Pigeons, Dogs and Delhiites

Nowadays fluttering pigeons at the backdrop of a modern Metro is becoming the hallmark of Delhi.  I live about a few kilometers from one of these spots, and I always see pigeons well fed by by-passers.  It appears that they feel something good will happen to them if they feed the pigeons.  Its all feels good and looks nice.  But some of Delhiites park their cars on the road, blocking traffic to feed the pigeons.  How ignorant these people are?

But the pigeons I want to write about are the Delhites themselves.  Almost everyone I know in Delhi, live in a flat, and these flats are like pigeon-holes.  Almost all the flats are four storeyed, some families occupy more than one storey, but most live in a single storey.  Like pigeons, they come out in the morning, and get back in when sun set.   In between, you may see some of them on their balconies, most 5 m by 2 m.  Well, there is not much of choice in Delhi, the land is premium here.  I too live in a flat like the rest of them, so I am a pigeon too.

My problem is with those  who have pets, specially dogs, in these pigeon holes.  Just imagine an animal, confined to a flat, often a 5 m by 2 m balcony all day.  To me is like they are being punished, for no fault of theirs.  Although, their owners would claim that they are kind to the animals and so on.  But my real problem is with these Delhiites, who bring their dogs for a 'walk' essentially for the dogs to relieve themselves.  The dogs invariably, always liter on the streets.  This is on top of all the filth and garbage that accumulate on the street.  This is just filthy, and it appears it doesn't bother anyone but me.

I remember in the eighties, New York Mayor, Ed Koch, fined those walkers when their dogs littered, unless they clean the mess immediately.  I do not think it is likely such a measure would be imposed in Delhi.

So, I just have to put up with the pigeons and the dogs......

Reminders of Ageing

Every day we age, but we are not conscious about it, unless something, someone reminds you about it.  Today, I checked my ''real age" today on a website:  realage.com.  I am 58.1 years old, 2.8 years younger than my calendar age, so, I feel good, despite being obese.  

 

My childhood on-wards, I am  an Anna (elder brother), I have two younger brothers and three younger sisters.  Around 18, I was called a ‘Master’, because, I did some private tutoring to kids in the neighborhood.  At 24, I was called a ‘Sir’, why not, I am now an Assistant Lecturer at a University.  I did not think these salutations had anything to do with my age.  They were about what I did or who I was. So, none of these made me feel that I was getting old.  

Then the thunder struck.  At 26, I was at a super market in Texas.  I was not used to supermarkets in Sri Lanka.  We did not have them those days.  I needed some help.  I walked to a young shop attendant and sought help.  She was probably not the right person to answer my query, but she wanted to help.  She had to call for her supervisor to help me on their PABX.  She announced to the world that a ‘Man’, needs help at aisle whatever.  The young boy inside me was killed instantly, and a man was born.

Years went by, my friends had children, who would call me an Uncle, that’s OK, and they were only 3 or 4.  Then I had kids, who call me dad.  Its a pure joy.  

 

Life went on till 50, my salutations were recycled as I changed jobs, till I was in a bus in Coimbatore, India.  I was not steady, because of rapid accelerations and breakings.  An old man – well that’s what I thought – got up from his seat, and said, Periyannai – ithile irungo (Elder brother, please sit here), in typical Coimbatore Tamil.  That was very kind, but I am now an elder brother of someone almost my age.  Not a good feeling.  A few years ago, in a Delhi Bus, a man almost my age – well may be a few years younger, called be Bapu – Father, and offered his seat.  Days and months passed by, I became used to being called chacha (Uncle) or a Bapu, in Delhi.  I smiled and accepted their greetings.  

Everything changed when I traveled by a suburban train in Sydney, only a few months ago.

 

I sat in front of a couple, whom I readily recognized as South Asians.  They were about my age, I thought.  The man smiled, I reciprocated.  He then initiated a conversation in broken-English.  Now I know that they are from Pakistan, own a jewelry shop, travel to different countries each year.  They knew that I am from Sri Lanka, but settled in Sydney.  

