The Heroes of Tomorrow

We men should accept an important fact. In the last decade the role of women in our society has emerged from within the confines of the household to contributing in all walks of life. And I am not talking of just urban women. Microfinance owes its success to rural women entrepreneurs not only in India but across the world. The last decade has produced more women sportswomen in India than ever before. Indian women are performing better than their male counterparts in fields such as boxing, athletics, badminton etc. Even bollywood films which has long been banking on the ‘Superstar’ status of male heroes for box office success, is undergoing change. Today leading ladies are beginning to command an equal share of role and payments compared to male heroes.

So we too as boyfriends, husbands and partners in our own way are making the necessary adjustments to promote our leading ladies. As it turned out to be, it was the ‘women’s day out’ last weekend. The ‘boys’ were left to do the household chores, run the errands and babysit. I decided to help my friend babysit his five year old son. It was fun to start with, but as minutes turned into hours our patience was tested to the hilt. The mindless non-stop banter of cartoon channels and the barrage of questions which we had to answer was needless to say just plain torture. As our enthusiasm ebbed and desperation levels increased a question was thrown open to the both of us, “What do you mean by a hero?” My friend, who looked completely defeated by now replied, “Oh it’s like Spiderman, Superman, Chota Bheem”. The kid came back with the next question, “Dad, are you a hero?”  Though my friend was momentarily taken aback by the question, he did his best to defend his father image and to portray himself as the ‘next big thing’.

Though the questions were asked with a lot of innocence, they have a deeper essence. What do we really mean by a hero? Who is a hero to us? A dictionary check revels the following – one who is admired for his achievements and noble qualities; one who shows great courage; an object of extreme admiration. It simple words it translates into someone who is a role model for us. We draw inspiration from our heroes time and again and try to emulate them. When were kids, mythological and cartoon character were our heroes; in our teens it was our teachers and rock stars; and when we went to university and got more mature and began to understand the world a little better our heroes too evolved. Every generation has its own heroes and fortunately for us we can point to many. But then who will be the ‘heroes’ for our kids?

Looking around I do not see many. The next generation will never connect with our heroes. Let’s be honest. How many of us can really connect to say the concept of Gandhism? Our history lessons have taught us well and we do accept and acknowledge the sacrifices Gandhi made for the country. When his concepts are so difficult to practice even for us in daily lives, for the next generation it will be nothing less than a utopia. The relevance of Gandhi and Gandhism is quickly diminishing in a ‘modern India’ where Mark Zuckerberg is probably more identifiable. Politicians as role models are something that is not even worth a mention. With the number of corporate scandals occurring by the second the concept of entrepreneurs and business leaders as worthwhile role models is becoming laughable. Same goes for sportsmen whose achievements are getting tainted by drug abuses and off the field scandals. Where do we then look for the next set of emerging heroes?

Probably the answer lies in the question, “Dad, are you a hero?” Though my friend tried to portray himself as one, in reality probably he is. In fact we all are in our own ways! We have breakfast with corruption scandals and inflation, lunch with bomb scares and have dinner with murder stories. The uncertainty that we face today has probably never existed in the entire history of mankind. I am not trying to paint the picture of ‘big bad world’ but as common men these are the facts of our everyday lives. Yet we somehow live through them, get to work, make our money, keep our family happy and continue with our daily lives. We live in constant optimism and hope. At our own level we try and create a better society. We show courage in adversity and our will to survive is next to none.  Is this not the stuff of heroes? Every hero fights through adversity, exhibits exemplary character and makes the society a happy and safe place. Are we not trying to do the same thing? The next generation will not have just a handful of heroes but 1.2 billion people to look up too! Each one of us is the next breed of super hero. The faster we begin to believe that the better path we can show the next gen.

