Hemantha Kalam - 11 'A Paean to 12B'

Hemantha Kalam - 11 'A Paean to 12B'

Hemantha Kalam

Kalam - 11

'A Paean to 12B'

Today is 'New Year' and as is wont of me I spent time in introspecting on who I am, Why I am, What I am, Where I am and Where I am likely to go from here. During this storming, I was also fondly remembering the contributors to my present status and I am glad to acknowledge that one major contributor to my growth or otherwise, has been the bus-route number 12B.

I do not clearly remember when I took my first ride on a bus. I guess it must be somewhere in between 1960 & 1961 and I remember taking a bus from the Vani Mahal Bus Stop on Gopathi Narayanaswamy Chetty Road (G.N. Chetty Road) in T. Nagar to Panagal Park in T. Nagar-just one bus stop in between. The fare was Rs.0.07 (7 Naya Paisa).

There is a little explanation for this Naya Paisa business. The earlier coinage in India was something like Paisa, Kaani, Chillu Kaani (Kaani with a hole), Dammidi, Artha Anaa (Half Anaa-Three Paisa), Anaa (6 Paisa), Beda (12 Paisa), Paavalaa (1/4 of a Rupee/ Four Anaas / Rs.0.25), Artha Rupayi (1/2 of a Rupee / 8 Anaas / Rs.0.50) and so on (These names are of Telugu Language-India with so many languages will have different names for the same coinage).

Over a period, the government felt the need for a simpler and uniform coinage and just reduced the monetisation to Paisa and Rupee. The new system was called Naya (New) Paisa and so on. Paisa is singular and Paise is plural in Hindi, which is the national language of India so it is now Paise and Rupee.

Coming back to the main story, as long as we were staying in T. Nagar I seldom rode on a bus as there was no need. My school was about a kilometer from my house and either my father dropped me on his bicycle or I walked, i.e., when I became old enough to walk. For a long time till I was in the 3rd grade I guess, my mother used to carry me and drop me much against my wishes though.

Sometime in 1966 my father purchased a small plot of housing land in the suburbs of the city (now it is in the heart of the city with close proximity to a mall and several good hospitals and thus a prime property) and started constructing a tiny house. Since my father was mostly busy, it was my mother and myself (just about 10 years old) who had to regularly visit the construction site and supervise the progress, by using the bus services.

                                                Photo Courtesy: www.skyscrapercity.com

We used to walk from our house for about half-a-kilometer to ‘Maattu Aaspathiri’ (Veterinary Hospital) and board one of the 3 buses that would take us nearer (about a kilometer) to our newly constructing house. The routes were 17B, 63 and 88. These were the only buses which used to go beyond the Vadapalani Temple stop, as the city limited itself upto Vadapalani Temple. Most other buses used to ply till this stop, take a turn back and return to their starting points.

Beyond Vadapalani were the villages of Saligramam, Virugambakkam and Porur and beyond. Excepting Poondamalli, other villages were hardly known to any of the city dwellers and only the Jutka (Horse carriage) was the carrier that could go beyond Vadapalani Bus stop. For a long time Kodambakkam was synonymous only with the film making activity and quite an amount of human soliciting / flesh trade and was considered a ‘bad’ area for many of the city genteel.

It was around the same years between 1965-67 that the area started developing; first with the Kodambakkam bridge being constructed and opened and next the Vadapalani Bus Depot being constructed. With a limited area to hold about 12 buses in the front uncovered bays, the Vadapalani Depot had a vast fortified area behind, for its workshop and fuel storage. The bus stand had its offices and a nice canteen and was quite clean. Adjacent to the Bus depot was the long road called Vadapalani Bus Depot Road (now called Kumaran Colony Main Road) that connected Vadapalani with Kumaran Colony, Dhanalakshmi Colony, Dharanisingh Thottam, Telephone Colony, Gandhi Nagar and so on.

With the opening of the Vadapalani Bus depot most buses started coming till the depot with an extension of two more bus stops. While this was relatively convenient to the villagers of Saligramam, the casualties were the Jutka owners who, overnight, lost most of their custom.

Our house was completed by April 1967 when I had just completed my 6^th grade and we took possession in April 1967 and started living there since 30^th April, 1967. As it was summer vacation time, there was no imminent requirement of my having to go to school but from mid June I had to commute to my school, which now is over 6 kilometers, by bus and the route was 12B.

