I looked at this page and was shell shocked. No entry after July 18, 2011? I did not feel like communicating on anything for six long months? I did not get time? Nothing happened? How can any of these reasons be accepted when so much is happening everyday in the world? Politicians are being slapped, crusaders for clean society are being roughed up, shoes are being hurled, petrol prices are being changed at the drop of a hat – and I did not feel like communicating about anything? A-n-y thing? How can I be so rhino skinned to absorb all the developments in the world without the slightest of a murmur?
That I did not get time is an excuse, and a lame one at that! Look at Shobha De, Chetan Bhagat, Pritish Nandy? Do I mean that I am busier than they are, when no one even knows my name except for the moron reading this piece now. No, no no, that would not do, Mr Varma! Pull up your socks. You are just being lazy.
Well, I have chastened myself, but the fact remains that I really found little to communicate these six months. Travelling, meeting production and invoicing deadlines, organising events and bringing out the next issue of a magazine did not leave me with enough will to pen my thoughts.
So, a big sorry! I hope I will write more frequently in future!
मंगलवार, 24 जनवरी 2012
सोमवार, 18 जुलाई 2011
When The Autograph Seekers Desert You
Wealth and fame slip before one realises the loss. Still, it was a mighty surprise to witness it the way I did the Sunday before last.
Smriti, Rani and I visited Mantri Mall that Sunday. We thought that we would pick up a laptop immediately as the showroom opened, and leave the place early to have lunch at Smriti’s favourite, the Chung Wah, in RT Nagar.
As it usually happens, the showroom opened only at 1100. By the time the Reliance Digital guys were through with explaining the features and requesting for a re-visit the next day to handover the free air-ticket voucher, the clock had already struck 1230. The laptop and accessories came packed in more than a single carton. We were already armed with an umbrella. We had also brought a bag to carry the laptop, but the bag turned out to be inadequate in size to accommodate the cartons. So, here were the three of us, each carrying some sizeable burden.
Chung Wah is a friendly joint reached through a narrow staircase connecting the entrance on the pavement on the street to the restaurant on the first floor. No, visiting it would be out of question, we decided; our shoulders and arms already aching from carrying the oversized packets.
We went up another floor in Mantri Mall. The Madarin Trail betrayed an empty look. Obviously, it was too early for the lunch crowd to throng it. We went to three shops, ordering sea food, fried chicken and noodles. Visits to two of these three shops coincided with those of a middle-aged beauty, and so did the follow up visits made to check the execution status of our order. Half-an-hour later, we thankfully traced our way to the table in the dining area, balancing the food trays, avoiding collision with other people and furniture, and still keeping an eye towards our destination.
It was then when I noticed him. He had a vacant look in his eyes. He was staring at some nonexistent object on the horizon, lost in thought. A far cry from the swashbuckling hero who struck 27 in 29 balls, thus contributing to India winning its first cricket World Cup in 1983. These 27 included a sixer, one of the three that came India’s way in that run starved match.
Here he was, the same never-say-die guy who hit a spectacular 174 at Adelaide in the 80-81 series, after India had collapsed to 130 for 4. It was the highest innings till then by an Indian in Australia, coming after the first test when this batsman retired hurt, hit over the ear by a Len Pascoe delivery.
I crossed his table again, to pick up some more food. There he sat, engrossed in spreading mustard sauce over the fried fish, sitting beside the middle-aged beauty. And to think, he had played role in a movie with Poonam Dhillon. I do not know whether the crowd recognised him. As such, he is difficult to be confused with common folks. The typical salt and pepper French beard is almost a trademark.
No, you can’t miss Sandeep Patil even in a crowd. I looked back, only to find that he had already left. The crowd had given him a miss.
Smriti, Rani and I visited Mantri Mall that Sunday. We thought that we would pick up a laptop immediately as the showroom opened, and leave the place early to have lunch at Smriti’s favourite, the Chung Wah, in RT Nagar.