He wanted to know more about me, and asked for my age.  I said I am 61.  Mashah-Allah, (an Arabic phrase that expresses appreciation, joy, praise, or thankfulness to God), he said and paused.  Then he completed his response by saying that in Pakistan, that I would have been dead by now (or something to that effect expressed in words and gesture of being dead).  I did not know how to react.  But more and more I think about it, I think I should be grateful for being alive and in a reasonable health.

Is ageing such a bad thing?  We get tired quickly as we grow older, and we are more and more impatient, I think.  We are set in our ways, and have difficulties making adjustments to others around.  Younger ones – my siblings, students, subordinates, who looked up to me and sought guidance, do not need me anymore.  Thank God, they can take care of themselves.  Their priorities and needs have changed.  That’s the way it should be.  Still at times my ego is hurt because I feel ignored, I must admit.  Then I talk myself out it.

Recently, after meeting with two childhood friends after 35 years or so, I feel ageing is not bad after all.  If I was able to do many things when I was young and was  happy doing them, I am now able to recollect those fun-filled days and again be happy.  So, as I aged, I am glad that I have accumulated many pleasant memories.  They include various reminders I received as I aged.  

NIMBY Diwali

In the late seventies, the acronym NIMBY, Not In My BackYard came to fore.  I just witnessed what it meant in real world.

This is my second year in a row celebrating Diwali in Delhi.  Delhiites really put out a great show.  Houses decorated with running bulbs, and all sorts of decorations.  Some even hire professionals to decorate their homes.  A walk through the suburban streets at night is a treat, but, its really not safe.  There are firecrackers, loud and very loud everywhere.  Last year Delhiites spent one crore rupees on fireworks on Diwali.  Beautiful rockets and all sorts of fireworks.  So, the safest place is to be on your own balcony.

But there is a problem, no one wants crackers lit n front of their house.  As I watched a young man try to set a cracker on the road, the woman lives in the flat above me shouts - not here go forward, I do not like the smoke.  Then she coughs.  The young man obliges and move his anchor forward.  Guess what, the man from the opposite balcony yells, not here my boy, my new car is parked here.  The frustrated boy puts his head down.  Remove the anchor and gets into his house.  I wondered why he would not light it in front of his own flat.  May be elders in his home told him not to do that.

About 15 minutes later, on lookers from both balconies have gone, except me, I see the boy coming out of his flat with his father.  Puts the firecracker just where he wanted in the first place, as the father provides cover for the operation.  Well  he need not.  There weren't anyone to protest.  But the whole thing ends in anti-climax.  The firecracker fizzled!

Mrs Murieal Fernando’s Cabin - Where Winners are born

I set my eyes by-passing a palm tree on the ship that was receding into the horizon.  I was sitting on a plastic chair, a big one, generously arranged by Mrs. Murieal, the owner of the cabin.  This is a cottage with palm leave roof on Mount Lavinya Beach.   It has a verandah with beach sand as floor, and a few cubicles, face open to the sea providing absolute (well almost) privacy if one, I meant a couple, want.

Mrs. Murieal was sitting in a similar comfortable chair reading an English newspaper.  She sits like a matriarch, there were three young men waiting for her call or instructions.  She fielded one of them to attend to my needs – I needed Arrack, which is not available.  No worries, a phone call arranges the delivery of the Arrack bottle.  She is willing for a brief chat, and I reveal to her that I am from Jaffna, but working in in Delhi.  All is well.

As I sipped my way into abyss, I could not help watching her customers. 

A tall white man walks in after a dip, he was wearing undies- which cover his genitals, but a good art of his ass was exposed.  He is wearing a flip-flopper (we used to call it a sandal), and a baseball cap.  As soon as he gets in a chair and a short table was arranged, one of the young men brings him a brand new note book.  He checks an old note book and starts to write.  Possibly he is writing a journal.  He was there for about half an hour and then left.  Before he left, he instructed that one of his friend is coming.

Another middle age white man came, he was wearing proper swimmers, flip floppers, baseball cap, and he sit and waits.  Then come three young boys to meet him.  They speak to him in broken English, the man checks their age, I heard one saying seventeen.  The man orders coca cola, boys felt treated well, then all walk into the sea, to have fun?!  I could not help thinking that the man is a pedophile; and come to think of it, both were.

