ksraoeil

H A P P Y B I R T H D A Y

2011-12-19T17:40:00.002+05:30

It was after completing 60 years I have celebrated my first birthday.
* * * * * * * * *
“Tomorrow is going to be holiday” the teacher declared at the end of the period..
“ HOOOOOOOOOOOO” there was a wave of noise from all the children.
“But “ the teacher maintained a dramatic pause.
There was total silence.
“All of you have to come to school as usual at the usual time. Tomorrow is Mahatma Gandhiji’s birthday. All of you should come wearing new clothes.
“Sir if we don’t have new clothes” I turned to the boy on my right.
“Come wearing washed and pressed clothes”
“Only yesterday our washer man took the clothes and he will return only on day after tomorrow” a boy on my left replied.
I like the boys who rise the questions I would like to rise.
The teacher got irritated “OK ware something and come “
******
What is tomorrow’s date? The teacher asked.
“ 14th “
“Tell me in full’ the teacher demanded.
“14th November”
“Anybody knows what the importance of the date is”
I waited for somebody to answer the question. But nobody.
I half raised and answered “it is Chacha Nehru’s Birthday”
So tomorrow is a holiday. But all of you should attend the school..and ..” the routine went on..
I went home and want impress my father. And told him
“Father tomorrow is holiday’
“ OK. But sit at home do your home work. Don’t roam around.
“No actually tomorrow we have to go to school.”
Why... What for ?
I was excited and happy that I am able explain something which my father do not know.
“Actually to morrow is ChaCha Nehru’s birthday. We all have to go to school and “
“Ok ...Ok.. I got it. But as soon as the program is over come back straight to home don’t roam around.
“When is my birthday” I asked..
My father stared for a moment and replied “go and ask your mother.”
I ran to my mother and asked .
“ Amma when is my birthday “
She was silent for a moment “why you want to know “
“Just like that “” 2nd October is Gandhi’s, 14th November Nehru’s..
She took the lid on the rice pot and continued to stir the rice.
“ Amma… I prompted her.
It is on three days after the full moon on the month sravan , the star if I remember correct it is ..” she went on. I could not understand a thing.
“ Just tell me date and month .. like one, two three, January…February.. March.. etc.”
“No I can not say like that I don’t know English . If you want to know in English go and ask your father.
I can not go to my father. He has already directed me to my mother.
I got stuck I don’t know my date of birth.
I explained my problem to my friend Kittappa.
“ Let us go and ask our teacher’
I was scared . “ No not the teacher . He scolds us.. and he will tell to my father”
He found a method “ Look ..to morrow is Friday .. the weekly Haat day. Like every Friday I have to go to the market during the school time and deliver the goods to his home. After I return I will ask him . He will be in good mood and he will see the attendance register and tell you. You know every thing will be there in that register. Who is elder, who is younger who is boy who is girl.. whose father is getting more money etc.. .
I was impressed with his idea. And agreed.
In the evening KIttappa came and told me “ OK I arranged everything for you . He is in a happy mood Go and ask he will tell you “ and he suddenly pushed in to the teachers’ room.
“” What do you want” teacher asked me.
“ Sir.. birthday.. Kittappa.. “ I fumbled.
“ what you will do with Kittappa’s Birthday”
“No actually my birthday.. In English..”
“Why.. go and ask your parents”.. What are you going to do by knowing your birthday..
“ Just like that “
Are you Mahatma Gandhi ?.. are you Nehru ?.are you Subhas Chndra Bose ? You should aim to be somebody like that to know …
“ I could not understand why I should be some body like that to know my birthday..
I realized that only great people celebrate their birthdays.
I have never seen any body celebrating birthdays in our eight member family.
But the next day I was proved wrong..
“ OK. Children listen care fully. “the teacher beaten with the thin stick three times on the table.
“ today Lingam Setti’s birthday”
We turned to Lingam. He is black but today he is bright. The gold necklace is ore brighter. He wore new clothes,. New flowery loose bush shirt and half pant with four pockets and black belt.
“Today is his birthday”
So ..he is going to distribute pencils to all the students”
The teacher raised the hand full of pencils. The Pencil with lot of cartoon characters and small purple color eraser at the end.
There was lot of excitement. I was craving for such a pencil since along. Most of the time my father used to bring single dull green color pencil and also used to cut in to two and distribute between me and my sister.” You are not going to write the whole pencil at a time. You are going to write little by little .Right ?’ was his logic.
I looked at the pencil once again. What a lucky day... I am going to have my dream pencil just like that with out asking.
“who ever want the pencils they should come and stand in a line”
“ and Lingam will distribute to the students one by one with his own hand. Only to poor students.
I was disappointed. I could not think I am poor. May be I could not afford that fancy pencil, I may not be able to afford full pencil but could not agree to the phrase Poor student. .
I half rose and sat back after the teacher utter the word poor.
I remember how Lingam promised me that he will give a pencil if I complete his home work I completed his home work and asked for the pencil he promised. He shown his closed fist and asked me to open the fist and take . I struggled to open his palm and after opening I found a pencil but half the size of my little finger. I felt cheated.
“ I told a pencil. It is a pencil I never said a full pencil” He grinned.
“ Ok ..come one by one “ teacher was prompting.
I am not poor. I can write all the alphabets from any point to any point.
I can write all the math tables from 20 by 20.
I can recite all the poems from first page to last page. I am desperate to convince my self that I am not poor. It is against my self respect to stand in the q along with those students for a pencil.
But the Micky mouse, Donald duck, other carton characters on the pencil are very tempting.
Again I tied to stand an join the q. but sat down as I could not decide.
Then I saw Kittappa suddenly rose and stood in the q. I tried pull his shirt to make him sit “ hey you are not poor student “
He winked and said “ I want the pencil”
Suddenly I jumped and stood behind him..
Now it is my turn and I am going to own my first fancy full length pencil. I closed my eyes and watching room full of ducks and mice and cats.
“Ok. It is over. Now you can take your seats” the teacher declared. Keeping the balance four pencils in his drawer.
“but sir.. I murmured”
I told all of you to go back and take your seats.
Who is poor now .. person with pencil or person with out pencil “ Kittappa asked. Showing is new pencil..See even the teacher retained four pencils not one. He is not poor but.
Since then I lost interest in knowing my date of Birth.