As it usually happens, the showroom opened only at 1100. By the time the Reliance Digital guys were through with explaining the features and requesting for a re-visit the next day to handover the free air-ticket voucher, the clock had already struck 1230. The laptop and accessories came packed in more than a single carton. We were already armed with an umbrella. We had also brought a bag to carry the laptop, but the bag turned out to be inadequate in size to accommodate the cartons. So, here were the three of us, each carrying some sizeable burden.
Chung Wah is a friendly joint reached through a narrow staircase connecting the entrance on the pavement on the street to the restaurant on the first floor. No, visiting it would be out of question, we decided; our shoulders and arms already aching from carrying the oversized packets.
We went up another floor in Mantri Mall. The Madarin Trail betrayed an empty look. Obviously, it was too early for the lunch crowd to throng it. We went to three shops, ordering sea food, fried chicken and noodles. Visits to two of these three shops coincided with those of a middle-aged beauty, and so did the follow up visits made to check the execution status of our order. Half-an-hour later, we thankfully traced our way to the table in the dining area, balancing the food trays, avoiding collision with other people and furniture, and still keeping an eye towards our destination.
It was then when I noticed him. He had a vacant look in his eyes. He was staring at some nonexistent object on the horizon, lost in thought. A far cry from the swashbuckling hero who struck 27 in 29 balls, thus contributing to India winning its first cricket World Cup in 1983. These 27 included a sixer, one of the three that came India’s way in that run starved match.
Here he was, the same never-say-die guy who hit a spectacular 174 at Adelaide in the 80-81 series, after India had collapsed to 130 for 4. It was the highest innings till then by an Indian in Australia, coming after the first test when this batsman retired hurt, hit over the ear by a Len Pascoe delivery.
I crossed his table again, to pick up some more food. There he sat, engrossed in spreading mustard sauce over the fried fish, sitting beside the middle-aged beauty. And to think, he had played role in a movie with Poonam Dhillon. I do not know whether the crowd recognised him. As such, he is difficult to be confused with common folks. The typical salt and pepper French beard is almost a trademark.
No, you can’t miss Sandeep Patil even in a crowd. I looked back, only to find that he had already left. The crowd had given him a miss.
सोमवार, 4 अप्रैल 2011
What they haven’t written so far
In less than thirty hours since India’s ICC World Cup 2011 win, English newsprint describing, dissecting and eulogising the victory is already larger than the carpet area of an average middle class Mumbai home. Consider all languages, and the area occupied would perhaps beat the size of a bungalow in Jharkhand!
What has not been written so far, or, more honestly, what I have failed to read so far, is the following:
1. Experts are entitled to their opinion. So are the street-smart blokes. Regardless of its origin, the opinion is contradictory, and so, by a simple arithmetical logic, partly erroneous. Wins are achieved when the opinion of the bystanders is not allowed to dictate the action of those entrusted with planning, strategy formulation and execution.
2. Products that serve both ends of the spectrum are difficult to be dislodged by the competition. Normally, the left handed Yuvraj Singh should have joined Gautam Gambhir at the fall of Sachin Tendulkar’s wicket, but that would have meant having two left handed batsmen at the crease. Dhoni, a right handed batsman, elevated himself in the batting order, resulting in the need for fresh field setting by Sri Lanka after every single run and and the end of each over.
3. The cash cow (Sachin Tendulkar – 18 runs) and the star product (Virendra Sehwag – no run) may fail to sell at the most crucial moment. The problem child (Dhoni – 150 runs in 7 innings before the final, 91 runs in the 8th and final innings) may bring about spectacular results with a change in product positioning strategy.
4. It is not enough to have a sympathetic or friendly market – urge customers to voice their sentiments in the market place. The entire stadium singing the national anthem with Team India at the beginning of the match, playing of songs motivating India throughout the match, and public expression of support were a damper for the Sri Lankans.
5. Just because something never happened in the past doesn’t mean that it can’t happen. Till India won the World Cup 2011, (i) no host nation had ever won the title, (ii) no team had won the finals if their opponent hit a century in the match, (iii) scores such as 274 were never successfully chased, and (iv) the success rate of the side batting second was only 33%.
6. The shrewdest marketer can miss an opportunity noticed by a field-salesman. The umpire negated the LBW appeal against Thilan Samaraweera. When the bowler Yuvraj Singh insisted, the review was taken and the dangerous batsman had to return to pavilion at 33.