This is happening in front of Mrs. Murieal, and she is oblivious to her surrounds and keeping busy reading her newspapers.

Now comes a SL man with his friends and a son.  He gives Mrs. Muriel a big hug, calls her Mom, and introduces his son, of twenty or so years.  I continue my travel to abyss, when I hear him saying, this must be a Tamil gentleman sitting in front.  I straightened myself, turned the chair towards him and said, yes.  Conversation continued, I said the same thing about myself to this man, he said he too is a Tamil from Nallur, a nephew of GG Ponnambalam, had a heart attack, had a by-pass, he is 62, married to a Sinhalese lady, he used to be a sailor, the son wants to play club cricket, and he is trying out in Sri Lanka.   Then he invited me for a drink at his hotel room, I politely declined, and then he left. 

Why am I reflecting on these people?  What do they all have in common? 

All three are from the west, and I think by any standards, all a bunch of losers in the west.  They have a few dollars which convert into a lot of LKR.  So, with that, in Mrs Muriell’s cabin, they are winners.  That’s the magic a thatched roof cabin in SL has!

Religious Madness

We all know that there many cruelties justified in the name of God.  Israelis can subhumanise the Palestinians, Taliban can shoot a young girl wants to be educated.  These are incidents catch peoples' attention.  But then there are many, no one knows about.

This happened to me in 2004 in Oman.  I took my daughter of three years to a barber who got mad at my request that I expected him to cut a female child's hair.  This illiterate man scolded me in Bengali, and I had no idea why he was upset about.  Then, there were a few more Bengali stared at me as if I have committed a sin.  I left the saloon.  That was the safest thing for me and my daughter.

Till now, I haven't figured out why, but I am assuming that they were mad at me because I have offended their religious sensitivities during Ramadan month.  If that's the case, they may have pleased their God, but I am sure mine felt sorry for them, and advised me that I should forgive them.

Today is Duserra, the day Goddess Durga defeated Mahimasura, the demon king.  That is for most Hindus, but for a significant part of them it is the day Lord Rama defeated another demon King, Ravana.  Today I went to a part of Delhi, which celebrates Goddes Durga.  Last year I went to another part of Delhi, which celebrated Rama.  Huge effigies of Ravana were lit up with electronically controlled fireworks, which also followed by huge fireworks to end the celebration.

This time I witnessed, as a part of the celebration, Durga statues of various sizes were brought in by devotees to the banks of River Yamuna, and then the idols were drowned in water.  Pilgrims then chant praises to Durga and went home.  Literally thousands of statues would have been brought and drowned by the end of the day.  I saw a dozen of them within 15 minutes.

A digressive tale about Angel Yamuna.  Yamuna and her two relatives - Angels Saraswati and Ganga - had a quarrel, and were banished to earth to become rivers.  They were cursed that they should wash away sins of sinners.  Sarawati, had a lighter sentence, that she will not be seen by anyone.  So, she is considerd an 'underground river'.  All three were to meet at 'Triveni Sangam', near Allahabad, and then flow into the Bay of Bengal.  There too, they were required to wash the sins of a king, whose location was not known.  So, Ganges got divided into many small rivulets, before it discharges into the Bay.

Now back to Yamuna.  I am not sure if it was due to the curse or not, near Delhi, it is just a sewer.  Everything from 21 million Delhiwalas drain into this.  Its filthy, smelly and unhygienic.  Yet, the devotees drown their idols, swim in it, and have fun splashing water at each other.

Drowing of statues and all other organic wastes with it will increase the BOD, eutrophise the river. 

What a madness in the name of GOD!.

Stay away from MMIA Lagos

Murtala Mohammed International Airport, Lagos, Nigeria, is a place to be avoided, if you can.  I just came through that, and I will try my best to avoid this in future.  I was checked 12 times from the time I arrived at the airport till the plane departed.  Here's the sequence of checks.

1. My luggage was checked
2. My passport and visas were checked
3. My passport was scanned
4. I checked in and got my boarding passes.
5. I got through the emigration
6. I got through a metal detector
7. I was frisked
8. My boarding pass was checked
9. My visas were checked
10. I was frisked again
11. When I was about to sit on my seat, someone was waiting to check my passport again.