“Dad, can you fly like Superman and punch a dragon like Chota Bheem?” As I heard that question I couldn’t help but start laughing

Heights of Faith

After many weeks today I finally managed to find some inspiration to ramble again. Somehow words eluded me every time I sat down to write. Either the sentences were garbled, the thoughts didn’t flow or the idea itself appeared wrong. “Have faith” was the common advice I received from friends and peers alike. As days and weeks passed by I got restless and began to feel probably I didn’t have it in me anymore. In a writers parlance it’s called the “Writers Block”. It’s the most dreaded period in any amateur or professional writer’s life. It’s like trying to squeeze the ketchup out of the bottle. The more you hammer the bottle the more resilient the ketchup becomes. I began to feel a void within as blank pages stared at me after trying to write for hours at an end. I started searching for that one spark to ignite it all, the ketchup to finally fall from the bottle. And then it happened….

The ride from Kandy, a city that brings out the vibrant spirit of Sri Lanka, to Adams Peak is not something I would recommend to anyone. The 6 hour journey by road takes you through some of the most beautiful tea estates in the world, through high range mountains, deep valleys and across rivers. The constant twists and turns coupled with narrow roads and unpredictable rains will give anyone even in the best of physical health a run to the restroom. Trying to catch some sleep was next to impossible. Finally as we turned round a mountain, my guide pointed it out to me.

“There it is Mr. Karthik, Adams Peak, 3456 meters from the sea, the second tallest mountain in Sri Lanka”, giving the details in one breath.

“Do you have faith?” he enquired.

“On what Mr.Karnal? “, I asked.

“Generally God, religion, anything in particular…” he asked pointing to the top.

I just smiled. Well, how could I reveal I had lost faith on something that I loved to do most.

“It’s said that every man who tries the climb the peak more than once is crazy, and every man who does not climb it even once is also crazy” Mr.Karnal said. I smiled again. I am probably as crazy as they come, I thought to myself.

As we neared Del house, a small town at the base of the peak, the gates above us opened. The town wears a sleepy look for 10 months in a year and its residents number less than twenty-five. It’s during the Hope season, mid December to January end, that the town comes alive as thousands of devotees throng to Adams Peak to visit the temple at the top. The temple supposedly houses a footprint from over many centuries ago. It is claimed by Buddhists to belong to Buddha. However, counter claims exist - Hindus believe it’s the footprint of Lord Shiva and Muslims claim it to be of Adam. How and when these people visited this peak is yet to be proven. That said, come Hope Season devotees undertake the hardened climb to get a glimpse of the footprint. Faith has its mysterious ways of working on people!  I was neither here to test any faith nor to prove any theories. I was here for the adventure. The sunrise from the top of the peak was acknowledged to be the best in the world by many tourists.

“You need to have faith Mr.Karthik else you cannot get to the top”, stated Karnal as I was filling up the guestbook in a dingy hotel.

“Am searching for it Mr.Karnal”, I replied. He nodded his head. I desperately needed some sleep from the tiring journey and we quickly split deciding to meet at 2.00 am in the porch.

As the alarm annoyingly buzzed I shut it out. As I got out of the blanket the chill hit me like a thunderbolt. I had second thoughts, but the sense of adventure was far more exciting. I met Karnal on the porch and we headed out. It was pitch dark and we used our flashlights to point the way. We walked down a narrow path, crossed a river and came by the statue of a sleeping Buddha.  

“You are on your own from here Mr.Karthik,” Karnal said.” You might find a few climbers on your way. It will get difficult as you near the top. The mountain will get bigger on you. Don’t lose faith. Keep going” he added.

I was irritated at this point about constant reference to faith, but refrained from saying anything. I quickly turned and followed the path.

As the path got steeper, the terrain got tougher and was slippery due to rains. All I could think of was leeches, snakes, wild animals, falling down, breaking my foot, flash light going out and being left stranded. Every few minutes I started to check my watch. The distance from the town at the bottom to the top was about 15kms and took 4 hours. That was the standard. However, hotel staff did warn me that due to rains the conditions had got worse and the previous day a tree had fallen on a Norwegian couple. After an hour and half of walking, crawling and scrambling I was exhausted. I didn’t know if I was going in the right direction and my supply of water was quickly dwindling. I began to curse myself. Probably my ego had gotten in the way. Maybe my sense of adventure had got the better of me. Maybe I was not prepared for this. Maybe I should just sit somewhere and wait for daylight…May be…may be…As a plethora of thoughts swirled in my head the strength in my legs ebbed. Fog enveloped me and visibility was reduced to just arms length. To add to my misery, the mud path I was following gave way to broken steps which snaked into the thick undergrowth. As the gradient increased, the air began to thin out and to climb each step I needed to summon all my inner will. I began to feel dizzy and my courage began to melt.