The route of 12B plying between Vadapalani and Foreshore Estate is quite unique in that that the bus covered, in addition to government offices like Accountant General’s office and All India Radio, many educational institutions like;

·       Government School (opp. Ram Theatre)

·       Durga Nursery School (Kodambakkam Powerhouse) Government School (Puliyur/Trustpuram)

·       Saraswathi Vidyalaya (Kodambakkam / Liberty-Now this is relocated to Vadapalani itself)

·       Indian Institute of Engineering and Technology (IIET-Kodambakkam/Liberty-Now its associate Meenakshi College for Women also is in the same campus)

·       Stree Seva Mandir & Ramakrishna Mission School (Bazullah Road/T. Nagar)

·       Sarada Vidyalaya-Girls School & Ramakrishna Mission Main School (Panagal Park / T. Nagar)

·       T. Nagar High School (Pondy Bazaar / T. Nagar)

·       Sri Bala Gurukul (Pondy Bazaar / T. Nagar – since closed)

·       Holy Angels Convent & Besant Montessori School-Daniel Street (Pondy Bazaar / T. Nagar)

·       Kesari High School-My School (Teynampet)

·       SIET College for Women (Near to Teynampet)

·       Government School in Eldams Road (I am a bit vague about this though)

·       Vivekananda College for Men & Sanskrit College (Mylapore)

·       Rosary Matriculation High School (Santhome)

·       St. Bedes Anglo Indian Higher Secondary School (Santhome) and

·       Santhome Higher Secondary School     

This was one route which was fully occupied and most of the time beyond the capacity and thus became a vital link in the education of many nerds like me.

                                                 Photo courtesy: www.flickrhivemind.net

During the holidays I made friends with the local children though there were only a few of them in the relatively new and developing area without much habitat. Krishna was one of those first who made friends with me and we remain friends till date. Then it was Late Sriramamurthy who was already working in Indian Airlines.

On the first day when I had to go to the school in a bus on my own, I had joined the entourage of Krishna, His grandfather who was dropping his tiny tot cousins in the school, Sriramamurthy and other children in the area.

Dr. K.V. Swamy of the famous Madras Homoeo Pharmacy and Clinic in South Usman Road, used to travel with us, accompanied by some of his children sometimes. Immaculately dressed his presence and demeanour itself was a brand.

Singer siblings Surender & Narender and their sister Sobha (Actor Vijay’s mother) used to travel. As they used to board the bus from the Vadapalani temple stop, by which time all seats would have been filled and many standees used to occupy the bus (yes within two stops), we used to reach out to help them by holding their book bags and food carriers.

This was a real pain where most of us needed to carry our books in bags or aluminium boxes (now in backpacks) and also carry our food boxes and water (children in India still need to carry donkey’s loads of books to school. Despite struggles by famous writer R.K. Narayan and in a very micro and limited way by me, the education department in the country is totally insensitive and apathetic towards the burden of books for small and tender children. Hope the Aam Aadmi Party would trail its guns on this aspect as well soon and deliver the children of the country from the drudgery of carrying loads of books).

With such physical intimacy, the passengers in the bus became known to each other within a very few days, as at specific times the same commuters used to use the same service. But as always, the supply of seats were far lower than the demand and even if one fellow got in first into the bus, he used to ‘reserve’ some seats for his / her friends / colleagues by putting in some article representing the ‘ person’ to come. If any such reserved seat could not be occupied by the intended person before the bus started, the seat used to be magnanimously offered to some other person. Such a system may not be easily possible today without a fight; in those days we could manage with just frowns and jeers / sniggers.

We did not have electricity in our house for almost a year and I had to read / study like Abraham Lincoln – in the light of hurricane lanterns or other sources if any. So if I failed to complete my homework before the dusk or within the school on the same day, I needed to do it in the bus and I needed a seat for this. If no seat was available we used to squeeze in the front near the driver to grab any space that could be had and observe the gear changing and driving methods and mannerisms of the various drivers. The buses in those days were not having powerful engines or power steerings requiring a lot of physical exertion on the part of the drivers.

Very quickly we became friends with the crew of the buses. Some people whom I could never forget are Mr. Kasi, Mr. Singaram, Mr. Jayaraman, and Mr. Mani - the drivers, Mr. Fiddle and Mr. Joseph the conductors. Among them, Mr. Fiddle later went on to become a member of the ticket checking squads as a promotion.

