pause on the other side.

"What do you mean by the Vijay Tendulkar?" he asked me gently.

"Shantata Court Chaalu Aahe and all that?" I said.

He laughed and said it was indeed he. Somehow, the sound of that easy laughter of his has stayed with me ever since.

Minoo and I went to his house on the appointed day. I knocked and we were asked to enter. There were footwear at the door and I automatically took my shoes and socks off. Minoo was horrified. He looked as if he was having second thoughts about trying to sell anything at all. Reluctantly he too took his shoes off but kept the socks on. I could visualise him going home and consigning his socks to the waste bin straight away.

When we entered the carpeted, Khadi - if I am not mistaken, hall, Vijay Tendulkar was sitting down on the floor leaning on a sloping desk. It was the kind of desk used by the 'Munimji' in Hindi movies. He indicated the floor - for us to sit down. The only pieces of furniture in the room were book filled shelves and some bolsters. I sat down comfortably, cross legged.

Minoo was at a loss. He kept his brief case down and slowly, very slowly, lowered himself to the floor. He looked as if he expected the stitches of his trousers to give way or his kneecap to fly off. When he had settled down, we began the most unusual business meeting I have ever attended - sitting on the floor cross legged.

Minoo did all the talking. Whenever he wanted to show a leaflet or a picture to our prospective customer I would go on my knees and point at the relevant thing to him. After about half an hour, suddenly Vijay Tendulkar asked, "Are all these things in colour?". We were eager to confirm that it was so, proud of the great Sony technology.

He said, decisively, "Then it does not suit us. You see, what we are trying to portray is poverty, hardship, the dirt and grime of the slums and such things. Colour glamourises everything. We don't want to glamourise all these things." That is it. It sounded final.

Even though I saw a business opprtunity slipping away inexorably, I could not help admiring the man's clear thoughts expressed so succinctly.

Perhaps Minoo's knees and ankles were hurting or he too was impressed by the definiteness in his voice, after a few feeble attempts to make him still consider the colour equipment, we had to leave. We did.

Minoo had great difficulty wearing his shoes again as there was no chair in sight. We walked to the nearest taxi stand and returned to the office. I was disappointed that we could not sell anything but elated that I had met THE Vijay Tendulkar.


The inimitable Vijay Tendulkar has passed away this morning. This is my small tribute to him.