When I first saw it I thought it was in my head. After a few more steps I cloud see it again. A light in the distance!  Energy flooded my legs and a sense of hope flickered. At least now I was not alone. As I neared the light the jungle gave way to a clearing and I could see men in green overalls sleeping along the path. It was a makeshift army barrack!

“You alone?” a voice bolted from the dark.

I stopped dead in my tracks and turned to my right. I could vaguely make out the figure of a man.

“Yes. I am trying to climb the peak. Am I lost?” I enquired.

“No. You are on the right path. You want tea?” asked the soldier.

“Yes. And also water. I am out.” I replied.

As we neared the light I cloud make out the man’s face. He was clean shaved, medium built and wore the olive green army shirt and pants. His name tag read Suniel de Silva.

As we entered the barrack, he ordered tea to be brought and offered me a chair to sit.

“Are you from India?” he asked.

“Yes” I replied.

“I am the captain here. We are repairing the steps. I have been to India twice. Chennai and Kanya Kumari,” he said enthusiastically.

Hot tea came quickly and as I sipped it I cloud feel the blood gushing in my veins.

“You are courageous. You are almost near. Maybe an hour”, he said. I nodded with relief. After about 10 minutes in silence I got up to leave and thanked him.

As we shook hands he smiled and said, “Don’t lose faith.” He gave me a ball of thread and said it was customary for first time climbers to tie the thread between two poles at a particular spot as we neared the top. According to legend Buddha had torn his tunic at this very spot and as an offering a devotee tied the thread between two poles. He also said I should not forget to ring the bell. I promised I would and with a renewed sense of courage continued by journey.

As I began to climb the steps again, a question flashed in my head. What is faith? It is something we believe in whether proven or not. Period! A belief which gives us the courage to overcome obstacles, achieve the impossible, take risks and the confidence to face adversity. In its purest form faith its nothing but a sense of self belief! An inner light that guides us in places of darkness. Man somehow has manifested this faith into religion. And then man using the manifest created divide. A divide that fills us with arrogance and hatred. We then seek the support from materialism – money, power, et all to further the cause of our misplaced faith. Why else would we fight for 60 years over a piece of land over a matter of faith? Here I am trying to climb a peak that for devotees sprouts from multiple faiths. Yet it all leads to one thing. ‘A footprint’ no one knows how and why it came to be. We fail to understand that every holy book in its truest sense points to just a path of self discovery. Like the footprint all holy writings lead to just one and the same thing.

I tied the thread given by the soldier between the poles and ascended my last steps towards the temple. As I removed my shoes and entered the temple premise I saw an old lady reaching for the chord of the bell. She rang the bell eight times. As the sun rose what I witnessed was sheer brilliance. It’s indescribable in words. As the rays of the sun touched upon me I felt its warmth and with it my inner sense of self belief rising

May he live in interesting times..

This is an old Chinese curse and is used even today. It is used when a Chinese does not want to see someone happy. The person who administers the curse hopes that the other person’s life may be surrounded by worries and obstacles. Ironically, the curse could also turn into a blessing and living in ‘interesting times’ could lead to exciting opportunities and experiences. 

I was about five years old, and our household was rattled awake by its ringing – yes, it was the telephone. Our household was the first to get a telephone connection in our locality. My dad managed to pull a few strings with someone in the department and we skipped ahead of the queue when connections were authorized. Just like any typical Indian household procedure of welcoming new things into our life, the telephone was received with great pomp and show. Vermilion powder and scented flowers were sprinkled on it and it was placed at the right angle and position in the living room to ward off evil spirits. Relatives and friends near and far were informed of its arrival and it became the centerpiece of attraction. My sister and I underwent detailed training on phone etiquettes and we waited eagerly for the ‘ringing’ tone every day. And when the phone did ring, our entire family would dash to answer the call no matter what state we were in or which important job we were doing. I can bet my hands down that then record holding sprinter Carl Lewis would have come up short beating my grand-dad to the phone. Such was the captivating force of the telephone. 