2011-03-06T21:18:00.000+05:30

Damanjodi
Here the life goes slowly.
Sunrises slowly from behind the mountains.
Moon rises slowly in the evening.
Sunsets slowly. He don’t leave the sky even after moon arrives.
So the moon doesn’t leave the sky even after the sunrise.
The morning milk man comes in the night at 10Pm
Here the people live for the day.
Earn the living for the day not less not more.
No desires, no high ambitions.
Change cannot t change the lives.
People questions slowly.
Answers to the questions slowly.
Everything I slow motion.
Without any hurry.
Her nothing expires. Everything comes without expiry date. (Expiry date scratched of)
Your job will be done tomorrow.
Everyday is for god and temple.
You see women covered their head with palloo walking to temples ,pillioning with husbands , with a basket of offerings .
Older women to Tulsi pant in the front yard.
Even birthdays, anniversaries, assemblies done in temples verandahs
It is Damanjodi

ART OF *** KING

2010-12-19T17:05:00.004+05:30

Have you ever wondered why we get irritated when somebody puts question to us for which we know the answer very wellvery well. .
Yes the question is “why do you smoke ?
“ If you don’t mind, shall I ask you something,you should not think otherwise, Ok!. Otherwise I will not ask .( the prologue is more irritating than the question) what is there in the Cigarette ?why do people smoke. (Tobacco.I feel like answering But I hold back )
“You know smoking is very bad for health.” That lean thin 45 Kg+ boy or Man I could not guess by his body frame
“I tell you one thing by quitting the smoking habit you can save a lot of money .”Suppose you smoke roughly 10 sticks a day, and each stick cost you 5.00Rs….” the financial expert took out his mobile phone and turned it in to a calculator and started calculating..
“One thing you missed boss”
The most intelligent fellow and the most informed with latest weapons of knowledge takes over . “the passive smoker ! the non smokers around you who inhale the smoke you spit out. They are more vulnerable than the real smokers.You know that ? The other day I checked in the net and verified the Blog “Smoke Mountain” that in an average at any given time in Asia…”
"Now a days nonsmoking is more cool ,and happening. It is most aristocratic look . earlier movies Jhonwayne ‘s cigarette dangling from his right side corner of the mouth or Rajani’s cigarette tossing are very antique. The fashion guru’s statement. I know that so I get irritated
“ It will have a bad impact on your children . You see the parents are the “prdhamaguruvulu”” the first teachers”children will learn from them. They think whatever their parents are doing is good and un opposable. So ?’ The bald headed uncle dramatically pauses. I get irritated.
The more the people started advising the more I wanted to smoke as if I am taking revenge on each of them.
I know very well all these things. I too read books, access to web, net, and am caring citizen in the society. But still I do which I don’t want to do.
I started moving away from the characters and to have a peaceful ,lonely smoke , looking in to the slowly spiraling smoke from the lips . went to the mirror looked at my image for accompany who also does what I do. The smoke vanishing in to the thin air is like watching “gangavtarnam “ in reverse.
Then took one more puff and exhaled from the nostrils. Like two small rivers and ,then mixing like tow rivers in the sea when slowly spitting the smoke through the mouth. And then vanished in to thin air.
Suddenly I came to the presence as the cigarette but reached to the fingers and burnt my fingers.
The n I asked me . in the mirror.
Why do you smoke. Me can not escape I. because I follow me . Where ever I go.
I looked in to me with irritation. But me did not got irritated. When you know the answers why don’t you do the right thing?
Will you listedn to Amygdala and Cortex .I asked me.
Who is prompting you to do all these. I asked
Me.
Who can prevent from doing all ?
Me
Then ,who has to do the right thing ,correct the course.
Me
I explained to me . See correct or incorrect is to be done by me only . not the outsider. Outsider will give the information, and I will act.
Suddenly I realized I w as talking to me since more than an hour and I did not smoke for more than an hour. Normally I used to smoke at an interval of half an hour.
So nothing has happened. No itching in the mouth, no twisting of tongue, no aching of teeth. I told me see nothing happened. If you can stay for one hour why not one more hour.
I convinced me yes one more hour. One more hour. One more day one more week month.. now it is history.
Now I and me are friends. I am honest to me. I and me do not quarrel. Both will smile at each other every morning.

2010-02-07T19:12:00.002+05:30

13 X 13

There was a school. And there was a class room , in that there was a section , and in that section there were some students.
Once the teacher asked the students “what is 13 multiplied by 13”
Some bunch of students answered
“one hundred and sixty nine’
“one three one three”
“twenty six “
“Saturday “
Some students raised hands and stated vigorously swinging the hands.
Some students were sitting silent .
Then the teacher asked the students sitting quite. “ why did you keep quite ? don’t you know the answer? “
The students replied “ you did not ask the answer specifically from any particular student , nor you told what we have to do if we know the answer ? “
Then the teacher told “ok ! those who know the answer rise their hands ”
Still one of the silent students did not raise his hand.
“Don’t you know the answer?”
“I know. But you are not specific, which hand I have to rise right hand or left hand”
The teacher called the student who answered “ Saturday “ for his explanation
The student questioned the teacher “ Did you not questioned what is today ?” with a surprise.
“ No I asked what is 13 X 13 “
“Then you did not put the right question . You should have asked what is to day”
The teacher asked to others why they answered the question when he did not ask anybody in particular.
The boys answered that, they answered because that they know the answer.
In the mean time one boy told to his bench mate “ I know the answer”.
“ Then you raise your hand “ the mate told.
“ No. I feel shy”
“Sir . He knows the answer “ the bench mate student draw the attention of the teacher .
“Sir By the way if you don mind you r shirt is very attractive. I could not resist myself from appreciating “
The teacher was pleased. “Thank you. I like your attitude. You should encourage your friends those who are shy and not so courageous. “
The shy boy was all devotion to t his bench mate. The bench mate told to the boy “when ever you know the answer tell me I will pass on to the teacher. OK ? “ Never tell the answer directly to the teacher. I am here. Later the mate started using answers as his own. If they are right,
Now can any body tell me “how 13X13 is 169” asked the teacher
Everybody gave the explanation. But one student was not happy with the routine explanations.
“He said sir I will give e different explanation. Actually 13 X13 is ( 10+3)(10+3) ie (10+3) whole square. 10 square plus 3 square …. Blah/… blahh…
The teacher is puzzled, the students were puzzled. Because neither the students nor the teacher has studied such equations. The student was frustrated thinking all his co students are dumb and they are not fit to sit along with him.
After few years.
The ‘Saturday” boy. Joined politics Contested elections and became …
Others joined Consultancy Company.
The bench mate joined in the marketing group taking credit for all the bench mates were doing.
The people who were specific to know what is to be done if one knows the answer joined engineering.
The others joined the construction sites. Answering all the questions, irrespective of to whom they are addressed.
Now the boy who wanted to be deferent remained deferent. Neither he could be part of the team , nor lead a team as he wanted to be ahead of his mates was not satisfied with his mates and go on changing the mates without knowing the if anything is to be changed it is him.