Thank God that was the end of it.  Nigeria is notorious for various frauds, scams and crime, and yes, they have to be vigilante.  What they are not is being professional about it.

I am going to avoid this airport in future, and I advise that you too.

One Birth Multiple Deaths

I am a Hindu by birth.  Like almost everyone in the world I did not choose my religion, I was born into it.  Many do not understand this, so, they talk about why their religion is better, and others' are not.

I never spent time learning about Hinduism either.  I studied this as a subject at school till year 10 (or year 8), mostly about miracles GOD has performed, and memorise slogans and verses which praised the GOD and sought a favour from Him.  Till now I believe in God, and the only way I could pray is by reciting verses I learnt.  Although I had been to Churches, and Budhist temples, I am comfortable in a Hindu temple.

Although often I felt the need to learn about my religion, it was never on top of my priority list.  Once I found Rig Veda at an airport shop, bought it, but could not go beyond a few pages.  It was HEAVY stuff.  Then I found another book on Hinduism, which had one liners per page about Hindusim, and that was much easier to comprehend.  Two things I remember from that book, (1) A sin is an act that I commit, against my own conscious, and (2) when we leave, we leave our name alone.

I wanted to write about the second one here.  In my case I have left five countries, three educational institutions, and three jobs.  I would have interacted with thousands, neighbors, teachers, students, colleagues, and they all will remember me in many different ways.  When their memory of me fade, I will die, whether I am physically dead or not.  I will have thousands of deaths.  The person who lost his job because of me, will remember me as an evil, and the guy who got promoted based on my recommendation, will remember me with respect.  The first one will never admit that he lost his job because of his poor performance.

So, even well after my death, I will be remembered by a few, but for a long time.  It could be my grand kid.  I hope the last person to remember me, remembers something positive about me!

Good Afternoon on my 58th

I turned 58 today.  Went to a Temple nearby, essentially thanked God for what He has provided me over the years, had my breakfast, and then wanted to do something that I wanted to do.  I decided to take the train from Colombo and travel to Galle along the caost of Sri Lanka.  That was not a smart decison to travel by train.  I have forgotten what SL train voyage could be.  Although I had a second class ticket, there were no seats when I got in.  I stood for an hour, then sat for an hour and reached Hikkaduwa, a popular beach, not just for the tourists, but for the locals as well.

As I walked along the coastal street, a sign displaying 'Co-op Beer Garden and Restraurant' caught my attention.  A cooperative beer garden?  Isn't that some thing unusual?  I decided to go in.  The walkway led me to the beach, and there were hundreds of people, all local.  Almost all possible seats were taken, people enjoying a swim, a drink and then of course the songs.

I caught the attention of a waiter, and asked for a seat.  He was not sure what to do, then brought a table, a table cloth and a chair, and arranged a makeshift seat under a Teak tree.  That was good.  The humidity demanded that I must have a beer, I ordered one, start to gulp, and then looked around.

Among the groups which were partying there was a group of about 20-25, almost every other person looked Autistic.  No one was bothering them and they were not shy either.  They walked about where ever they wanted to go, ordered whatever they wanted, ate, and sang.  Just like anyone else.  I reflected on my childhood days in Jaffna, when kids with autism were avoided, sometimes teased in cruel manner, and mostly left on their own.  What I was witnessing was a sign of the society's maturity.

As I pondered over what I was watching, a man from the group, plus or minus a few years to my age, he did not look autistic, went past me.  We made eye contact, and he said Good Afternoon with a smile. 

Yes it was indeed a GOOD AFTERNOON, so, I humbly acknowledged and wished him the same.

Zewdu The Waiter

I spent the last eight days in Addis Ababa, stayed in a hostel on-campus.  Zewdu is a waiter at the cafetaria, always with a waistcoat matching his pants, well knotted tie, chef's cap, and a name badge.  He must had been trained by someone western to dress up.

I think his memory is like a sieve.  Nothing stays there.  He will ask what I will have for breakfast, I will say fried eggs, he will take two steps, and forget about it, and loiter.  Then I will call him again, he will attend to me politely, hands held back, standing smart and he will take my order again.  Then you know what happens.  Initially it was a bit annoying, but, then I got used to it.