To my knowledge, the journey of public bus transport in Chennai began as Madras State Transport Department (MSTD) which later became Tamil Nadu State Transport Department (TNSTD). When the state government decided to bifurcate the TNSTD into smaller corporations, the Chennai bus transport became Pallavan Transport Corporation (PTC).

Due to over work in trying to catch up to the demand and also due to limited technology, several buses frequently used to break down on roads and the passengers were asked to lend a helping hand in pushing the buses either to start (due to ‘self’ problems of the battery) or to push the bus aside of the road. So people used to call the Pallavan Transport as ‘Tallava’ Transport. The word ‘Tallava’ in Tamil means ‘To Push’. But it was so much fun and after pushing the bus we used to show off like 'heroes'. Though today the corporation has been re-named as Metropolitan Transport Corporation (MTC) the break downs keep happening, though in lesser intensity and frequency, than in those days.

                                                      Photo Courtesy: www.thehindu.com

During the time of PTC the buses, despite the Registration numbers given by the Road Transport Offices, had been given fleet numbers. The Fleet numbers of 12B in those days used to be A-722, A-724, A-733, A-736 and so on. Most of the time the drivers were allotted the same bus and it is with these fleet numbers that we used to recognise the bus drivers from afar even without really seeing them.

Though while going to the school we could board at the starting point and so were lucky most of the times in getting a seat, it was not the same case while returning, as we had to board the bus somewhere in the middle of the route and by which time all the buses were over-crowded and people hanging out of the entry and exit ways.

During the 1960s, the incentive scheme, for the bus crew members, on earnings, was not introduced and many a conductor used to ‘double whistle’ once he felt the bus was fully crowded or if he felt that the bus was being late. The driver needed to stop at the bus stops if the conductor gives out a long ‘single whistle’ or should not stop and continue to drive if it is a ‘double whistle’ where the conductor whistles quickly two notes.

As almost all schools and colleges close at the same time, the school leaving time everyday was inevitably over-crowded and buses never used to stop at a bus stop but stopped either before or after the stop to facilitate the alighting of those passengers already in the bus desiring / needing to.

Over a period, the passengers waiting at the bus stops also become wiser and adept in the technique and took their chances in waiting before or after the specific bus stops and trying their luck.

Children like us could not decide and that is when the proximity to the crew used to help us. If the driver sees us, he used to give us a signal that he is either not stopping or stopping a little ahead. Once he stopped, he used to ensure that we got in and for us it used to be a triumph of the day. We used to chat happily with the driver and generally have bon homie atmosphere thereupon.

But there were drivers who were newly inducted or filling leave vacancies who did not know us and thus we could not use any privilege. On such days, we used to run behind the buses in a bid to catch them where they would stop. On many days we used to chase buses from one stop to another stop and cover more than 6 or 7 bus stops without catching a bus, in the normal 14-15 stops from our school to Vadapalani Depot. those days we used to save some money on our fare and buy toffees with them.

Sometimes the crew used to treat us to some snack in the canteen. One day the driver Mr. Kasi became wild at my shouting at him as ‘Kasi, Kasi’ He told me to wait in the bus till all alighted in the  Vadapalani Depot. I waited for a special treat from him and suddenly he started boxing my ears and asked whether I will again repeat calling him as Just Kasi and not Mr. Kasi. My ears were ringing and I could not bear the pain anymore and tears welled in my eyes when he left me with a stern warning that I should always respect elders whoever they maybe. What a lesson? Catch me even today where I call or address anybody without a title? Elder or not J

There was one driver whose name I am unable to recall, who apparently had a large family to support and so used to drive autos or a taxi in his spare time to augment the income.

Mr. Mani was the most humorous. I distinctly remember one conversation between him and another depot worker whose job was only to fill water into the radiators of the buses while in the depot. He used to carry water in tin containers and climb on to the bumpers of the buses and pour water into the radiators. Those were the days when chemical coolants were not heard much about and water was the common coolant for the radiators.    

One day they were having a friendly banter when the guy pouring water had somehow managed to incense Mr. Mani. So Mr. Mani simply retorted saying that employees should earn appropriate trust from PTC. Since he (Mr. Mani) is more trusted he has been entrusted with a bus costing Lakhs of Rupees where as the other guy has been trusted with only a tin container not costing more than 2 rupees. The passengers following the banter had a hearty laugh with this exchange.

There used to be days when we had lost our money and so could not come home using the bus service. That is when the conductors used to buy tickets for us with their money.