More than two decades have passed, and today that same telephone which caused brought so much excitement into my family lies ignored in a corner. All my family members flash latest mobile phones and whether we need it or not it is part of our lives. My grand-dad waited an entire life time for a telephone to arrive in his house, my dad half a life-time and me 5 years. In less than half my lifetime- mobile phones, smart phones, pocket pc’s, laptops et al have shifted through my hands. Technological development has made Moore’s law look ordinary.  

I strongly believe people of my age (give or take a few years) live at the cusp of two generations. We are neither old timers nor are we ‘gen x’. We have seen the best and worst of the generation gone by and at the same time witnessed the amazing changes in the next generation. Our children will never know the excitement of using a telephone or the pleasure of watching nationalized programs in a black and white television with the whole family. Nor will they be able to understand the raw passion of the angry young man portrayed by Amitab Bachan or appreciate the tunes of Kishore Da, Rafi sahib, AR Rehman and others. The future that will unfold for the next generation is beyond our wildest imagination. 

We are living through a time frame when technological advancement has revolutionized our daily life and economic development has gifted us tremendous opportunities. And, we have seen severely bruised by the dark side as well- economic downturns, terrorism, oil wars, natural disasters, corruption etc.  So what has been that one key ingredient that we have got that has made us turn every corner, adapt to changes, take that giant leap of faith and given us hope in testing times? It’s our value system acquired through ‘word of mouth’ teaching from the generation gone by. That value system has been the driving force of almost every decision we have taken in our lives so far. It holds us firmly to our roots. Gone as the days when the world used to view us as the ‘land of snake charmers’ and spices. Today we are centric to world development. And it is our values which will give us the true identity of being an ‘Indian’ in the modern world. Let us not get mesmerized by the changes around us. It’s our fundamental duty us to pass on our value system to the next generation. Make sure it’s not lost forever. Rest as they say will be history.

There is a teacher in each one of us...

 “Those were the days”. This statement am sure crosses our mind every time we meet our old buddies  or when we think about numerous  precious moments from our erstwhile life in school and college. The thought of childhood and teen days brings back a flurry of memories and a smile instantly appears on our faces. Even today, we still crave for the enthusiasm and innocence that used to envelope us and somehow magically protect us from the horrors of the world. Everything seemed fair and simple and laughter was the only sound. Of course, there were the 'not so great' moments as well, but then they were quickly healed and life just surged ahead. 

Apart from friends the people we remember most are our teachers. Among all those who walked into our classrooms, there were one or two who became entrenched in our memories for ever. They appeared ordinary and dressed like everyone else, but when they began to take our lessons we would be teleported to an entirely different universe. Their teaching methods were unconventional and used to challenge our thinking. We loved them the most, were prepared to do anything for them and always looked forward to their classes.  

There were two such fantastic teachers in my life and I consider myself lucky to have learnt from them at critical junctures in my life. The first was Ms. Maithili. She introduced me to computers and programming when I was in high school. Her teaching methods were out of the norm-we did not learn from textbooks or follow a set syllabus in her classes. She insisted on free thinking and we were taught just the basics. We were forced to learn through experimentation, learn independently, question every logic and challenge each other. Her classes were fun filled and yet she was the 'iron-lady' when it came to discipline. Our unseasoned minds were soon fine tuned to be creative and follow a rigorous approach to perfection. The other was Professor Neil. He taught me Strategic Management in B-school. He had a brilliant mind and his teaching style was unique. He would walk into the class, remove his coat, power up the projector and shoot through 10 slides of the course material. This routine was followed for the first 15 minutes of his lecture session and no questions were entertained. After this came the most exciting part. With the routine done away with, the real education used to begin. We could discuss any topic for the next 45 minutes from sports to politics to page 3 gossip and ask any number of questions. Most management theories were ruthlessly shot down, frivolous or ordinary ideas ridiculed and the discussions were always cleverly steered by him to make us think about the future. The idea was to make us think and dream big. Professor Neil’s philosophy was that our imagination should always outstrip our capabilities and this was the first mile in the path for excellence.  

