Could I borrow your phone?

This happened on my journey to Secunderabad about a month ago. I was travelling there to report to Coromandel for whom I work now. In the train, around an hour and half from Bangalore, this stranger asks me for my phone. He says he needs to phone his brother to come to Hindupur to pick him up. I give him my phone, telling him that I've low balance and hence, he should keep his call short. He then starts talking on the phone. He goes on and on in some language I don't know (Urdu I think). He gradually starts moving away, pausing for a little while in the cubicle next to mine, and then the next. I keep up with him while keeping a careful eye on my luggage as I was travelling alone. I had with me my laptop and all my academic documents. I slowly started suspecting that this man is part of a bigger gang where one person distracts the owner while others make away with his luggage.

The said phone borrower goes on and on in that tongue of his and is in no mood to give me my phone back. By now I start asking for my phone back to which he replied, "Don't worry, your phone is not in danger" in Hindi. He even pauses to buy a couple samosas in the middle of his call. He then moves to the door and stands there phone in hand, still jabbering away. He even puts the phone near my ear momentarily to reassure me, though I didn't hear any voice on the other side. By now, I thought that he was some sort of a lunatic rather than a member of an organised gang of thieves.

The train rolled into Hindupur and the platform started whizzing past us. All of a sudden, he jumped right out of the coach, samosa and all, in the direction opposite to the train's motion. Naturally, he lost his balance and fell on the platform. I could see my phone bounce on the platform and fall into the tracks. I thought all was lost for my phone. I waited for the train to slow further while keeping an eye on him. He had stood up and continued standing in the place where he had just fallen off, staring at me with a confused look, dazed. Now that the train was slow enough, I jumped off, but made the same directional mistake he did, in my excitement. I quickly recovered from the fall and moved towards him. When he saw that I was approaching fast, he tried to make a run for it. I caught him on the platform and screamed away for help. I could sense a faint odour of alcohol on him. People got intrigued and the TTE came up and took charge. While the TTE was leading him to the police station, I excused myself and started looking for my phone along the tracks. There it was, batteries, phone and battery cover lying separately. Somebody went down and fetched it. We then handed him over to the railway police.

Looking back, it was an eye opener on how easily my phone could have been stolen. The idea was good, but its execution was horrible. A cleverer or more experienced thief would have had no troubles. They have always said that trains are unsafe. Incidents like this tell me why. Also, poverty can drive people to such desperation for my phone, on resale won't be worth more than a thousand or two. But for me, the exhilaration that this whole incident produced is what I'll remember it for.

PS: The phone still works fine. Hail Nokia!

Another pick

The previous one was a touch too narcissistic.

Thursday, the 4th of March

Back home after quite a while,
news of the world around,
refreshing bath,
four hours of unbridled reader perusal,
discovery of a major scale harmonica,
tasty lunch, good spinach,
interesting game of chess,
delicious nap,
football at dusk,
refreshing bath,
running errands with dad,
dinner with frozen dessert,
interesting chess game,
more internet access,
some reading,
a day well spent.

Samarkand

The Persian warrrior sat to dine,
allergic this one, to meat.
The cave's aroma, Oh so fine!
Their fare most lavish, he sat down to eat.
Hardened sticks of bread
with cheese of camel's milk,
the first of his lavish spread,
The cheese, the best of its ilk.

He signaled to the robed groom
who at his beckon brought preparation
of the tastiest Paneer and mushroom
soaked and stuffed to perfection
sampled with sauces five,
curd, coriander, dates, spice, hing.
His taste buds sprang alive
like a gurgling mountain spring.

Then came bread spun on finger,
thinnest as Dacca Muslin kerchief.
The lady's finger did linger
long after its titillation brief.
Basmati rice, spiced and curried,
fuel did meet eager flame.
Outside the cave, stormy dunes hurried,
In his toothed cave, the story, the same.

To soothe the storm, to rest the fire,
Kulfi of Hindu Kush and camel's milk indeed.
A meal fine as is dire desert quag mire,
finer than fine is Arabian steed.
He washed his hands in water perfumed,
for a moment, in silence stunned
he lay. To prayer his palms assumed.
Allah be praised! He was back in Samarkand.

A shot in the arm

No, not the relieving shot in the arm in the sense that it is used, but quite literally. Anyway, about that idiom, the first time I read it, I was slightly bemused for it didn't make sense for someone to have gotten shot in the arm to feel better. They could have picked better anyway for even if the long term results are good, picturing an injection as a sign of assistance doesn't work very much.