HOW MANY IDIOTS ARE TTHERE IN "3 idiots"

2010-01-25T20:11:00.001+05:30

Idiotic question!
Idiomatic question!
Immediately it strikes to me that there is only one idiot. The “Rancho”
The other two friends are like any other 30 L + engineering students of Andhra ( + Telangana), Tamilnadu, Maharasstra etc…
They cannot afford to be deferent. Even though they want to be deferent. .
They have parents to support .And live to their expectations.
Do you know how Farhan’s father saved money to buy window air conditioner.
He never wore a “ LUX COZEE” inner ware in even peak winter. He used to wear Kurta and pajama inside his trousers and full shirt. That way he can save money and time. After reaching home he can remove the trousers and shirt with out getting exposed. ( Rancho don’t have this idea).After all who is going to bother what somebody is wearing iside.
He never bought woolen socks he used to use the same socks he used to use in other times but only the change is two socks on each foot. (Rancho don’t have this idea)
He don’t know “ Thanda mutlab CoCo Cola “ . knows that thanda mutlab cool drinking water. Either it is from
His “ Dil never man gay more”
He don’t know how to “taste the Thunder.” He knows only to taste “ Nimboo Pani” “ Ganna kaa ras”n because he knows what is inside. He never bought “ Mineral water” “ Packaged drinking water” he don’t know about the percentage of pesticide ( he knows only left side and right side ) present in those water bottles. He used to collect the drinking water from railway platform taps because he knows that is not pure. And he is prepared for it.
An idiot. Unlike other routine fathers he is different.
I wonder if Rancho had a family and can he be different.
He need not bother about the money, parents, expectations, just perform, get the degree give to somebody and cool.
One more idiot in the making I can find is the “millimeter cum centimeter” no family, no parents, no expectations, and full support from Rancho .. to be deferent. An idiot in the making.
Do you find any more idiots.
Please Reply

ART OF CYCLE RIDING

2009-08-09T21:31:00.002+05:30

About 20 years back my be during 1985 or 1986 I used to watch my son watching the children going by bike faster than him over taking him while he was slowly walking holding my finger..
I observed the urge to own a bike in his eyes.
I thought before he ask for one I should buy one for him. (because I could not buy one for me in my life )
I purchased a second hand bicycle for my son.
I know the new ones become useless with in a year or two as he out grows the bike. It was a cute, sparingly used , with comfortably designed seat etc. He was very happy and could not sleep the whole night.
The next day he took his cycle out moving it all around like a toy. But the cycle is not a toy. One should ride the bike to enjoy.
The next part was the toughest which I was not prepared.
Teaching the kid how to ride a cycle.
But I used to make him sit on the seat and hold the cycle behind ,hold the handle and push.
He is enjoying the ride .
Next day I told him not just keep the legs straight but keep on the peddles and also move the legs along with peddles. Which he started doing. At times I used stop pushing so that he can peddle and pull his weight. But he used to stop peddling at the precise moment.
Then I explained him you have to pull your self. Less is your load less will be effort more is your load more will be effort. I can not push him forever I can only give the initial push.
He under stood. He started peddling at the right time.
Next the toughest one.
The balancing act.
How to explain “how to balance while riding a cycle”. Only I could tell him that he has to just practice. Keep on peddling and just see not to fall”.
He was afraid he may fall. I assured him he will not fall. Every time he used to look back whether I am there behind him holding t he bike.
It went on for few days.
I am loosing patience.
Be cause I could not explain the art of balancing. He is too young to get explained.
It went on for few days. We used to come back home frustrated and disappointed.
I told him he has to do it him self. He should not look back for me.
For two days there was no practice.
And one evening I saw from my bus one small little kid gently riding on his little bike in the play ground, un mounting and mounting from the bike and taking rest for while and again riding the bike making rounds and rounds. As I approached near to the ground to my surprise I saw the kid is non other than my son. After he saw me he came riding the bike fast and stopped just before me and said “ I learnt it now I don’t need Your support. I can ride with out your support”. He was so excited he started repeating the same again and again
“Shall I show You?”.
With out waiting for my answer he started and the cycle and gone.”
Afterwards he never depended on me.
So my son just I am not holding the cycle for you, so that u can pull your load and and also do balancing.
Otherwise I am always there.

FROM MOUNTAIN TO MOLE HILL

2008-08-19T22:28:00.004+05:30

It was not a mountain.
But at that time I was too young to know the difference between a mountain and a hillock. Any rock beyond my size was a mountain for me. It didn’t have a name like many other mountains. Huge rocks arranged in different patterns with out any path to the top overlooking our school.
I used to climb to the highest level possible balancing on the hot hard rocks looking down at my school the tiny houses and the green paddy fields like biscuits neatly margined with small water canals and foot trails.
Taking deep breaths at every step higher the hot breeze blowing through my hair and shuffling it. It used to be a tricky feeling going away from the flat earth and reaching the sky away from the buzzing crowd and hearing only the sound of the wind.
I used to try to read old weather beaten cinema posters pasted to the rocks –some legible some not. And the no more relevant election posters fluttering and undecided whether to be with the rocks or blow away with the breeze.
An unknown lover proclaiming “Madan loves Mohini as long as stars are there in the sky” Does he still love her? I wondered.
And somebody requesting to vote for so and so, and small lambs at the summit crying for something.
I used to wonder how they reached there. If they can reach there why can’t I ?
The mountain never answered.
I used to go there to study for my examinations to do home work settling down on a roughly plain surface. It was more often than not an excuse to avoid my crowded house, the dirty streets, and the noisy parks.
Discovering nameless flowers tufts of grass from cracks in the rocks crossing the long straight streaks on the rock ( which I came to know later were drill marks used for detonators ) dipping my feet in the water trapped amidst the rocks.

Sometimes the mountain hid his head in the clouds and sometimes suffocated in the factory smoke. A couple of trees on one shoulder and a huge electric tower on the other fast flowing narrow broke in the front and a fuming pipeline at the back.
The mountain never complained. It was a mute sufferer. It was a humble understanding neighbor to our village. I remember the small dark cave where we used to play act as kings .Sometimes thieves of the mountains and as rishis in meditation depending upon which movie was running in our theatre at that time.
It was decades ago but it is fresh in my memory as if all incidents happened just a few moments back.
The bus stopped with a sudden jerk and I realized I had reached the place. I didn’t want to see my aged parents my caring wife my lovely children or my childhood friends. I craved to see my mountain.
I went to my old school and started searching for my old
Mute friend, my humble neighbor.
Surely he cannot hide behind the clouds today because it is a bright and cloudless sky.
Only smoke and dust hung in the sky. I ignored shouts from behind me and looked for my mute friend.
“Hey you are here!” it was my old school pals now with graying temples and newly acquired bifocals.
The hot wind blew through my hair and whispered something in my ears which I could not understand. I asked my friend about my mountain.
He showed me a small stone not bigger than a tomb stone in a cemetery.
”This is what we left of your friend” said my old school mate. The rest melted in to roads, buildings, factories and some of it migrated to alien countries
I dragged my feet close to the small rock. I wanted to touch it I wanted to feel him. My hands were trembling, my eyes clouded over. I could not read the small green poster somebody has pasted upside-down on the rock.
I cleared my eyes and read the poster.
“Plant a tree before cutting one”.
But…but ..What about a mountain?