At times he will come to me voluntarily, and ask if I need anything.  If I say nothing, then he will protest by saying, remember, we are your family here and you must allow me to take care of you.  It was nice.  I saw him saying the same to many people.  He wanted to be hospitable.

One day, I called him, 'Zewdu', and he liked my pronounciation and the tone.  It had a bit of friendship and authority.  He stopped and smiled.  Then he said that my pronounciation was perfect.  He then went on to say, that Zewdu means a Crown in his tribal language.  He was born at the time when a King was crowned.  It must be Halie Salazzie.  His father worked at the palace at that time of his birth, and named him, CROWN (Zewdu).

It was at the workshop dinner, he taught me how to drink.  I ordered a glass of wine, he came with a bottle of beer, and a glass of wine.  I told him that I did not want the beer, for that he said, drink the beer first, that's for thirst, then drink the wine with the food for digestion.  He had it all worked out. I obliged.

I will not remember the food at the cafetaria, it was boring, but will remember Zewdu.

Back to Blogger fromAddis

I haven't been blogging, not that I did not have something memorable to write, but was busy, sick or lazy.  Today, I am in Addis Ababa, and I have time (TV in the room is not working).

As we landed, it was around 6 AM, the landscape looked very neatly laid.  Its a hill country, and I did not see any soil conservation measures to check erosion.  But it looked nice.  Moral is just because things looks good, things are not OK.

There is only one word to describe the weather here, beautiful.  The driver said its a bit warm here, he was warning about temperatures reaching mid 20s.

I am staying at the ILRI campus.  This is another sister institute within CGIAR.  I have been to similar campuses of IRRI, CIMMYT and ICRISAT.  They are all good, well  maintained, and a real professional working environment.  IWMI's one is not great, but not bad.  I can only envy the visionaries who have set up such beautiful campuses for the benefit of the poor.

I remember reading that people from the horn of Africa are the most beautiful, and I have to agree with that statement.  They look nice, rarely overweight, dressed neatly, AND, they look beautiful.

I haven't been around today, slept, replied to emails, met some office colleagues.  But I must make use of the weekend to see Addis/Ethiopia.

What will make me quit?

I had been on the move since the 6th of March, and today is 18th April.  I will return to Delhi only on the 29th April.  In between 22 flights in total.  I am just tired.  I ended up going to a doctor yesterday to get some antibiotics, cough mixture and paracetamol.  I wonder why I do this?

I recall an essay by an American journalist commenting on Rick Santorum's decision to run for presidency, despite seven kids, one of them very badly ailing.  The columninst asks rhetorically, does he really have to do this?  Then why is she doing this? And she concludes that it is a personal obsession with the position made him run.  Last week he pulled out, fearing that he will lose his home state primary.

So, what will make me quit?

Genius of Human Brain Vs Nature

If anyone wants to see how man has challenegd nature and getting away, they should visit South-western Bangladesh, especially the polders near Sundar Bon (Beautiful Forest).  During the 60's and 70's, what was then East Pakistan, with the help of Americans built 4000 km of embankment, comprising 92 polders, along the coast of Bay of Bengal.  These structures are supporting a poulation density of 900 people per sq km.  In comparison, Sri Lanka has a population density of 300, and it is considered crowded.  The polders have kept sea water intrusion away, depite tidal movement of rivers, up to 5 m up and down, twice a day.

I was fortunate to be there in March, well ahead of monsoons, and well after monsoons.  I am told that that the whole area is under water from August till October, houses kept well above water on pillars.  When I visited, everything looked luscious and green.  Beautifully laid rice bays intermimgled with ghers where freshwater fish and shrimp were grown.

To my surprise, the school children looked healthy, and happy, on their way to and from school.

I was warned, that in a few months, another cyclone may come, destroy everything, often just before harvest.  BUT, I am also told, that people will stay back and rebuild.

It was all big pleasant surprise to me, a person, who folllowed the independence war of Bangladesh very closely, and always felt sorry for a nation, which does not need my sympathies.

Way to go Bangladesh!