Most of are lucky to have come across such exemplary teachers who have been the beacon in our lives. Unfortunately some of us are not. Though in every breadth we speak about development and progress of our country, we still lag in providing the basic needs to all. Here are few statistics- in urban schools the ratio of teacher to student averages around 1: 30. However in rural areas the ratio is around 1:45. In some states such as Bihar the ratio is even worse about 1:60. The Indian government spends about 3.5% of its GDP on education which is a far cry from developed countries which spend almost double. The US and OECD countries spend about 5.5% and 6.1% of their GDP on education respectively. When it comes to gender diversity in education the numbers are heavily tipped towards 'urban males'. In primary schools the National Attendance Rate hovers at about the 85% mark for urban males, urban females and rural males. For rural females it’s about 78%. At secondary school level, the National Attendance Rate for urban males and females is about 65% while for rural males its about 55% and rural females its as low as 45%. This can mean only one thing. That more and more of our kids especially in rural areas are dropping out of school and females are most affected.  

Why is their a disparity? Probably we are are yet to break the positive correlations that exist between the sociial starta, caste and gender bias. Living in the cities we take education for granted. It is natural for us to go to school and college, complete our education and find a befitting career. It somehow feels like our ingrained birth right. Do not all the Indians deserve the same? Is it not the moral responsibility of every educated individual to ensure that the deprived ones too get access to same opportunities that they have had. Though there exists endless Government schemes to provide education, they are always short on money and found wanting for lack of vision and execution. NGO efforts too lack the necessary scale to to bring about a fundamental change. So why not this teacher’s day we pick up the baton and make a resolution- Educate at least one child a year. Provide them the means and tools to finish schooling. Teach them what we have learnt. Collectively we can bring about a radical change in the system. Afterall we are an urban workforce of over quarter billion.  

So what are we waiting for? Lets unleash the teacher in each one of us….

(This rambling is a tribute to all my teachers who made me what I am today. Thank you!)

Dreams + Sacrifices = Development (who are the dreamers? and who sacrifices?)

The irritating 'buzzing' of the alarm is what I wake up to every morning.The irritation is compounded if it happens to be a weekend. Smashing the alarm to bits when it goes off every morning is something I am sure most of us want to do. But alas the harmless alarm will always remain the most hated but necessary invention in our lives forever.

So last Saturday when the alarm did buzz for the zillionth time I dragged myself out of the bed. With the necessities done away with, I quickly got ready for the weekend escapade on my bicycle. Usually I do not decide on any particular route, I just follow my heart and instinct. So after about 20 minutes of cycling I found myself on this on this narrow winding road running parallel to the freshly laid 6-lane expressway headed towards Bangalore’s new international airport. The airport, albeit its flaws, proudly represents the development of the city. As the road curved away from the expressway the typical ‘city noise’ began to fade and concrete structures gave way to lush green fields and cleaner air. For the next few kilometers there was no sight of any human and I began to sense an iota of joy in my heart. Probably I had finally found that ‘oasis’ I was always been longing for…

I pedaled on for the next one hour. I could see sporadic signs of developments – new sign boards marking distances, new drains been constructed, high tension towers etc but no sign of anyone. The gradient of the road increased steeply and as I went past a sign that said ‘Kannur Cross’ I saw the first signs of civilization -a wooden shack and a few houses. As I neared the shack I noticed it was a small ‘chai shop’ and stopped for a break. I dismounted from the bicycle, saddled it up against and tree and sat on the stone bench.

A sweet voice asked the familiar words, “Ennu Beeku” (what do you want?). (The following conversation took place in Kannada and I have translated it the best I can in English)

I asked, “Who is that?”

A small head popped up from behind a makeshift counter. A girl, probably about 8-10 years old with droopy eyes, wearing a skirt and shirt stood on a stool.