First published in Indian Express dt 15 December 1991

r o a d s

2008-08-04T21:12:00.002+05:30

Roads always fascinated me .Narrow or wide muddy or concrete dry or water logged straight or curvaceous , cross roads, dead ends uphill, down hills roads to no where all roads.

I think we need more roads not for connecting different places people etc as the roads are hardly used for locomotion than other purposes.

Come elections we will find posters pasted on floor, slogans and graffiti in different colors languages at important junctions festoons and flags all along the road. And all junctions will became open grounds for meetings forget the commuters inconvenience because roads were never meant for them.

Come Ganesh puja , Ram navami and other seasonal festivals on our roads take in to religious attire and drive in temples in the evening transforms in to walk in theatres .
Now marriage? No hall is available and all are booked? No problem hire few chairs and couple of shamiyanas you can block both sides of road.. Lo ! ! your marriage hall is ready with all infrastructure.
Can anybody imagine a road without foot path shops, vegetable vendors , sharbat waalas, second hand book stalls , ready made cloth hawkers , astrologers. Our roads are getting crowded because too many service people and too less roads.

We don’t hear about servicing centers for buses , trucks ,mini buses, vans and automobile beyond size of car no? Not necessary roads are there one can park on road side and do the cleaning. How convenient!
Children want to play and there are no play grounds now a days we can’t waste land for play grounds while the need of houses, multi storied buildings, housing complexes and shopping plazas. Go to the road you can easily play cricket the pitch is already there , just put the wickets and start playing. That uncle on scooter ? He can wait till the over is over.
There are no drains in your streets you don’t know what to do with waste water don’t be silly…lead the water up to the road it will take its own course. After all who set the courses for all our rivers?

It is summer; house is too small to accommodate all members of family at night and stuffy too? Simple .Draw the cots out to road stare at moonlit starry sky, feel cool breeze and in addition to both have latest film reviews from people coming out of movie halls.
We want to have a small get together or want to take stock of latest fashions or just pass time with your friends select a “busy” road go to a road side ( most of the time he is on the road ) chaatwala you can spend time. Yes you are right, every place in the world cannot have a beach, park, river etc.. We have to live with what we have.

Now live stocks like buff allows, cows etc they are also our family ( I mean mammals )if we cannot find a place for them we can tie them to road side lamp post , telephone post if there are no such poles then it is more convenient we can put a small wooden post where ever we like on the road and tie them they will be very happy and am sure they will show it all over the place.

You are from country side your problem is place to pile your harvest, thrashing the paddy, loading. I understand you need not elaborate why don’t you use roads preferable junctions? Oh you are already using and you want more roads.

No other use came to my mind till recently I read that one woman laborer delivered a child on road in broad day light. I saw quacks medicines doing eye treatment (may be operation) but not delivery.
Do we need any more reasons to ask for more roads??
…………………………………………….

GORSSERY SHOP

2008-07-20T21:48:00.001+05:30

I remember when I used to go to our family grocery shop with my ruled book three pages full of groceries for the month.

I will go only during lunch time because I know our “Shaukar” will always ask me to come that time. .Not only that he can do the job leisurely and I can have plenty of time to go through all old magazines, foreign language news papers , answer papers of some unknown schools not that I can read and understand all but it’s different pleasure to gaze at beautiful photographs and unknown persons like gazing at clouds in the sky.

I liked the place because it is the first place I was introduced to news papers, books with multi colored pictures, advertisements etc. Only one thing I didn’t like was the way he used to tear off the binding covers from the books. It was like tearing off the wings from the bird. But I was too young to explain and he was too old to understand.

It will be interesting the way he used to select a paper for an item square or a rectangle. A news paper or an answer sheet, glossy magazine sheet or just a leaf. To be made in to a cone or flat packet. Still I do not understand his logic behind packing powders in flat packs and cereals etc in conical form.

There were many instances I specifically asked him to use particular pages of a book. And also remember how I used to cut the pictures from the pages and exchange for something special from my class friends.

I used to put all my five senses to find out what is there in which pack and often I used to go wrong except in case of jaggery and tamarind. I wonder how my mother used to tell all correct. And what a suspense it was to see what you guess in the pack and what actually it is. I learnt from my mother how to transfer the contents from the packets to the respective tins. Just lift the conical packet and pinch the bottom and put in to the tin. It is a sight to see the items changing its shape from cone to cylinder and slowly dropping like sand in the sand clock.
It will be a different experience altogether collecting all papers after unpacking, and slowly reading the papers drifting from original job. I used to wonder how some foreign language news papers reached my small town. When ever I ask him he gives only one answer “came by ship”

Now the other exercise collecting the papers so that these can be sold to the same shop keeper for fifty paise and can go to the movie. What a disappointment it used to be when fallen short of some few papers and have to bring back all the papers all the way home and wait for the next month’s grocery list.
What a beautiful way of re circulating the waste.

Now when I see the supermarkets, departmental stores and shopping complexes I see everything is so naked transparent and monotonous hardly one needs five senses to guess what is inside a pack. And after transferring the contents one cannot learn anything from the packing to read, to discuss, to exchange, just throw them out.

MY ALL PURPOSE BAG

2008-07-10T22:33:00.004+05:30

I think it was 25 years ago that I discovered for the first time the joy of carrying a bag to school. I was convinced that I deserve one because I was joining in class 6 and was to go to high school. No more half broken black slate and dog eared mathematics table book. I thought now I must carry nice smelling glossy paged text books. One for each subject. note books , geometry box etc.
After three days rehearsal, I murmured to my father as he was about to leave for office “I want a school bag “
“What for?”
“To carry books”
“Then you need a bag, not a school bag.”
“ No I want a school bag. That Tahasildar’s son brings a school bag,”
I protested. I could not make him understand the difference between a bag and a school bag, and why I wanted one.
“He is a tahasildar’s son,” he said simply and started to his office.
I could not understand the logic. I went in to the kitchen and asked my mother, and started explaining why I needed a school bag. Tentatively it was agreed that for the time being I shall use the bag hanging from the nail on the wall in the kitchen.
It was an over sized khaki colored bag with disproportionately small handles crudely embroidered on one side Hare Rama Hare Krishna , exhibiting my fathers devotion to god and a rising Sun with all his rays ,small and big on the other side.
My mother taught me how to carry it. Insert my arm through the handles of the bag up to my shoulders and tuck the bag under my arm pit.
I liked it in spite of the inconvenience. It was so long it touched my calves. I could not run with my bag when I was late to school. It used to dangle from my shoulders like the hard, heavy stick our milk man used to tie to his cow’s neck to prevent it from bolting.