7. Your competitor may write your success story. Had Pakistan not dropped Sachin Tendulkar (85 runs) four times in the semi final, the Cup, perhaps, would have been won by some other team.
8. Brand equity matters a lot. It was perhaps the excitement of dismissing Sachin that led to Pakistan flooring four of his catches. In the old days, mere presence of Sunil Gavaskar at the slips made opponent batsmen over conscious of their technique.
9. Perseverance pays. Even when the dice appeared to be turned against, facing 48 overs and two balls paid rich dividends.
What has not been written so far, or, more honestly, what I have failed to read so far, is the following:
1. Experts are entitled to their opinion. So are the street-smart blokes. Regardless of its origin, the opinion is contradictory, and so, by a simple arithmetical logic, partly erroneous. Wins are achieved when the opinion of the bystanders is not allowed to dictate the action of those entrusted with planning, strategy formulation and execution.
2. Products that serve both ends of the spectrum are difficult to be dislodged by the competition. Normally, the left handed Yuvraj Singh should have joined Gautam Gambhir at the fall of Sachin Tendulkar’s wicket, but that would have meant having two left handed batsmen at the crease. Dhoni, a right handed batsman, elevated himself in the batting order, resulting in the need for fresh field setting by Sri Lanka after every single run and and the end of each over.
3. The cash cow (Sachin Tendulkar – 18 runs) and the star product (Virendra Sehwag – no run) may fail to sell at the most crucial moment. The problem child (Dhoni – 150 runs in 7 innings before the final, 91 runs in the 8th and final innings) may bring about spectacular results with a change in product positioning strategy.
4. It is not enough to have a sympathetic or friendly market – urge customers to voice their sentiments in the market place. The entire stadium singing the national anthem with Team India at the beginning of the match, playing of songs motivating India throughout the match, and public expression of support were a damper for the Sri Lankans.
5. Just because something never happened in the past doesn’t mean that it can’t happen. Till India won the World Cup 2011, (i) no host nation had ever won the title, (ii) no team had won the finals if their opponent hit a century in the match, (iii) scores such as 274 were never successfully chased, and (iv) the success rate of the side batting second was only 33%.
6. The shrewdest marketer can miss an opportunity noticed by a field-salesman. The umpire negated the LBW appeal against Thilan Samaraweera. When the bowler Yuvraj Singh insisted, the review was taken and the dangerous batsman had to return to pavilion at 33.
7. Your competitor may write your success story. Had Pakistan not dropped Sachin Tendulkar (85 runs) four times in the semi final, the Cup, perhaps, would have been won by some other team.
8. Brand equity matters a lot. It was perhaps the excitement of dismissing Sachin that led to Pakistan flooring four of his catches. In the old days, mere presence of Sunil Gavaskar at the slips made opponent batsmen over conscious of their technique.
9. Perseverance pays. Even when the dice appeared to be turned against, facing 48 overs and two balls paid rich dividends.
सोमवार, 14 मार्च 2011
Free Expert Advice
I am very unhappy. Unhappy, and sad. Why me, almost everybody is unhappy and sad. Perhaps unhappy and sad more or less mean the same, but unless I use both repeatedly, you will not get a fair idea about my mental condition. In fact, apart from being unhappy and sad, I am angry. Very angry. And so is everybody else.
And why should I not be angry? What does this Dhoni fellow think of himself? I mean, is this his father’s rule (baap ka raaj) that he will include just anybody in the team and not include the ones I prefer? I mean, here the world was crying hoarse that a particular off spinner must be included in the India side, but Dhoni, the adamant fellow that he is, persisted with only a single off spinner. If you can have one off spinner, why not as well have two of them? Don’t one and one make eleven (ek aur ek gyarah)? In his simple high headedness Dhoni included a particular fast bowler. Why? Why could he not have opted for the other guy who not only bowls, but dances well, and picks up fights apart from wickets? And then Dhoni has the cheek to comment about poor fielding. What is the point in making a comment? You are the captain, not the commentator! You should have taught the fielders how to field, rather than complaining, Dhoniji. But what will he do? Money has gone to his mind - these advertisements shadvertisements and all.
