Monday, November 28, 2005

In the driver's seat

Psychos! That’s what they are. I am talking about the KSTRC bus-drivers. Sorry, people of Karnataka, u might want to call those from your part of the world something else, I give you the choice, but K is for Kerala, and psychos is what I choose to call them, with dignity. And without it, they get it everyday, from other road-users, enough to go home and sleep peacefully with.

Well there was a time when I admired these guys. That was about when I was learning the trickeries of manipulating 5 tonnes of iron in four wheels with the help of a slender wheel and a couple of paddles that looked like slipper soles. Oh yeah, I forgot, and there was this thing sticking out of the steering column, called the gear lever. This was exactly the problem, I kept forgetting it till I was done with pretty much everything else, and remembered only when the car would start rocking like hell or the instructor did, along with my ear in his clasp. Whichever happened first, the latter would happen, invariably. And by the time I was able to find my way through all those noisy, rickety-rackety, unyielding set of gear teeth, the car would have found its own way to a place of its own choice! Boy, it was hell. That was when I learned to appreciate good driving. And the bus-drivers, with more than 60 lives and 60 odd thousand loose nuts and bolts at their disposal, were the gods. And thus, I developed this habit of sitting near the driver whenever possible, and observing them. Also, I liked the view. O don’t get me wrong, talking about the KSTRC, so the ladies are at the back.

As I have found out over the years, there are several types in this species. Some of then are just too fussy. They’d hop in with a wide grin, and try to make conversations with you. Even try to gossip with you about the bus-conductor. And there are even bigger idiots, who fall for this and strike up conversations with the drivers. Maybe it makes them feel important. You know, sitting near the helm and talking to the bus-driver, yeah, pretty damn life-threatening important, birdbrain.

And then there are these animated characters, they make all kinds of faces, blow their noses, blink their eyes like they’ve lost sight suddenly, and they mimic the movements of the vehicle. That is, if they have to steer left, their whole body would sway to the left, as if they are steering one of those high-speed levitating things from starwars. And sometimes they become targets of this unexplainable, unfathomable cosmic interventions, and take a sudden fancy with this approaching car, so much that they cant take their eyes off it, and keep watching it even after its gone, poking their heads out of the window!!

The next type is the stoic one. The unflinching, tight-jawed, get-out-of-my-way types. These guys will be wearing dark aviator glasses, mostly. No wonder, coz they must be thinking they’re flying fighter planes, and it’s pretty apparent, too. Once I was in this superfast and was awaken from deep slumber by this huge thud, and a jolt and the bus swaying to one side. I thought I’ve had it. I tried to memorize all the best moments of my life like Kevin Spacey did in “American Beauty”. But nothing came. Then I poked my head out and looked what was wrong. The bus had gone over a divider and cleaned up almost half of it. Our driver stepped down, tapped at the tires, tore off the sagging sheet metal, got in, cleaned his goggles, and drove off, like nothing happened. With half of the bus’s side bodywork gone! And you thought Clint Eastwood was cool!

That’s just a small part of it. And there are several other types. And whichever type they fall into, one thing is for sure, they’re absolute terror for other road users. On second thoughts, not just the road users. Cant remember how many times I have seen buses having slammed into roadside houses, shops, waiting sheds etc. The entire scene has a Hollywood-ish effect to it, doesn’t it? Imagine, an old guy, sipping tea , and reading the morning newspaper in his verandah, vividh-bharti playing in the background, everything is so peaceful, and suddenly, there is this deafening noise, and he sees this huge thing coming crashing towards him at 100 Kmph…. Even better than Hollywood!!

Well, everything is not as bleak as the picture I paint, there is a beacon of hope. There is the KSTRC Volvo crew, which is exactly what the rest of the KSRTC is not. Yesterday, there was a dad and a small boy sitting in my next seat, the boy in his lap. And when the bus reached an intermediate station, the conductor came and told him, “Sir, two seats have been vacated in the front, you and your boy can come and sit there”. The compassion brought tears to my eyes!