But the home grown contraption had its uses.
I could carry many things other than just the books, like unripe mangoes and curious looking objects .And in class I could take out the books and spread the bag on the ground, and use it like a mat to sit on the bare earth.
In the evenings my dear little school bag used to serve different purposes; to bring the groceries from the store at the street corner. I could stuff all the provisions required for the coming month and carry them home.
On ration day it could carry provisions like rice , wheat and sugar. If the shop hadn’t opened yet ,the bag used to represent our whole family in the queue (other families used oil cans, kerosene tins and stones )while I played in the street.
On Sundays my school bag transformed itself in to a vegetable bag carrying green leaves, potatoes bananas etc.

Everything went well till my mathematics teacher discovered sugar in some pages , rice in others for which misdemeanor I had either to go out of the class or stand up on the bench. I preferred the former indignity.
After that I tried to refuse to lend my school bag for other purposes. It was not successful. Then again my mother came to my rescue. and gave me a brilliant idea.: turn the bag inside out while using it for shopping !
It worked well.
Nobody found any other use for my school bag for many days. The bag used to play limited roles. Only when the summer holidays began when I had to go to my uncle’s place, did it changed its role and it became “the travel bag” All my clothes were stuffed in to it making it bulge in to an odd shape. The only problem was that I had to carry it with both my hands. No more could I tuck it under my arm.
Now a days I see my children carrying school bags with many compartments, one for the pencils, one for the books, one for the lunch box and so on and slings to hang where ever you want.
Now we have separate shopping bags for my wife for the vegetables one more bag for the provisions. And you cannot imagine carrying clothes in any of them For that only acrylic molded luggage will do.
I pity my children for what they are missing.

17 th November 1991
published in Indian Express (Sunday edition )

L A M P

2008-06-30T20:54:00.004+05:30

illustrations by Author

Like many other things my mother taught me that every evening I should salute him with folded hands and eyes closed. I used to do it religiously without fail every evening .
After some time as my acquaintance grew with him I started greeting him with only a smile and I knew he is smiling back to me.
He may be a sheet of tin few spoons of kerosene and a crude wick made out of used cloth for the others but for me he is friend and mute companion through out the night .He can understand my joys, my anxieties he responds positively to all my feelings, he is just reflection of mine.
He was not more than four inches tall altogether including base flame and smoke but used to illuminate all my text books and note books. I know that he knows what to illuminate and what not to .You may think that I am exaggerating if I say that he never used to create any inconvenient shadows while I read or write.

How grateful he used to be when I cup him with both hands from wind blowing through suddenly opened door .He flutters almost parallel to ground as if he is about to leave the wick and I run to him like a person running to save a drowning child gasping for breath. I watch him with appreciation while he gathers his strength to stand on his feet. When I am confident that he is safe then I slowly take out my palms.
He blushingly says “Thank you”
Some times I play this as a game cupping and removing my palms the way my mother plays with months old child leaving to walk and holding back before falling.

He used to stand steady and bright with all attention while I read my favorite stories haltingly and loud. Running along Oliver twist ,traveling with Gulliver ,adventuring with Mobby Dick even though I don’t understand a single word.

I know he is feeling miserable when he is half bright red fluttering while I am struggling to find answers for some imaginary persons loans and interests, how many people would be required to complete some job in a particular time, when two trains will meet when they start at same time but running at different speeds, I know that he is not enjoying when I am not enjoying.

While I sit on my feet resting my chin on my knees desperately finding answers there are times he touches and caresses my front hair assuring that everything will be alright But my father used to misinterpret that I burnt my hair while napping.
How to explain him?
When I say that I am not well and my father forces me to study every night after dinner at least for two hours he only knows that I am really not well. Because he reflects by half of the usual brightness long column of smoke, coughing and jumping.
But as usual my mother used to misunderstand that “some water got mixed up in kerosene”.
I never liked putting him off in spite of lectures from my father about increase in fuel prices, non availability of essential commodities ,serpentine queues at ration shops , unnecessary burning of precious fuel without reading school books. As per him after dinner lamp need to be used only for reading school books, otherwise put off. But I always reduce the flame to minimum as small as fire fly.
I can see him but nobody can see me. I can reach him but nobody can reach me. He wears a small globe of light around him, while an old blanket myself.
I never liked him without flame. Then he is like body without life.
I used to wonder where the flame goes off when it is blown out.
“Where you want to take it?”
* * * * *

My father asked while I was putting my cone shaped kerosene lamp in my old trunk along with my clothes and books. I was to move to my brother’s place to join high school .I didn’t answer because I know he knows the answer.
“You need not take it all the way there. There in his house you will have electric lamps.”
“In case if necessary…” I murmured.
“They will be having some alternative arrangement. Leave it . It will spoil all the clothes…books.”
“I will remove the kerosene and ….”
“I told you to leave it.” It was final.
Afterwards I haven’t seen him.
I haven’t seen the same warmth, compassion, understanding with those hanging filament lamps. staring at me with the same monotonous indifferent look. Neither I can talk to him nor play with them. I always used to feel these electric lamps are intruders into my world.
Not only electric lamps later in my days I have seen many lamps earthen , brass , oil , gas lanterns…etc but none near to any tin sheet lamp.

Women may be many but mother will be only one.