Now see the result! India lost. Shameless fellows. Why do you play the game if you are going to lose? In my childhood, whenever I was on the brink of losing, I used to topple the carrom board, throw the chess pieces, and tear off the playing cards. I never lost a game. Never. My first condition before I agreed to participate in any game was that I could not be defeated. There are so many sports lovers like me who now sit on their sofa sets with broken hearts and shattered dreams. See, how happily we used to jump and raise hands whenever the camera zoomed on us in the stadium! You could not but admire the fighting spirit with which we jostled and occupied the entire frame, till the camera moved away.
All our happiness stands punctured now. I wish the guy could listen. But then, no one listens to me. Going to the office and coming back and sitting in front of the TV and having food. Had I desired, I would have become a really big sportsman. Even bigger than this Dhoni fellow. Or, I could have become a better singer than Sonu Nigam. Or a better actor than Shahrukh. But, proper studies were more important for me, not this nach gana and khelna kudna. So I studied, and got a job, and am working. But that does not mean that I cannot give these guys a run for their money. Ab bhi waqt hai Dhoni, sambhal ja! Baad mein mat kehna ki bataya nahin (Get your act in order while there is still time, Dhoni. Don’t complain later that I did not warn you.).
And why should I not be angry? What does this Dhoni fellow think of himself? I mean, is this his father’s rule (baap ka raaj) that he will include just anybody in the team and not include the ones I prefer? I mean, here the world was crying hoarse that a particular off spinner must be included in the India side, but Dhoni, the adamant fellow that he is, persisted with only a single off spinner. If you can have one off spinner, why not as well have two of them? Don’t one and one make eleven (ek aur ek gyarah)? In his simple high headedness Dhoni included a particular fast bowler. Why? Why could he not have opted for the other guy who not only bowls, but dances well, and picks up fights apart from wickets? And then Dhoni has the cheek to comment about poor fielding. What is the point in making a comment? You are the captain, not the commentator! You should have taught the fielders how to field, rather than complaining, Dhoniji. But what will he do? Money has gone to his mind - these advertisements shadvertisements and all.
Now see the result! India lost. Shameless fellows. Why do you play the game if you are going to lose? In my childhood, whenever I was on the brink of losing, I used to topple the carrom board, throw the chess pieces, and tear off the playing cards. I never lost a game. Never. My first condition before I agreed to participate in any game was that I could not be defeated. There are so many sports lovers like me who now sit on their sofa sets with broken hearts and shattered dreams. See, how happily we used to jump and raise hands whenever the camera zoomed on us in the stadium! You could not but admire the fighting spirit with which we jostled and occupied the entire frame, till the camera moved away.
All our happiness stands punctured now. I wish the guy could listen. But then, no one listens to me. Going to the office and coming back and sitting in front of the TV and having food. Had I desired, I would have become a really big sportsman. Even bigger than this Dhoni fellow. Or, I could have become a better singer than Sonu Nigam. Or a better actor than Shahrukh. But, proper studies were more important for me, not this nach gana and khelna kudna. So I studied, and got a job, and am working. But that does not mean that I cannot give these guys a run for their money. Ab bhi waqt hai Dhoni, sambhal ja! Baad mein mat kehna ki bataya nahin (Get your act in order while there is still time, Dhoni. Don’t complain later that I did not warn you.).
मंगलवार, 8 मार्च 2011
Give and Take
Author Khushwant Singh in a recently published column recounted his birthday celebration. He had turned 96, but that was beside the point. He painstakingly described the gains from the birthday celebration – two bottles of scotch and something else that I have forgotten.
He reminded me of a relative, a lady, a wife of a brigadier on the verge of retirement. The lady attended some function and had to give some gifts. She was happy on her return, showing us the gifts she received at the function. She even calculated the price of the bouquets handed over to her, and was happy to explain that the receipts overweighed the expenditure.