Mr. Singaram was one person who for some reason always liked me and always waited for me to catch the bus even at the peril of getting late. He was in service even when I started working and when I needed to use the bus 12B again but later I could not see him. For sure, he must have retired from services. After I stopped using the bus service and took to bicycling and later scootering I lost touch with these people.

Today in retrospect, I ponder how much they had silently contributed to my growth and so many others like me. And all because of the route 12B which till date caters to the needs of so many students like me. What we would have done without this route and service? Long Live 12B and its services.

Where are those gentlemen today? Where is that warmth and where is that affection? What I will not give to meet them again?

You tell me! :-)

Till then, 

Krutagjnatalu (Telugu), Nanri (Tamil), Dhanyavaadagalu (Kannada), Nanni (Malayalam), Dhanyavaad (Hindi), Thanks (English), Dhonyabaad (Bangla), Gracias (Spanish), Grazie (Italian), Danke Schon (Deutsche), Merci (French), Obrigado (Portuguese), Shukraan (Arabic), Shukriya (Urdu), Aw-koon (Khmer), Kawp Jai Lhai Lhai (Laotian), Kob Kun Krab (Thai) and Asante (Kiswahili).

Hemantha Kumar Pamarthy

Chennai, India

Hemantha Kalam - 10 'Where are They?'

Hemantha Kalam - 10 'Where are they?' 

Hemantha Kalam

Kalam - 10

'Where are they?'

The other day I was at this Medical shop / Pharmacy in Chennai. There were a couple of guys who were dressed shabbily and waiting outside the shop for their turn to speak to the Pharmacy management. Being friendly with the management I casually asked who they were and I was told that they were Medical Representatives and I was in for a rude shock.

My third maternal uncle Late J.S. R. Krishna was a Medical Representative. He represented Albert David Pharmaceuticals, a Multinational Pharmaceutical company, in India, for a long time.

Though just an ‘intermediate’ (less than a graduate) he could speak English quite well and always rode a motorcycle, initially a ‘Matchless’ and later a ‘Royal Enfield’. He was always dressed like a dude and being a good looking person he was the local idol to many and many pushed his bike when it did not start and pushed him to teach them bike riding when he did not start. It was not only my uncle but in those days almost all representatives were chosen to be like that, handsome, well dressed, well spoken and riding either the ‘Royal Enfield’ or ‘Jawa’ later ‘Yezdi’ motorcycles.

As long as he was a Medical Representative, I rarely saw him ill dressed and certainly never without his coat, ties and shoes, shined well. He was quite an emotional man and vacillated between being ‘unnecessarily kind’ and ‘unnecessarily cross’ with people.

The point I was trying to make was that we young guys just loved him for his attire and demeanour. Probably unknowingly that seed germinated in me and I always pitched in to be a marketing guy myself. Well, the long and short of it is that I like to dress well (I still do) and felt what other job could give me that luxury.

During the 1960s and the 1970s the job market in India was more for Bank Clerical positions and Sales Representative positions, especially for students, who were of economically in the middle and lower middle classes of families. They used to equip themselves with the stock needed for these jobs like a minimum graduate degree-B.Sc., Physics / Chemistry for Medical Representative positions and B. Com / B.A for Bank Clerical positions fortified by Typewriting and Shorthand.

Well I never really was good at anything and certainly not at Maths at all. So somehow, with my father’s support and the kindness of University of Madras, I managed to get a B. Com degree. But the hitch now is that guys who did B.com were not eligible to be medical representatives. So my desires and dreams of becoming a medical representative were dashed.

I enrolled myself as a Ledger keeper, then a Depot Clerk and later just a Clerk though I was assisting in Marketing and Sales Administration positions with Godrej Soaps Limited. We did have many exceptionally well dressed and handsome guys who were representatives with Godrej Soaps Limited.

During this time, I realised my folly and enrolled for Evening Courses of Management from University of Madras and this time I excelled. When my guide Mr. James, Madura Coats Limited and the internal guide called over phone to congratulate me for my dissertation I was ecstatical – at last I qualified to be in Marketing.   

But the damage has been irreparably done. Like the Tamil Movie comedian Vadivelu says ‘my body was strong but the foundation remained to be weak’. It was only later that I could really become a Sales Manager, a Marketing Manager and finally a Managing Director.