Colombo undergoes a facelift

Recently I was in Colombo, and I could see a sea of difference,  It was CLEAN, green and beautiful.  It turns out that the president's brother is in charge of urban development.  He being in-charge of the Military, the Military is also supporting the drive to beautify Colombo.  Although I have not been to other cities of Sri Lanka, I am told similar changes are in place there too. 

Another thing I was happy about was, people are on street even around 9 PM, without the fear of being mugged or harassed.  Street cafes at Galle Face green were crowded, women with plenty of jewelry, sitting enjoying the breeze from the sea. 

Now that there are hardly any military check points, I think Colombo offers a very good value for money for many tourists.

Very Good.

Leadership - A disagreement

Once I worked with a Russian colleague, who did not believe in 'Leadership'.  He argued that it is what the workers do is important.  He did not think that the direction set by 'leadership' is a pre-requisite for workers to perform. 

There is a leadership change in my current organisation.  The new 'Boss' wants to address a type of problem, we have never done it in the past 27 years of existence.  But it will be done, because 'he' thinks it's a niche where we could make a serious contribution.

I think leaders are essential part of any organisation to direct changes in a positive manner.  Else, well meaning workers will start to drift, and the organisation will disintegrate with time.  There will be a few who will deliver what they want is inportant, but all the fews will not make a whole, because there has been no design for a whole.

Back to my Russian colleague, he is the only person I have met held such a view. Often wondered why he thought so, was it just to have an argument, or he really meant it.

Someone Missed Me in Delhi

I was away for eight days on an official travel, and got back this weekend.  Before I left, I gave my clothes for washing to a family which runs a laundry on the street.  They have a shed, a mobile phone number, I call them, someone will come and collect clothes and return when ready.

This family seems very young, the mother may be in her fifties, then there are a half dozen of girls agees between 15 and 25, two young men, possibly in their 20's, two little boys, the first one is 13, and the other is younger.  If there anymore, I have not seen them.

I could hardly communicate with them, a few words in Hindi, at times incorrectly used, and they know a few words in English.  Once I owed them six ruppess, the boy did not know how to say six in English, and to put him out of misery, I asked him is it 20 rs in Hindi.  He nodded, and I paid.  This is only 40 US cents, so not worth worrying about, but a good story on 'Lost in Translation'.

Back to the main story, the family was looking for me for two weeks, and today the teenage girl saw me on the street.  She started yelling at me in Hindi, calling me uncle, and wanted to know where I went.  Well, someone in Delhi missed me!

Maha Sivarathri - Now and then.

When I was a teenager, when Maha Sivarathris came and went, I have had very little memories.  We tried very hard to stay up all night, but usually went to sleep by mid night.  The next day, I will hear tales from my unruly friends about how they stayed up all night watching a third show movie (from 1 AM till whenever..).

Today is Mahasivarathri, and I am watching TV in India.  There are more than one channel, usually sponsored by a GOD's Men, - including the one who founded the Art of Living, and the one who founded the Isha foundation.  Plenty of bajans, music was mesmerizing, muscians were usually westerneres, shave heads-saffron clad - drummers, flutists, you name it.  They were all GOOD.  Stars like Hariharan trying to promote or endorse a CD.

A few hours ago, I went to a Siva Temple, the priest was in the Sanctum, gossiping with one of his visitors.  When the visitor left, he came for a walk about.  A middle aged woman wanted to touch his feet and receive his blessings.  Then he went back to the Sanctuom, leaned on the wall, and started to read a book of slogans - noone was paying attention to him, but it did not bother hime either.

I am unable to comprehend all these things!

Can anyone feel lonely in Delhi?

This is my first blog ever.  I just did not know how to do it, and did not have the time to figure it out. 

I came to Delhi on the 1st October 2011, and it is 4.5 months since I moved to Delhi.  This is a city of 13 million, and if you include the satellite cities, the population is over 20 million.  So, how can I be lonely.  Well, that's how I feel most of the time.  My wife and kids live far away, we meet three times a year, and spend about 10 weeks a year together.  Not good enough.  People I work with are locals - Delhites with families and plenty of friends, and I live in a flat not well suited for partying.  So, there you go.  I am lonely in Delhi.

So I will post blogs from now on.