Coming back to the point, this is to write about what happened to me today morning. I am located close to a godforsaken place called Bangalore University which pulls our country's already entrenched higher education system further down. It is but a mere excuse for handing out a degree.

My father and I frequent upon their running track for our dose of morning exercise. Also, students training to becoming physical training instructors of tomorrow, train there today. It so happened that I'd cycled there today and while my dad proceeded to run on the track, I endeavoured to go around it(outside of it) in circles on my cycle. One such physical training trainee stopped me half way, came around, and without saying a word proceed to rap me on the shoulder. I was completely taken aback. He then proceeded to tell me, outraged at my having brought the bike to the running track, to get off the bike, likening himself to a cop of sorts( Yeah, the bad kind). I proceeded, still dazed and confused, to call him an idiot. Then, a mob of trainees formed around and one of them chucked my cycle away like it were trash to be discarded. Luckily, one sensible trainee and my calm as ever father were around to see that I didn't get beat up.

I wasn't defiling their track. Even if it was a transgression, I am not some creature you can't communicate with, which would understand only blows. I shudder to think of all the children at the disposal of these uncouth barbarians tomorrow. They take it that they are rejects in every walk of life and enrol at the worst course in the worst university around as a last ditch. This is how we treat sportsmen and athleticism in our country. These are the values on which they are bred.

However, I learnt a valuable lesson. Never should one be confrontational in the face of a battle he has not a chance of winning. And besides, when somebody shouts out in barbaric anger, its much better to yield than to resist. Weathers the storm does the grass stalk that yields and not the deep rooted tree that resists.

Indian Noise

Well, not just noise in the unwanted sound sense, but anything that would impose your existence unpleasantly on the rest of human kind.

There is no respect for the nose, eyes or the ears in our country. Our cities are eyesores filled with horns, screams and people who play cheap music on mobile phones, the latest being a rather recent affliction. They also reek of every stench in the stench spectrum.

I guess that is why we Indians have such an objectionable reputation outside our country. Here, it's OK to spit out of your window, honk even at traffic signals, puke outside buses, throw anything everywhere and still be part of the majority. Try going to Australia and you get beat up. What's more? You raise an ugly Indian stereotype. The mere sight of an Indian abroad can bring to light these tendencies and invoke hatred enough to want to burn us alive.

Don't take it standing down if someone abuses your sense organs. Demand their right to peaceful existence. Our greatest weakness is Indian chauvinism and complacency. But our greatest strength seems to be screaming foul when our harassed hosts retaliate.

Hail Mary's Island

Wednesday saw some of our wingers head to St Mary's Island.

The driver to Udupi was insane, so much so that he stands out even in the insanity that is associated with his race in these parts. He nearly ran over a stupid, deaf cyclist. The latter had an embarrassed smile that seemed to be directed gloatingly at the devil who almost took him away but missed.

The port reeked of fish most foul. One cannot help wondering how an animal that seemingly bathes all its life can smell so bad. Lucky birds. Easy pickings.

The Island is located near a ship building unit. Even as established as the fact gets, the next time I see a ship, only one thing shall be on my mind.

Man, she's a big one!

The ferry that takes you there plays loud music which incites certain primitive instincts among Dravidians everywhere (Wow, am I racist already?) . The result: Poriki dance, much to the amusement of two foreign tourists. That boat ride was a crash course on that which Bollywood pukes for you to give as wide a berth as possible.

The island itself was very beautiful. Something about water all around us arouses some connection so pure that we hold locations such as clean beaches, islands and river beds very dear. Perhaps the Aquatic Ape Hypothesis holds some water after all.

The island is mainly known for hexagonal panels formed naturally on its rocks, like the giant's causeway. These are pretty intriguing.

Wish we had a better pic of this

Red wattled lapwings, a white bellied sea eagle, a bird that looked like a gull billed tern and a frenzied crowd of kites happened. Also saw a sea urchin that had washed ashore.

Cooool!

An hour was decided by the boatman for how long we are to spend there. Wasn't enough. We could only see only half of the island, even at a slightly rushed pace.

The ride back was crowded and kept reminding us that our escape from the crowded mainland was drawing to a close. These dreary reminders manifested in the form of the assortment of people in the boat back, the horrible music and dancing along with the gradually strengthening smell of rotten fish from the shore.

The trip ended with a rather economically priced meal at Udupi. This feature seems to be becoming a norm on my island trips.

Customary beautiful pic at the end

Photo credits: Srik's cam and whosoever clicked these pics.