S H A J H A N P U R -4

2008-06-24T21:08:00.003+05:30

J A G D I S H P U R

A shocking hoarding welcomed me as soon as I stepped out of Lucknow station.
“GARBH PATH SALAH EVAM SAHAYATA Rs.150” Abortion advise and help for Rs.150
I could easily understand what help they are up to. for Rs.150 to kill a future citizen before he / she is born just for 150Rs.
Outside the railway station is full of small stalls and carelessly parked PHATPHATIS and footpaths neatly spread newspapers.
Rikshaw?
Yes
Chaliye.
Bus stand.
I moved towards to rikshaw making my way as the man was leading me.
He opened a lock and removed a big chain.
Why locking a rikshaw? a foolish question.
Chori ho jayega saab.
Phatphati (soorgadi pig vehicle for it’s shape may be) Never stop their engines even while idling making too much of noise and above that to overcome the noise they play stereo tape recorders and above both noises they shout the places the phatphati intends to go.
You can hardly recognize a policeman among the crowd carefully scanning the newspaper.
“This is your bus.”
“Are you sure” another foolish question.
When I will stop asking such foolish questions.
“Yes.”
He picked up the luggage and dumped in to the bus. You can hardly recognize the conductor he does not wear uniform .I stopped looking for him and settled in a vacant seat.
The seats are reserved for people those who never travel in the bus.
MLA & MP’s
Distinguished press reporters
Freedom fighters
I am waiting for others to take their tickets so that I can recognize the conductor.
In the mean time somebody shouted from the front SULTANPUR
He must be the conductor. Two persons got up and made their way to the conductor and paid the money.
I raised and said JAGDISHPUR
He ignored me and shouted SULTANPUR
I was puzzled and for a moment I thought I may be on the wrong bus. Some how I will be always under the impression that I board the wrong bus or train till I confirm from somebody.
“Will it go to Jagdishpur?” I murmured to my fellow passenger. He nodded his head. Thank god.
After issuing the tickets for four more passengers the conductor shouted Jagdishpur. By this time the bus is full with passengers and luggage. I made my way carefully ducking all the people and luggage to the conductor and took the ticket.
So he prefers the long distance passengers first.

The same hoardings were following me till the bus reached the out skirts of Lucknow.
I surveyed the bus body for any notices.
“ Those who are in a hurry please don’t occupy seat.”
“Don’t take any food items from any strangers “good advice . But everybody is a stranger for me. so better not take anything from anybody.

“PHATE GAO”

A small bus stand .
One man in kurta pyjama had golden chains hanging from elbow to the wrist climbed the bus.
He announced the chains are not gold Everybody believed and appreciated his honesty
“Pehan ne keliye sonay se koi come nahi “
“khojanese koi gum nahin “
“Daam panch rupaye se kam nahin.”
He tied one chain to the handle took one pocket knife and started scratching the chain vigorously to show that it is not gold coated.
He distributed one chain for all willing passengers as he won’t charge for seeing.
Everybody is seeing.
He started explaining the complicated process of making the chain from old 20 paise coins.
He stopped his narration looked into all faces.
The engine started all the chains raised towards the “Midas “ and returned..
Without any grumbling the kurta pyjama left the bus boarding into another bus.

Suddenly I turned my face and looked through the window.
One woman both hands missing from arm pits only small pieces extending from torso in place of hands tucked one red plastic mug between toe and the finger and begging for alms.
Nobody cared for her.
She walked towards me and she didn’t ask me probably she knows that the people with pants shirts and cooling glasses will only write and speak but don’t give.
She moved to the window behind me.
No body paid she completed her round and went to the round platform below the Peepal tree.
She went and sat on the platform.
One boy operating a hand boring pump. She called him and raised her leg towards face as if you catch with your hand she caught the mug extended the mug towards the boy for water.
He filled the mug and gave it to her feet. She held the mug with one foot and took some water with another feet and started washing her face and then teeth.
She took a comb and started combing her hair with toes and fingers.
She once again adjusted the bindi with toe (For whom)
The process continued as the boy was feeding with water and there was no desperation or self pity on her face full of contentment.
She is laughing at the jokes of the boy.

There was a sudden urge that I should do something for her.
By this time the bus parked before our bus was removed and bus started moving towards Jagdishpur.

“When will the bus reach Jagdishpur ? “ I asked the fellow passenger.

S H AJ A H A N P U R 3

2008-06-17T13:47:00.006+05:30

Jog .......Jog .............Jog

Have you ever seen clouds on the roads?
Thick black clouds of various sizes and shapes. I have seen them.

That day also as usual I touched the road at 6 a.m. wearing my blue T shirt, blue dotted bermudas and white canvas shoes. I started walking and crossed Head post office entered cantonment area and came to the junction of BOSE road and KARIAPPA road.
I looked for ‘MOTI ’ aurat walking shyly. She has become may be because of ‘Motivation” .I proceeded towards Bose road.
I came across the man in SAFARI suit ill fitting may be he thought the suit is no more suitable for parties at the same time he don’t want to throw it out so he started using for morning walks. He is walking straight and stiff as if he swallowed a seven feet rod and along with his dress he also got starched.
Walking …Walking…
Reached BOSE road and M G road junction.
The old man raised his walking stick to full height and shouted ‘JAI SIYARAM’ I raised my hand and murmured the same.
This is the point normally my warming up ends and I start jogging.

Thud..Thud…Thud..
I looked for sardarji. Yes first I saw his belly and behind the belly the sardar pushing his belly forward. We stared at each other. He must be envying my figure.

Thud..Thud…Thuu..
Now the two bobbed hair madams bright colored cardigan flashy chudidaars matching shawls thrown on their shoulders full with make up at 6 a.m.!!Lazyly
Walking ignoring the outside world and in deep in their world of gossip.

Thud…Thud. .Thud…
Now the novel sardarji. He is novel because instead of walking a dog he chose to walk a deer! young and healthy deer with wide eyes, slim legs small bells tied to each leg.

Thud.. Thud…Thud…
I passed linking road and entered KARIYAPPA road . My left side wide ground unnamed and my right Ramleela ground. I can see live flickering lights of distant city. Young children practicing their KARATE kicks in the fog at Ramleela maidan .

Thud….Thud…Thud..
Now…Now I have seen I could not believe myself. like lazy buffalos crossing the road leisurely pace clouds you may call them fog but big enough to call them clouds were crossing from play ground to Ram leela ground.

I am few feet from them. I am already tired but I want to catch them. I want to be in them. I want to feel them. I don’t want to watch them the way I watched them through an aero plane journey or the way I watch them on TV or in dark cinema hall.

Thud…Thud…Thud…Thud…
I increased my pace. My heart is thumping I am gasping for breath. My 44 year old lungs are hammering my ribs
The clouds are passing towards maidan. I want to catch at least the last cloud but no the last cloud passed to maidans and melted away by sun.

I turned to sun catching my breath.

Babrala 30th November 1995

S H A J A H A N P U R - 2

2008-06-10T21:29:00.005+05:30

B aa r aa t

‘‘Mera piya ghar ayaa o Ramji …Mera piya ghar ayaa …’’.
The sound is in full blast. It is coming from ‘ BABA VISWANATH’’ Mandir
The mandir usually I visit in the evening after the office. Like department stores you will find all the gods of your choice at one place. Siva +Parvati,Ram + Sita , Hanuman+Hanuman Chalisa Durga ,Peepal tree, Neem tree and behind the temple yard SATSANG..You can choose your own favorite god..I don’t put all my eggs in one basket.
Somebody is getting married and Barat is getting ready.
Unlike south here the band party includes one singer invariably playing a casio. He will be mounted on a well decorated mostly swan shaped carriage and pulled by a couple of people.