Yes, I also realised my love for dressing well but again I used to vacillate between ‘dressing well’ and ‘dressing outlandishly’ depending on my moods and enjoyed both equally. In several organisations I have also been recognised as a ‘Well Dressed Male’ ‘Well Dressed Employee’ etc.

But coming back to the point, what happened to all those disciplined, well articulating, well dressed and handsome guys?

Today, the demand for software jobs is taking its toll and it is apparently becoming increasingly difficult to find ‘well qualified, well dressed, well articulating’ representatives-Medical or otherwise.

Without malice to anybody, I do have to observe that the present day’s representatives-especially the Medical Representatives cannot hold a candle to their predecessors.

I see people wearing, ill matching shirts and trousers, sandals in place of shoes, displaying unkempt / outlandish beards and stubbles, ties being tied without knowing how to knot. The personality is simply not there at all. Worst is that most of them do not know how to speak to Physicians, explain combinations, detail the medicines and potions even with the help of literature and detailing folders. I understand that pathetic though many 'graduates' cannot even read, write, speak English properly and more that they cannot even do simple arithmatic. 

The whole profession has apparently degenerated to just calculating on quantum than quality. What a pity? I do not envy the trainers of the Pharmaceuticals at all. And I do not envy the Physicians who now have to cope up with ill-informed, un professional 'detailing'.

Today the ‘representatives’ use tiny mouse-like vehicles and get lost in the crowd. No comparison to the distinct representatives of yore who could be seen from afar and who always used to create an awe making their opening gambits easier.

Where are those well dressed men? Where are those bikes? And where is that elegance?

You tell me! :-)

Till then, 

Krutagjnatalu (Telugu), Nanri (Tamil), Dhanyavaadagalu (Kannada), Nanni (Malayalam), Dhanyavaad (Hindi), Thanks (English), Dhonyabaad (Bangla), Gracias (Spanish), Grazie (Italian), Danke Schon (Deutsche), Merci (French), Obrigado (Portuguese), Shukraan (Arabic), Shukriya (Urdu), Aw-koon (Khmer), Kawp Jai Lhai Lhai (Laotian), Kob Kun Krab (Thai) and Asante (Kiswahili).

Hemantha Kumar Pamarthy

Chennai, India

Hemantha Kalam - 9 'Matter of Size'

Hemantha Kalam

Kalam - 9

'Matter of Size'

There has been an exchange of photographs over the e-mails the other day. Occasion- Group photograph of some of the former and current colleagues of Godrej Soaps Limited, assembled to participate in Gayatri's wedding - daughter of another former colleague.

Now, the honour of photographing the group, with a latest hi-tech mobile phone, was given to me. If the picture came out well, this 'Kalam' probably would be on some other subject. Yes, now predictably, it did not come out well. Certainly a little more focus could have been in order.

I think, before writing on why I feel let down, a little explanation on my photographic life may be worth mentioning.

Photography is the genetic 'disorder' handed over to me by me predecessor - my maternal grandfather whom I could, again, only see in photographs as he died even before I could be born. Apparently, before he called it a day, on his life, he had really experimented imagery of all imaginations.

I guess the first camera handled by me was a Twin Lens Reflex 'Yashica MAT' a 120 format camera (borrowed from my maternal uncle Mr. Jonnavithula Purnaiah Sastry who was my first and reluctant guru for photography), where you needed to look down onto the reflection of the subject in the camera, focus manually and click the image onto a 120 format film. You need to take the sun light into account and adjust the aperture and speed of the shutter accordingly. Till the picture came out it was like agonising to see a baby delivered. This was sometime in mid 1960s when I was about 8 or 9 years old.

And yes, you need to compose the picture too. I guess God has been kind to me in that that I could always mentally compose a picture on just seeing the locale and my compositions were normally good. 

Like my career, my photography also went on like a Morse code (only my photography was more constant and continuous than my ability in keeping my jobs and employment) and steadily I graduated to cameras like Rolleiflex and Rolleicard. 

My father could clearly smell and see the path I am likely to take, downward, and firmly refused to buy me a camera. So it was till I was 25 that I could not own a camera. When I had joined with Godrej Soaps Limited, I used to share my salary with my family but not the earnings from working overtime (that too was reluctantly-maybe another blog in future on this reluctance and the resultant adventures) which was reserved for buying a camera for my own. 