She said, “we have no water” , and the cleaned her leaky nose.

“I do not want water. You got cigarettes?” I enquired. I began to scan the shelves checking for signs of any.

“Ajja (grandpa) will come” she said. I couldn’t help noticing that her skirt and blouse were held in place with pins and she probably had a bath a week before.

A rather gruff voice said, “Namaskara (hello)” from behind my back. An elderly man wearing a dhoti and an oversized white turned brown shirt was walking up to me. He had grey hair and a slight hunch.

I asked, “Do you have tea? I also need a cigarette”

“Where are you from?” he asked.

“Bangalore”, I said, “you got tea?”

“Bangalore…hmmm..big place…big houses. I heard you have electricity problems. We have no electricity here from yesterday evening,” said ajja. I was in no mood to hear about anybody’s problems. I wanted to move on quickly.

I said, “Ok”, shrugged my shoulders and began to walk towards my cycle.

“You can come to my house if you want. We got hot tea there”, the old man said. He pointed down a narrow pathway indicating the direction to his house.

“No. Thank you. I’ll be on my way.” I said.

“If you want, you can sit on the bench. Usha will get you tea.” He quickly asked his grand-daughter to get me a glass of tea from the house. He sternly told her not to spill it. Usha quickly ran down the small pathway. For the first time I noticed that the pathway was lined with few mud houses and beyond them were open dry fields. I sat down reluctantly on the stone bench.

“Do you want a beedi? I have some’, enquired the old man. I politely refused. He squatted on the roadside and lit a beedi which he began to puff vigorously.

“How long have you lived in Bangalore? You must be working in one of those big companies. We have no electricity here from yesterday. Sometimes we don’t get electricity for up to two days. Taps have run dry too. We have a well but the water level has fallen” he said. At that moment I felt I was like a priest listening to the confessions of an old man. I began to question my judgment of taking a pit stop here.

“You should take the matter up with your local corporator,” I said, totally uninterested in his rambling.

 A smile broke his lips revealing a few tobacco stained teeth. “ We have no local authority. We had a village leader and he moved to the city. We have no one now. A few families are left in our village. We have no choice. The government is going to take our houses. A 4 lane express way is planned.”

“Good for you,” I said, “Development means money. You can sell your house now, make money and have a better life”

He quickly shot back, “Development for who? That’s for only people like you. Where will I go at this age leaving this place? How will I find food in the future? What hope do I have?”

Well, now I was beginning to have a fight on my hands. All my learning’s about economy, management and finance came flooding into my head. I was framing an answer in my head when Usha came with a glass of tea.

I politely said, “Thank you. This was not needed. It’s too much trouble for you.”

“Its ok. It will not taste great. We have shortage of milk here. We don’t have enough money to feed the cows.” I was wondering now if I did the right thing of accepting the tea. I stared at the half glass of tea without sipping it. I thought to myself, will Usha curse me for stealing her half glass of milk?

He carried on,” I have 2 sons and 1 daughter. The eldest son works in construction. There is a road being laid a few kilometers from here and he works there. The daughter is married to a man from the same village. Son-in-law works in construction too. My daughter takes care of the house and me. My youngest son, Chellappa, is smart. He is studying diploma. He is our only hope.”

“Development leads to rise in income levels. Once you get the money from the government you can buy a new piece of land and set-up a shop. You will have more customers and more income. You can then feed your family and have a better life.” I said. I was brimming with pride. The management thinking does help to give articulate answers.

My adversary now blurted out, “What income? Will you ever leave your house and go elsewhere? Now at least I have a plot of land from which I get some income. Development is going to steal my land and house. I don’t know anything else other than farming. People like you will drive big cars on big roads. We are the ones who sacrifice. If needed you give some charity and move on. We want our lives not development or charity.”

Those emotion filled lines caught me completely off-guard. I didn’t know what to say next. I finished the tea and got up to leave. I pulled out a bar of Snickers from my back-pack and gave it to the little girl. I quickly mounted my cycle and rode out without turning back. A few kilometers and the narrow single lane road suddenly gave way to a well tarred 4 lane expressway just like the old man had said. Within a few weeks this road will be cutting through Usha’s mud house and wooden shop.

