The Light Bulb

Life can be very irritating at times. Times such as when the stapler misfires while you hold a number of oversized documents in your right hand with no table and paperweight . Or, when your pen refuses to leave a mark over the cheque in spite of repeated sincere attempts from your end. Or, as you press the switch on, the bulb blows out.

All the three incidents keep happening to me, the one mentioned last being as fresh as a week old. It was a Sunday afternoon. As I switched the bathroom light on, I was greeted by a flash of bright light followed by absolute darkness. I mumbled a curse under my breath, but being well familiar with the contours of my body and those of the bathroom, did not abandon the project.

Sometimes seemingly inanimate objects develop superb patterns to harass you. The particular light point was one of such objects. At least four bulbs had blown, forcing Rani to get the fault rectified by an electrician. The electrician had termed it as an ‘earthing fault’; she had later informed me, also adding that she had to shell out Rs.200 towards the visit charges. To think of it, just forty years ago our family doctor used to charge only Rs.60 for home visits, and sometimes even that charge was waived off in consideration for a steaming cup of tea and snacks.

Well, I was in no mood to waste another Rs.200 without at least trying my hand at it. I removed the dead bulb, checking whether the broken filament had any chance of getting reset over the support wires. No chance, a portion of the filament had broken loose! I deposited the bulb in the kitchen trash can, informing Rani that I had taken matters in my hand, and needed her unstinted support to correct the fault.

We divided labour. I placed a stool under the light point; Rani fetched the screwdriver pack. I found my favourite screwdriver succumbing to old age. The handle, which under a sliding head concealed several attachments, lay broken with none of the attachments in sight.

“Will this help” - asked Rani, holding a rather simple and diminutive screwdriver. I accepted it grudgingly.

The bulb holder was mounted on the base through two screws. The screws were rather easy to remove, but as the holder and the wire behind it came loose in my hands, one of the screws flew directly to the comforts of the wash basin. It landed on the rim, slid down, and started descending towards the drain hole while orbiting the interiors at great speed. Some timely action by Rani saved the screw’s passage into the drain, and we were back on the project.

My next demand was for a testing light.

“The new one?” - enquired Rani.

“We have only one testing light” - I grumbled.

“No, we have two. There is the small one, and then we have the one we purchased last”.

Technically speaking, she was right. The “small one” ceased to function a decade ago, but was retained due to its capability to double up as a tiny screwdriver. The one termed as “new” was about ten years old, but then, since we did not procure any other testing light after it, qualified to be called as new. That way, thought I, I could be called Rani’s ‘new’ husband!

I touched the first wire with the contact. No light. Same with the other wire.

I got down from the stool. The testing light showed positive when connected to the bedroom socket point.

“Did the electrician open the entire switchboard for the bathroom?” – I asked.

“No”, Rani informed.

The bathroom switchboard also has a socket point. I used the testing light on it. Negative.

The entire switchboard requires to be removed and checked, I thought. The switch board has a 15 Amp connection and four 5 Amp connections. I played with the screwdriver, but then thought it wise to first check the MCB for the flat.

The MCBs were on, save one. I flicked the offending one to the ‘on’ position.

Back in the bathroom, the testing light showed a positive result. I remounted the holder and attached a new bulb. No problem – the bulb lit up.

Ah! Only if I had checked the MCB first! We could have saved fifteen minutes, I thought.

I looked at Rani. She was busy putting the screwdrivers back. I placed the stool back to its original position, looking forward to face fresh challenges.

A Happy Solution

Anna Hazare has come out with a simple solution to correct corrupt brains. It is a simple slap, claims Hazare, which leads the brain back to the correct path. How revealing, why did we not think of it earlier? Obviously, Hazare considers consumption of alcohol as a greater offence than being corrupt, having prescribed tying to electric power transmission poles and beating as the remedy for those indulging in drinking.

How do we decide whether one is corrupt or not? Through gut feeling; because if one is patient enough for legal proceedings, one would also honour the ruling of the court. Unfortunately, most of human emotions run on mob sympathy. In the last five years the citizens of India have worshipped a common letterbox thinking it had divine power; drunk gutter water assuming it was from a miraculous spring; and have praised and condemned Mahendra Singh Dhoni in equal measure for winning the limited over World Cup and losing the test series to England and Australia. By a conservative margin, about 0.1% of India’s population may consider Kiran Bedi, a lieutenant of Anna Hazare, as corrupt. Will Ms Bedi be able to withstand being slapped 1200000 times?

Perhaps Anna Hazare’s solution is directed only at those who are not close to him. Perhaps there is a separate moral standard of praise and punishment for the Anna brigade.

But, isn’t corruption a result of separate moral standards? Is Anna indulging in corruption by making such statements?

A Big Sorry!

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!

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.

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.

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.).

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!