The singer is in his late teens , with long hair and over used un pressed suit, one hand on casio and the other hand with a mike and no shoes. He sings so fast he will be chasing the other band party consisting of usual group of drummers ( half of them not playing and only gossiping ) a clarinet ,bunch of trumpeters. Everybody is off the keys and following their own tunes, vaguely following the song.

The worst thing is he selects duets to sing that too he changes his tone when it comes to female part of the singing.
The loud speakers all as tall as me. All the musicians are in two rows each one is illuminated by a tube light firmly installed in a flower pot being carried by one person. All the tube lights are connected together with a portable generator mounted on a pull cart and pushed by two persons.

I looked in to the centre crowd as everybody watching for free fun.
Four or five young ladies and few “gentle” men are dancing in their own style but commonly looking in to glowing arc light and video camera.
All are dressed as if they are going to present a fashion show or just out of “ZEE” studios and relaxing while dancing.
DULHA wearing a garland of crisp notes patiently waiting on a GHODI. I could not read his feelings because his face is covered with vertically suspended stripes of garlands. Once in a while he is lifting them to wipe his face with a hand kerchief. There are two more children squeezed on the horse back along with DULHA
It appears they want to get down but no body is bothering about them after mounting them on the horse.
As you move towards the end of the procession you can notice the age of the group is increasing. I reached to the 40 plus year olds. They are “missed the bus” category neither they can dance or just walk. They are waiting anxiously for some body to invite for a dance so that they can politely refuse. They want to do all they couldn’t do normally flashy dresses heavy make up body spray…and they have done.

Now the 50 plus category They maintain a noticeable gap from the other crowd. These people pose as right ladies and gentlemen appropriately dressed but absolutely not concerned about the marriage and talking something not connected with marriage deliberately walking slowly may be blowing their own trumpets.
These people don’t go to video camera and make the V C man to come and cover them.
The whole crowd suddenly stopped. Somebody shouted “BHAANGRAAA” !!!!
The beat has changed to BHANGRA leaving the singer to his own song.
The drummers are frequently changing adjusting their beat to match the dancer’s steps. After all the dancers who are paying the drummers.
The dancers drenched with sweat. not because of dancing because of arc lights everybody want to be in the camera zone crushing each of their feet and there is stampede

One of the dancers took a new 50 rupee note holding between two fingers raised to full height so that everybody can watch.
I am watching the 50 rupee note dancing. One of the trumpet player want to reach the note with one hand while playing with the other.
The note holder raised it further.
The trumpet….jumped to reach. The note…raised it further.
Dance and dust are raising.
It reminded me the master feeding a dog.
The dog standing on hind legs and trying to catch the biscuit.
The act continued for some more time and the master gave the biscuit and the dog got it.
Both are happy, the master and the dog.
"AKHIYAA MILAAV ….KABHI AKHIYAAN CHURAO …… "
BARAAT moved.
I waited till generator pushers the last of the baraat took the last puff of the beedi and .thrown in the temple yard and moved out of temple.
We both sighed with a relief.
The other is Lord Shiva.
Babrala 04-12-1995j

Shajahanpur-1

2008-06-04T00:07:00.002+05:30

Shajahanpur-1

It was around 8 p.m. when "Kasiviswanath” came to a halt at Shajahanpur.
Station was completely dark but for small lamps the tea and cigarettes vendors were carrying with them.

I picked up my baggage and surveyed both ends and put my best foot down. Suddenly I jumped sideways as I stepped on a six feet bundle of human form. Self consciously I surveyed all sides whether anybody noticed my jumping act. I am, not sure whether anybody noticed because it was so dark.

I did not dare to have a second look on the bundle because I am sure it must be a CORPSE. Even though it was ten years old the last incident is so fresh I could recollect every detail of it.

It was in Bongaigaon railway station I saw a series of corpses packed in jute bags, revealing only the face ,tags with numbers tied on foreheads, seven feet posts lying on bodies wrists and feet tied to the posts for easy carriage. Those were the Bihari laborers traveling on train roof and hit by a bridge while the train was passing through the bridge. Then also the time was almost same and the platform was badly illuminated.

I came out through the immediate exit gate outside also equally dark. Only by looking at the sky you can understand whether you are inside or outside. No auto rikshaws are too small and the whole body is inclined towards the driver, making you to take and odd posture.

Suddenly I noticed two ordinary looking people slinging their guns to shoulders clapping their khaini. They are not looking like criminals but for their guns, they may be two rikshaw pullers gossiping and sharing their khaini.

Now I got one more reason to confirm that the bundle I have seen must be some corpse only.
I clanged my bag close to my body and held my breath till my rikshaw slowly crossed the two gunmen.

Suddenly I saw one more bundle loaded in a rikshaw and one gunman sporting his foot on the bundle, smoking his beedi and swinging along the rikshaw approaching us.
Is it another corpse? Do people kill for sport the way in earlier days maharajas shikaris used to shoot tigers and take photographs posing with the gun and the dead tiger?

Wh…Wh…What is that ? I stammered to my first acquaintance. He had a look at what I am shouting and said “Kallen” He continued pedaling. To my limited Hindi vocabulary Kaleen means blackish I could not make out what he is saying.

“Kaleen means what ?” Kaleen means Kaleen he answered in a matter of fact tone.
I could not pursue further as I reached my hotel.

Next day as soon as introductions are over I asked my colleague “What is a Kaleen”?
With an astonishing look he asked “so you want to buy one”
Thank god it is a commodity.

Whoever comes to Shajahanpur wants buy one. Normally available in 6” 4”and 6” 9”of course you can also order to your choice. They are better that other carpets available elsewhere for the price .tomorrow we can go to Lal Imli Chowrah and visit Vakeel saab’s ware house……..” he continued.
I sighed with relief.

SNAKE AND SELF AWARENESS

2008-05-28T07:05:00.003+05:30

Nagamani was very depressed and upset because her husband Nagaraj is not in his own self since seven to ten days

By the way Nagamani and Nagaraj are both snakes.

Nagaraj stopped going out of the pit and he is not as aggressive as a cobra should be. None of the human beings are scared of him .even children started playing with him as if he is a rope .He has become a laughing stock among other snakes.
Nagamani couldn’t raise her hood with shame and other inferior snakes also started playing jokes with him even comparing with an earth worm.

But nothing bothered Nagaraj . He even stopped hunting.
Nagamani has to do all pithold (House hold ) work and also get food for the "hole " family. Earlier she used only to help him but now the whole burden fallen on her body.(Snakes do not have shoulders.)in addition to her husband she has one young son named Phani who is getting spoiled as he is no more respects his father and started swinging his tail too much.

Once or twice Nagamani threatened that she will leave the pit and go to her maiden pit.
But Nagaraj was unperturbed. when ever she raised the topic he said some thing like "who am I to control you ? be aware of yourself. Everything will be alright. " She could not make head or tail of the statement.