The grey haired man’s words kept ringing in my head as I headed home. “Development for who?”, “We are the ones who sacrifice”, “We need our lives…”…I rummage through economic statistics every day of my life. The numbers indicate India is witnessing rapid development. Today we have mobile phones, better healthcare and housing and luxuries all around us. Then how can there be such a contrasting difference. Are not Usha and her family part of this development? People like them somehow have not yet been the beneficiaries of economic growth. Probably it’s easy to make policies sitting in air-conditioned rooms, but the ground realties are always stark.

Who is to blame? The list looks long! Maybe we have to blame ourselves. We grab what we can and get moving head. Our objectives are somehow intertwined with money, power and position. We live in the world’s largest democracy but still at some level feudalism is imbibed in us. We tend to look down on the not so deserving.  Caste, creed and religion as much as a uniting factor it is also dividing us. How then can we bring quality to Usha and her Ajja? Maybe there is a ray of hope for that family. If their youngest sibling finishes college, he can maybe get a BPO job and feed his family. Or will he too perish?

The glaring of horns of trucks and cars brings me back to reality. The green landscape has now vanished (or rather given up and folded) and concrete jungles have sprouted. I reach home and ring the door bell.

As soon as my mother opens the door she shouts out, “Son, what took you so long? The electricity has been out for an hour and I need use the mixer. Call the local electricity office………….”

I walk into my room and collapse on the bed due to exhaustion.

Happy 64^th Independence day!!

Strategic Classification of People in Traffic Jams

Over the past month, thanks to my new job, I am blessed with the honor of navigating peak hour traffic jams in Bangalore every morning. Initially it was highly frustrating, but as they say ‘time is the greatest healer’ - I began to slowly get used to sitting locked in a steel box for 60 minutes. My old habit too came back and I started observing the reactions/actions of people around me. After a few weeks of analysis below is a broad classification of people. (Disclaimer-the classification is based on behavioral traits captured as observed and perceived by the writer under certain extreme conditions. The writer will not be held responsible for any damages caused)

‘I don’t care a S@#* types’

Who are they? These are usually the bus and lorry drivers. Being in a traffic jam gives them a welcome break.

What do they do? Open a packet of Ghutka/Kaini and start chewing, light up a cigarette/beedi, yawn, scratch various parts of their body, spit out of the windows at the vehicles nearby, stretch on their small seats and generally laze around as if in a park

‘The Abusers’

Who are they? Auto rickshaw, tempo and taxi drivers

What do they do? Their only motto is to squeeze through the narrowest gaps available. Their ‘modus operandi’ - stunning the other divers through a barrage of choicest verbal abuse. I have had the extreme pleasure of taking an auto to work twice in the last month. During the 60 minute ride the average verbal abuse meted out was 18.Their vocabulary somehow seems to be infinite and if there was a Guinness record for abusing am sure these guys would win hands down.

‘The Mavericks’

Who are they? People on two wheelers (women excluded)

What do they do? They are class apart. They have the capability of slipping through traffic jams just as mud would slip through your fingers when you try to hold it. You would generally see them riding their two wheelers on footpaths, utilizing gaps between the bumpers of vehicles to squeeze through, frequently jumping signals, cutting across other vehicles, overtaking aimlessly etc. They live a dangerous life.

‘Good Samaritans’

Who are they? People who follow the rules, drive carefully and always get late to work. J

What do they do? They do nothing. They get blocked by people who don’t care a S@#*, get abused by ‘The Abusers’ and are completely outwitted by ‘The Mavericks’. They sigh and take it all with a smile.

‘The Outliers’

Who are they? Women drivers

What do they do? Park their four wheelers diagonally or horizontally in a jam to prevent others from getting past them. Mow down cyclists and pedestrians deliberately. Take off when a signal turns red. Drive in first gear in the middle of the road. Caution: Avoid them like plague. And hope one does not cross your path.