I had acquired a Yashica 35 mm which was not a SLR and thus restricted my 'creativity' and so later I had acquired a second hand / used 'Praktica', whose body alone weighed almost a 'ton' not to say of the Sigma, Vivitar lenses that I had steadily acquired. Interestingly I got used to such heavy stuff which I used to lug along with me on the innumerous trekkings I undertook. As a SLR and with an opportunity to change lenses, close up rings and add-ons I could really let my imagination go and again with the Morse code results. Fail, Succeed, Fail, Succeed and so on. but I was my own guru.

It went on till I started showing my photographs to Late Krothapalli Subrahmanyam, who was working as an artist with the United States Information Service (USIS), then Madras and now Chennai, who introduced me to the photography of stalwarts like Avinash Pasricha et al., and thus he became my second guru who really provoked my composition ability. Today, if some of my photographs are good, I owe them to him. 

Over a period this equipment became too old and I got rid of the same to get a real sexy Canon T-80 model which was a 'have all-do all' type of camera. Comparatively this was a light weight camera and was quite handy. I was a proud owner of the camera, but again there was very little I had to do as a photographer except aim, compose and shoot. 

So I did acquire another low cost SLR of Vivitar model and went happily clicking till my sister gifted me a Sony digital Camera around the turn of the millennium. It took me quite sometime to understand on how to work on this camera which was like a little mouse in comparison to the pachyderms that I have been taming and using earlier. I really could not get used to it and knew it fully till it died a natural death.

And now I use a real 'aim and shoot' Panasonic camera which by far has been the lightest I had ever used so far. That is till I had to use this mobile phone to take the group photograph at Gayatri's wedding. I was at all seas at the same time. And yes, I made a mess of it.

I guess I need the large looking, heavy weighing cameras after all. I was wondering whether it is only me who has been thinking like this. But, today, when I read that Balu Mahendra, one of the Indian Ace Cinematographers also has the size blues, I was vindicated. Want to read for yourself? Here's the link;

http://www.thehindu.com/news/cities/chennai/in-a-first-balu-mahendra-faces-the-camera/article5411367.ece

After all, Size Matters!

Isn't it? You tell me! :-)

Till then, 

Krutagjnatalu (Telugu), Nanri (Tamil), Dhanyavaadagalu (Kannada), Nanni (Malayalam), Dhanyavaad (Hindi), Thanks (English), Dhonyabaad (Bangla), Gracias (Spanish), Grazie (Italian), Danke Schon (Deutsche), Merci (French), Obrigado (Portuguese), Shukraan (Arabic), Shukriya (Urdu), Aw-koon (Khmer), Kawp Jai Lhai Lhai (Laotian) and Kob Kun Krab (Thai).

Hemantha Kumar Pamarthy

Chennai, India

Hemantha Kalam - 8 'Relying on Google'

Hemantha Kalam

Kalam-8

Relying on Google 

Sorry, I didn't keep my promise of writing every fortnight. But then did I make that promise? Memories, memories - unreliable.

Been to Thailand for a week and soon as I returned, I dived headlong into an assignment for UNDP. Now this requires me to delve frequently into the labyrinths of the internet to fish for information, tucked in some corner of the cosmos.

Way back, in the beginning 1980s, I did a couple of courses in Computer Programming. Basic and COBOL and yes, I have certificates to say that I, indeed, did those programmes. Probably the first to do it among my colleagues in Godrej Soaps. But I was so bad in programming that I was always ashamed of those certificates and again if my memory is not failing me I had never used those qualifications in any of my applications for jobs. For I could not programme even my residential address for a tuppence.

And in due course of time the 'Windows' opened and changed things. Allowed me to really explore and find out solutions for myself. Not that I am any great at that. But for sure, I am bit better than then.

In fact when I met Mrs. Melinda French Gates (November, 2005), I did want to convey my thanks to her husband for making computers that much easier. Well, when I actually met her  words failed and I could not convey. Sad. But who knows? If somebody is sneaking into this blog of mine, like some security agencies abroad, maybe they can carry my personal thanks too to Mr. Gates?

So where am I? Oh, yeah, at the windows. Well the windows opened, as my dear colleague Ashwin Kumar Rao always say, to the new God - Google. His logic is simple. We really do not know whether GOD is there or not. Whether GOD is a He or a She or an It. And we are never sure whether GOD listens to us and whether he will answer to our questions.

But, lo, the new God does. It listens, reads and answers back. I am yet to come across an instance when this new God has been silent or did not answer to any query of mine.