She remembered the earliar days when both used to go out in to the fields and all the other snakes used to bite each others eyes (Snakes eyes and ears are same)What a nice pair! Both used to hunt late till night and don’t know how days and nights passed. And how she can forget those full moon days…

"Are you alight beti?I am watching you since half hour and you are lost some where”
She was thrilled to hear the voice. It is her father. Coiled and raising his hood standing before her.
"Bap..o…o..oo” she came crawling to his father and kept her head in his coils and started weeping.
Bapu waited still she composed herself.

“Have this indoor hi kheer.” Your mother specially made for you. You are fond of it. Isn’t it ?He took a big fat rat and mouthed it over to her.

"Must be from the paddy fields of the village.Othervise where one can get such a rat ?In this town we are adjusting with little mice. The last rat I ate was probably at "Su-rat” When your grandson Phani asks me Maa what is a rat I couldn’t show one. How days are changing! "

“Now tell me what is the problem? Why did you send the urgent message through Python Pythogorous”Bapu asked slowly after washing his tail and face getting ready for the meal.
"It is your Daamaad Nagaraj, of late he is behaving differently does not show any snaken Equivalent to human)qualities.not aggressive no biting no hunting just goes out of the pit and lies like a rope.

“As a father I should not ask you but situation calls for it ..."Bapu hesitated and asked "any affair with any nagin..?

"No..No.No.He is not that type.In fact lot of others are after him but he no..
Bapu kept quite.
Phani the son entered the pit hissing a latest hindi tune.
"Go and touch your dadaaji’s feet."

"Oh if one or two feet I can touch but he got thousand feet how can I touch? "Phani asked arrogantly.
"You started behaving like those mean humans. I am going to split your tongue ".mother was furious.
"Oh our tongues are already split. You cannot split further." Phani continued.

"Bapu you have seen what he is saying?I know the reason behind all his behaviour.He started watching all those hindi movies .Like a thief he goes through the hole in the wall and watches films like NAGA PANCHAMI, NAGA MAHIMA , NAGA KANYA, ….he won’t leave a single film where there is a snake. and fantasizes doing snakenly impossible tasks like driving a car playing guitar handling revolvers kissing the heroine .Chee..Chee..Chee.

Now he wants to be in films.You remember bapu the fit for nothing boy from our pitlet (=hamlet)who ran away to Bombay and joined films changing his name to Nagesh, recently came here for outdoor shooting and he filled Phani’s eyes with all those luxuries like A.C. cars ,mixing with great stars, fighting with villains ,eating Indoories (Tandoori Rat ) etc. no need for hunting .everything is arranged on a platter.

And he is going to Holly wood soon where he can get an award as in our country there are no special awards for animal actors .I am sure he can go to Hollywood only as a snake skin but not as a snake.

I told this boy thousand times listen beta you forget all this .even though he travels in A.C.cars he can not come out of the basket all his life. He has to slog in the .He cannot enjoy the freedom we are enjoying There are enough of our people wanted to become film snakanalities ( =personalities )and fallen in to the hands of saperas and dancing to the filmy tunes of been in parks.,beaches, road sides melas forgetting their values.

What is our parampara ?Remember our fore fathers ADISESHU he was the bed of none other that Maha vishnu.VASUKI was selected for the task of churning ksheerasagar KALIY the king bhagavan Sri Krishna only could conquer him.
I am not getting his name but he always stayed around Shiva’s neck…understand Shiva’s neck.These human beings couldn’t reach even to his feet inspite of thousands of years of tapasya and you being from a king kobra family forgetting all values …..
emotion choked her voice and couldn’t continue further.

“Look open your eyes and listen from tomorrow onwards all your cinema goings stop . Say hiss or no . Nagamani is determined.

Phani didn’t answer.

"Let him go .Go betay and play but remember to return to pit in time." Bapu told to Phani

Bapu heard all words his daughter did not tell and got the whole picture.
Now he understood why his daughter sent such an urgent message.

“Since when our daamad started changing ?" he asked thoughtfully.
"I cannot say exactly but may be seven to ten days… "
"Did you find any change in his routine before or during the period? "
"No..Hiss..Hisss…for three days he used to go in the morning and come in evening and while coming he used to bring a lot of papers .They are there in the corner. "
"I here…" scratching his head with his tail he asked are there any words during conversation which he did not use earlier some key words..
"Hiss…something like self ..Role. .values. reactive. .proactive.. "
"Enough.. enough understood .Everything will be alright. Where are those papers he used to bring ?I have to read them. to night And Haaa.. tomorrow we are leaving for Delhi .Keep yourself and damaad sab ready."

* * * * * * * * *

The door bell rang in Mr Mehta’s home in early morning .

Mehta completed his morning walk and going through the news papers with tea.

"Coming just a minute. ".He walked to the door and opened the door..
He was stunned to see three snakes suddenly raised their hoods and greeted him. Mehta was about to shout for help.
"No Mehta saab Don’t get shocked. We came here a long way in need of your help" Bapu told.
"Oh I see ! ..Then you could have just crept in "
"We are not creeps. We too have some manners. "Nagamani shot back offended.
"No..No..I didn’t mean it.. "
"Now. She is my daughter Nagamani he is my son in law. Nagaraj.He has attended one of your self awareness and effectiveness program and since then he changed a lot. "
"Is it not good? "
"What is good..He is not at all behaving like a ….."She could not complete.
" Saampl….Samph …kehado what you want to say." Mehta loosing his cool.
"Oh You keep quite beti. I will explain him " and Bapu explained in detail regarding attending the programme .Post program behaviour.

"Now I understood the problem.Your son in law took the whole thing with different perception .Look Nagaraj... yes I told you to be aware of yourself your role on earth, how we have to live with each other. SRUSHTI, STITI, LAYA etc.and I also told that you should pry only on the animals you have legitimately live and not to bite the human being whom you want to be liked.But I never said to completely to surrender.

I stopped you from indiscriminate biting but not from scaring or frightening. Are you clear? Self perception is most important.
Nagaraj suddenly realized "Yes he didn’t prevent me from scaring whom I want to scare. Choice is mine. I have to change myself not others. Come on Mani..let us go.Thank you Mr.Mehta."

Mani surprised at his attitude and tears rolled from her ears.
"You carry on I don’t want to come in between you. My job is over. You can take charge of your son Phani ".Bapu told the couple and watched them going twisting each other in a new world.

"Now Mehta saab in fact I have attended the same program long time back when Mr.Luther was conducting and I could have handled it. But I thought the feed back should come at proper place..proper time…from proper person. You are the right person .Keep doing the good job for the snakanity.(humanity)

And Bapu slowly crawled out.