A friend had a habit of scrutinising the rear cover of the greeting cards he received, to figure out their price. Another one has a habit of visiting stores looking for items identical to those received as gifts, to ascertain their price. She says, the exercise is to ensure that she is not found wanting when it is her turn to gift an item to the particular person!
This is just fantastic! A gift, a token of love and delicate sentiments, associating with crude commercial considerations. What should one expect next? Parents expecting children to pay for their stay when they grow and earn?
My thinking about the great Sahir exaggerating in the following lines stands changed:
Jawani Bhatakti Hai Bezaar Ban Kar
Jawan Jism Sajte Hain Bazaar Ban Kar
Jahan Pyar Hota Hai Vyapar Ban Kar
Yeh Duniya Agar Mil Bhi Jaye To Kya Hai!
He reminded me of a relative, a lady, a wife of a brigadier on the verge of retirement. The lady attended some function and had to give some gifts. She was happy on her return, showing us the gifts she received at the function. She even calculated the price of the bouquets handed over to her, and was happy to explain that the receipts overweighed the expenditure.
A friend had a habit of scrutinising the rear cover of the greeting cards he received, to figure out their price. Another one has a habit of visiting stores looking for items identical to those received as gifts, to ascertain their price. She says, the exercise is to ensure that she is not found wanting when it is her turn to gift an item to the particular person!
This is just fantastic! A gift, a token of love and delicate sentiments, associating with crude commercial considerations. What should one expect next? Parents expecting children to pay for their stay when they grow and earn?
My thinking about the great Sahir exaggerating in the following lines stands changed:
Jawani Bhatakti Hai Bezaar Ban Kar
Jawan Jism Sajte Hain Bazaar Ban Kar
Jahan Pyar Hota Hai Vyapar Ban Kar
Yeh Duniya Agar Mil Bhi Jaye To Kya Hai!
गुरुवार, 4 नवंबर 2010
Boisterous
Boisterous! I looked at them, and thought.
I was trying to enjoy my small meal of mushroom soup, salad, baked potato and fried chicken as they had entered the restaurant. The captain had showed them a table that was close to where I sat. Eager to occupy the closest chair, as only little girls can do, they had sat with a sense of victory and looked around. Only, they were no little girls. They were definitely on the wrong side of fifty. All four of them. If they had seen me, and they could not have missed me, they had taken no notice of me. They had slung their coats and bags over the chairs with urgency, cracked some joke, and laughed. Midway, someone among them had passed a comment, resulting in eruption of bigger laughter. And, before this fresh wave of laughter could die down, another storm of laugher had risen from the aged throats. Shaking all over, they were controlling themselves with difficulty, wiping tears from their cheeks and continuing to laugh like mad.
I munched. Looked at the wall in front. And then my eyes drifted towards them. I could not be accused of staring. After all, the world appeared to have ceased to exist for them. Only four of them existed. No one else mattered.
Their laughter subsided, and they looked at the menu in amusement. It appeared to be full of jokes. They read the entries aloud, and laughed. I looked at them carefully. Perhaps they were from the working class. Most probably, they were janitors. Their black skin was dull. Their hands were rough. They wore little, and cheap, jewellery. Their clothes were nothing extraordinary.
They passed the menu around. Only the best appeared to be acceptable to them. And they wanted to be doubly sure before ordering. The captain entered the scene again, explaining each entry in detail, while the ladies giggled and playfully slapped each-other.
The first course arrived. Colourful liquid in tall glasses, with straws of unique shapes. Each lady had offered a different drink. They looked at the drink in front of them, looked at other drinks on the table, looked around, and put their lips eagerly to the straw. Happiness oozed out of them as they drew their first, rather long, sip. Their eyes became brighter. Another sip, and some exclamation. A third sip, and the burst of laughter hit the ceiling. The talk became more animated. The decibel level rose further.
It was time to order the next course. They consulted the menu. This time, more on the right side, where the rates were printed. The tone assumed proportions of conspiratorial whisper. They agreed and disagreed. Bags were opened, wallets were retrieved, and cash was carefully counted. Some quick calculation followed, and there was agreement again. The next course was ordered.