And there lies the problem. We all are slowly becoming the captive devotees (nay slaves) of this new God. Now close your eyes and think whether you can do without Google even for a day, today?  Sure, sure, the answers could be Yes and No but the Yes answers will be more and overwhelming, than the meager Nos, for sure.

That is the amount of relying we are indulging in Google. And now, for once, think what happens if this new God starts charging for its services?

Pray that such a day will not arrive, for if that does happen we, the "Googlies" may really have to face a Googly? Pray that this is one question that the new God need not hear or answer.

Isn't it? You tell me! :-)

Till then, 

Krutagjnatalu (Telugu), Nanri (Tamil), Dhanyavaadagalu (Kannada), Nanni (Malayalam), Dhanyavaad (Hindi), Thanks (English), Dhonyabaad (Bangla), Gracias (Spanish), Grazie (Italian), Danke Schon (Deutsche), Merci (French), Obrigado (Portuguese), Shukraan (Arabic), Shukriya (Urdu), Aw-koon (Khmer), Kawp Jai Lhai Lhai (Laotian) and Kob Kun Krab (Thai).

Hemantha Kumar Pamarthy

Chennai, India

Hemantha Kalam - 7 'Torino 2010'

Hemantha Kalam

Kalam-7

Torino 2010 

July, 2010! We were attending the Micro Finance classes on “Housing for the Poor” project at the International Training Centre of the International Labour Organisation, in Turin, Italy.

It all started after the class for the day was over in the evening of the 28^th July, 2008, when Franck Daphnis announced that there is a Football game in Torino (Turin) the next day and anybody interested to watch it “LIVE” may enlist. Needless to emphasise, yours faithfully was the first to raise the hand for the head count.

So, next day the 29^th July, a bus was arranged to ferry 30 such football buffs, lovers, peripheral lovers and plain adventure lovers like me to the stadium. Time was ticking and there was a cocktail party going on in the cafeteria lounge of the hostel from 6-30 pm. At 7-25 pm there were only me and Franck to go, but the bus has to carry 30 for scale of economy.

Both of us went into the cocktail lounge and dragged in a couple of more “enthusiasts” and then the entourage began. It looked like as if a mini tornado hit the party and half of them left the place and followed Franck and myself as if influenced by the Pied Piper. The bus was filled and after a short journey we reached the “Stadio Olimpico” to watch the finals of “Trofeo TIM” to be settled between the legendary AC Milan, Juventus Football Club and Inter. Everywhere there were milling crowds of people and lots of shops on wheels selling sports paraphernalia-mostly the team T shirts or food items.

Only after reaching the Stadium did Franck reveal that Tickets have to be bought. By the time we reached the Stadium all the tickets were sold out. So a couple of us started hunting for “tickets” and found them. Only that a ticket of Euros 10 was offered for Euros 25 each. Well, that we were in frenzy, we lapped them up. I gave Euros 30 and for lack of proper change got only Euros 4 in return. Suddenly I found myself being tugged by somebody, who to me was speaking gibberish (He was speaking Italian though) and after quite a bit of scanning my scant knowledge of Latin and Spanish in my mind and a lot of gesticulations from the guy who owned the hand that tugged at me, I could make out that he wanted me to contribute to the cause of Drugs. Whether it was for buying Drugs or for making the youth shun the drugs I am not wiser. All I can say is that the Euros 4 changed hands.

Meanwhile there were more revelations. As we could not choose to buy tickets, we could not get the tickets all in one place excepting four or five. Now all for one and one for all does not work and we had to be on our own. Franck told us to go on our own but at any cost to return to the bus by 11-00 pm.

And when I checked my “billet” (ticket) I found that it was in the name of ”Samantha” the name that I use normally to tell foreigners to rhyme my name (Hemantha) with. Then I found something like Nord (North) and stile and Porto mentioned on the ticket. I could make out that Porto means entrance and that my entrance would be in the North. Another interesting fact I found (to my horror) was that only I had drawn the ticket with the northern entrance. Now in that maddening crowd finding a gate became difficult and finding out the northern gate was becoming more difficult.

In the European countries, I observed, that normally the Sun sets around 9-30 pm or so and at least in summer it seems to be so. Since we were at the stadium by about 8-15 pm there was enough SUN for us to find our directions. But exactly masking the Sun was this mischievous cloud. So I thought I am the best boy scout and calculated and walked towards an entrance with a great sense of triumphing. Only when I neared could I make out that the entrance was not north but east. So keeping that in mind I almost circumambulated the stadium, when I found a cop relaxing near his van. I approached him and asked him directions. He showed me directions that I may have to walk another furlong or so. Meanwhile apparently the game started on the dot and there was a roar to be heard from within the stadium.