Thursday, November 24, 2005

Not complaining at all...

mp3 was too good to be true. I remember what someone(was it Murphy himself?) said, if everything seems to be coming your way, get out of the wrong lane, stupid! So thus we were, enjoying the bounties of all those wonderful music, without paying a dime, without ever moving out of our cozy comfortable seats, with just a few mouse-clicks! And when all the hyper-reality ended suddenly, here we are, complaining!
Get a grip, dude!

OK, the irrelevant trivia being that suddenly someone thought let's give the music all the respect they deserve, and cleanup the network, and fizzle out all mp3 from the system. Bad! I mean real bad! You cannot imagine the amount of trauma this announcement induced in a majority of the workforce, which depended on the aid of soul-liberating music for everything right from designing frameworks to getting their shit out after lunch. Some passed out, some stopped working, some started working again, and some, including yours truly, protested in vain. But when all the ruckus died out, I began thinking… these guys are right. mp3 is nothing but wolf in a sheep’s clothing. mp3 spoiled everything. mp3 spoiled the very essence of music and love for music.

What’s the fun if you can’t
- go to the music store and spent your entire month’s savings on cds, all the worries evaporating the moment you tuck it inside the tray and listen to it!
- find out that cd you’ve been looking for since you were like 10 years old has finally arrived, but you don’t have enough cash to buy it, so you hide it behind a deep stack of Britney Spears albums, and hush out! Smart! Only to find it is gone next time you visit!
- the agony and pain of deciding upon whether to buy the 1050 Rs 3-cd collection or 199 Rs. discount sales…
- meeting up with a girl who loves rock music in the record-store (this one though, still remains a fantasy. Either it’s a boy with long hair, or a girl who’s with a boy with long hair. The hair need not be long, in this case. It can be short, absent, or… err, am I digressing here?)
- gazing proudly at your neatly arranged record-collection, sipping coffee, while listening to.. duh! too much. Stopping here.

Man, real connoisseurs will tell you that all this crap is about as naïve as you could ever hope to get in the subject. Am talking about laser Discs, vinyl records and such. It’s a world of romantics out there. And mp3, is a real misfit. At the risk of reading the worst simile ever, here you go. It’s a bit like county cricket on a beautiful warm sunny day, and the twenty-twenty in an indoor stadium. Ok, that was a terrible one, but you get the point.

I deleted all my mp3 songs today!


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So that's it about all the nice-talk! Those bastards!

Wednesday, November 02, 2005

One evening in the life of...

The evening sun reflected upon the ripples of the lake, making a million golden ringlets. The mackerel-sky began to acquire a color which was a quaint mixture of yellow, grey and pink, or ethereal, in one word. I walked to the edge of the lake where my friend was sitting, facing the sun. A big flock of geese flew past, like fighter-planes in formation.

“See those birds? Winter is here in a week!” I told him.

“I don’t want to dismantle that tent. That’s such a sexy tent and I want to make love to it all winter!”

“Spare me, I’ve got my girl in town. And I can’t go without beer for more than 2 weeks”

“You’re not thinking of flying home, are you?”

“What home?”

He laughed out loud. And snapped the line out of water, and it had one big fish caught in the hook ! It jumped around in the grass, spraying water and mud all over, trying to make its way back to water. Couple of jumps later, it lost direction, couple of jumps more, and it lost interest as well. It just lay there still, breathing gently through the gills, ready to embrace death, waiting for the atmospheric oxygen to kill it.


“Are you any closer?” He began prodding me again.

“Closer to what?”

“The truth, Nirvana.”

“You know what, the day I find out, I am gonna come here, I want my body buried in this lake”

“You got it!”

I caught a rhythmic whirr from a distant engine. It rose and fell with the gentle tides of the lake. He began singing, somehow managing to match the rythm. And after a while, the light appeared, around the hill in distance.

“Ah, here comes the rescue-party!”

“Game over! Go and make your Russian dame happy!”

We walked towards the tent, and began packing stuff...