My dinner was over. And what a fantastic dinner it had turned out to be! I had never seen a happier bunch of grown ups. I smiled, casting a last look at them. They did not bother to look at me. They were happy eating, talking, and joking. It did not matter to these women if they had a moustache, if their shoes were not shining, or if they reeked of poverty. It was their day, and they were relishing it to the full.
Boisterous? Who cares?
I was trying to enjoy my small meal of mushroom soup, salad, baked potato and fried chicken as they had entered the restaurant. The captain had showed them a table that was close to where I sat. Eager to occupy the closest chair, as only little girls can do, they had sat with a sense of victory and looked around. Only, they were no little girls. They were definitely on the wrong side of fifty. All four of them. If they had seen me, and they could not have missed me, they had taken no notice of me. They had slung their coats and bags over the chairs with urgency, cracked some joke, and laughed. Midway, someone among them had passed a comment, resulting in eruption of bigger laughter. And, before this fresh wave of laughter could die down, another storm of laugher had risen from the aged throats. Shaking all over, they were controlling themselves with difficulty, wiping tears from their cheeks and continuing to laugh like mad.
I munched. Looked at the wall in front. And then my eyes drifted towards them. I could not be accused of staring. After all, the world appeared to have ceased to exist for them. Only four of them existed. No one else mattered.
Their laughter subsided, and they looked at the menu in amusement. It appeared to be full of jokes. They read the entries aloud, and laughed. I looked at them carefully. Perhaps they were from the working class. Most probably, they were janitors. Their black skin was dull. Their hands were rough. They wore little, and cheap, jewellery. Their clothes were nothing extraordinary.
They passed the menu around. Only the best appeared to be acceptable to them. And they wanted to be doubly sure before ordering. The captain entered the scene again, explaining each entry in detail, while the ladies giggled and playfully slapped each-other.
The first course arrived. Colourful liquid in tall glasses, with straws of unique shapes. Each lady had offered a different drink. They looked at the drink in front of them, looked at other drinks on the table, looked around, and put their lips eagerly to the straw. Happiness oozed out of them as they drew their first, rather long, sip. Their eyes became brighter. Another sip, and some exclamation. A third sip, and the burst of laughter hit the ceiling. The talk became more animated. The decibel level rose further.
It was time to order the next course. They consulted the menu. This time, more on the right side, where the rates were printed. The tone assumed proportions of conspiratorial whisper. They agreed and disagreed. Bags were opened, wallets were retrieved, and cash was carefully counted. Some quick calculation followed, and there was agreement again. The next course was ordered.
My dinner was over. And what a fantastic dinner it had turned out to be! I had never seen a happier bunch of grown ups. I smiled, casting a last look at them. They did not bother to look at me. They were happy eating, talking, and joking. It did not matter to these women if they had a moustache, if their shoes were not shining, or if they reeked of poverty. It was their day, and they were relishing it to the full.
Boisterous? Who cares?
सोमवार, 27 सितंबर 2010
Two Sides of the Same Coin
When you walk out of an airport after flying continuously for more than fifteen hours; you do not exactly look forward to a bus that does not arrive at the appointed hour and promised place. Or, to a phone that fails to resuscitate. Or, to rapidly falling daylight. Or, to find other passengers finding definite means to travel, leaving you to run to every other bus and realise that it does not go to your destination.
All these occurred together as I walked out of Terminal 5 at the Chicago airport. I had been travelling for more than 39 hours! I had started from Bangalore at 1:22 PM on Saturday, to catch the 12:30 AM American Airlines flight departing from Delhi on Sunday. The intended flight got cancelled, and I was accommodated on a later flight to Delhi. At Delhi, the midnight flight got delayed by over twelve hours, and departed only in the afternoon the next day.
A typical day it was proving to be. It was already my birthday in India. It was going to be my birthday in USA in another few hours. A birthday to remember, for sure!
I stood next to the Omega bus sign, holding on to two bags and shifting my weight from one foot to the other. Omega is the last letter in the Greek alphabet. The letter for the last bus which had already gone. The sign advised calling up a certain number. I had a cell phone. I punched the code, read with glee the message, “CODE ACCEPTED”, only to realise moments later that the phone failed to catch any signal. It could as well have been a toy. My watch read seven in the evening. The place was getting deserted. And, none of the buses went to Hyde Park, sorry!
I walked to the taxi stand. It would be about $50 to the Ramada by cab, informed the burly attendant. There goes one third of my daily allowance, I sighed, and signalled the taxi. It was a well maintained vehicle, and I was happy within the security of the automobile.
“You speak like an Indian”, remarked the driver. I told him that I not only spoke like an Indian, I was actually an Indian.
“Where are you coming from?”, came the next question. I replied that I had disembarked from a Delhi flight Delhi, had failed to get the bus, and so was travelling in the taxi.
It was about an hour long drive. The conversation had to continue. The driver informed that he hailed from Islamabad. He came to USA several years ago, initially drove a taxi in Alabama, and for the last four years was settled with family in Chicago.
“A very good place. There is no discrimination. Most of the people you find on the streets of Chicago are immigrants”, he informed. America began as a country of the immigrants, I thought, but did not say anything.
We talked about the Mahatma Gandhi Road in Chicago, places where one could get good Indian food, law and order, blah blah blah. The driver pointed towards Hancock towers on the skyline, McCormick Place, etc., etc., till we finally reached the hotel. The fare was $45, the tip rounded it off to $50, and thus walked I into the hotel at 8 in the evening.
Another day I walked to the taxi stand next to the hotel. The driver was an African. Not the overweight sort, not even the lean and mean types, but a rather frail looking man.
“Will you take me to the Hilton on South Michigan Avenue?”, I asked.
“Yes, I will take you to the Hilton on South Michigan Avenue”, responded the driver.
A very detailed reply, almost like one from the suspense movies!
It was a fifteen minute drive to the Hilton. I paid the fare and gave the tip, and got off the taxi.
The taxi driver on the return trip was one Mr Patel from Mumbai. A postgraduate, he claimed to have faced rather rough weather in USA..
“America ki sarkar jhoothi hai. Sirf dikhawa karti hai. Isko sirf apna matlab nikalna aata hai (The Amercian government is not straight forward. It indulges in pretensions. It only knows how to drive its selfish motives)”, a rather disgruntled Mr Patel ejaculated.
Mr Patel claimed that he was cut for a much better job, but never got the opportunity. There was a lot of discrimination in USA, he said.
“Not only foreigners – this government forgets about its own people also”, informed Mr Patel.
He went off recounting an experience.
It was a lean day. A beggar signalled Mr Patel’s taxi. Obviously, there was no possibility of the beggar being able to pay for the trip. However, it was a lean day. Mr Patel stopped the taxi. The beggar claimed that he was a war veteran, who had to go to a certain office to collect his pension cheque. He assured Mr Patel that the cheque would be encashed within five minutes, and he would have about $1200 to burn. Mr Patel, took a chance, and found the claim to be true. The taxi fare came to $40, but the war veteran paid $100, $60 being the tip! The rest of the money would go on clothes, shoes, party and prostitutes, the war veteran informed. By the end of the month, he would again return to the state of being a beggar!
“Why can’t this government take care of people who fought for it?”, wondered Mr Patel.
Well, if one is bent upon ruining oneself, what can the government do, I thought and got down.
As I walked rather lost on State Street in Chicago one day, confident that bus number 6 would never arrive, I hunted for a taxi. Here he was, with a beard but no moustache, mumbling his prayers. I gave him address, and we started. He was from Pakistan. Karachi, to be precise.
“Zindagi tough hai, lekin Pakistan se to bahut behtar hai (life here is tough, but is much better than that in Pakistan)”, he claimed.
I talked about the repeated failure of Zamhuriyat (democracy). He agreed. I talked about the famous Mr 10% of Pakistan. He said Mr 10% had now become almost Mr 100%. We both agreed that Mia Musharraff was much better than the present rulers. He felt that India was much much better. I too felt the same.
Surprisingly, I never felt any hatred towards any of the Pakistani drivers. No feeling of discomfort, either. They were as human as I was. Two sides of the same coin. I actually felt more comfortable with them than I did with the African drivers!
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