Walking a few steps away from the cop I found that I was actually standing in front of the Northern entrance and very near to the Porto and stile I had to get into. But the entrance was allowing only one person and there were no lesser than at least a hundred people all absolutely enthusiastic and raring to go. And then I found that I needed to produce an identity along with the ticket. I thought that tonight I am in trouble for the ticket was in a woman’s name and I left my Passport and other travel documents in my hostel room as I was advised that taking out any heavy money or wallet or passports can be pick-pocketed. Now I had only the photocopy of my Indian driving licence in my pocket.

I was wondering whether I should turn tail and walk back. But I found that that itself could be difficult, as behind me there were another two hundred or so people. So I thought let me see. I found that at the entrance there was a young man with a bored look and he simply waved me inside. Then after enquiring with a couple of guys I found a man who could speak some broken English and asked him where my Porto and stile would be. He said that I may not make it to the match searching for my row and seat and said that if I am wise I shall park myself in the first available seat wherever it is. True to his words, I found the stadium jam packed, uproarious and many fans were standing, yelling and jumping.

After searching a bit by moving my head in all directions I found myself a seat and sat in. By the time this happened, Juventus scored two goals and AC Milan one. From then onwards both the teams simply chased the ground. Somewhere around the 36^th minute or so AC Milan matched Juventus by scoring another goal. By the time, the play time was nearing the end, there was a tie and penalties were awarded. Then the comedy of the day started. Both the teams started scoring goals and at one stage everybody got restless. 

Finally that game ended with AC Milan scoring 6 and Juventus 4 goals.

Next to me sat a boy and his middle aged mother. While the boy was engrossed in the game the mother started being friendlier with me than being motherly to her son. A couple of old Dodos (older than me-so Dodos) kept on smoking their cigarettes and were letting out the smoke like pressure cookers. The boy apparently was allergic to cigarettes and starting spitting and sneezing making the whole pathway wet and slippery with his spittle.

Somehow the first game was over and the second started. One should physically and in person be present at the football games in Europe or in Brazil to really savour in the frenzy. Each team will have an anthem and just before a game starts, the fans of the particular team start singing the anthem or the hymn in such unison that one wonders whether even the national anthem is sung with such devotion. Well, coming back, this game was between Juventus and Inter. The din and the roar in the stadium was a challenge to the strongest ears. The spectators were berserk and every time an opportunity to score a goal was lost, there were roars, shouts (I am sure that most of them would have been the choicest epithets that Italy is famous for). Children and elders were jumping alike. There was a rhythm in the cheering too.

The second game was livelier and a lot of action with some slick dribbling of the ball, the headers and other action could be seen. The advantage of watching this type of games from the comfort of one’s home is that you do not need to support any team and enjoy whichever team scores. But in the stadium I realised that I had lost that luxury. I did not know which team my neighbours were cheering for. If I cheer when one team is scoring I might be virtually trodding on a claymore. So though I thoroughly enjoyed this second game, I could not openly cheer for the fear of my dear life. The second game ended with Juventus scoring one goal and Inter scoring none.

By the time the crucial and the decisive third game started, it was nearing 10-45 and the prospect of the bus leaving without me, leaving me to the mercy of the so called pickpocket predators in the middle of the night and the prospect of having to walk a long distance in an unfamiliar city and direction prodded me and I started leaving the stadium much to the disappointment of the mother of the boy.

Once out of the stadium there was an old man who had a glint of happiness in his eyes on seeing me and who rushed to me asking me whether I can spare him the billet so that he can see the unfinished third match. Maybe he did not know that the ticket had already been validated by the computer at the entrance or maybe he could have managed jut by showing the ticket. However, I wished to retain the ticket as a souvenir and so I pretended as if I did not understand him and kept on walking. There were many restaurants on wheels but I could not get a caffe’ (Coffee) or a latte (Milk) or even a cappuccino. Finally I could see an empty vehicle where by showing the items in the display could get a Vegetable sandwich which was my dinner for the night.

As I neared the bus I saw that there were many other afraid souls as most of the fans had already boarded the bus except for Franck and a couple of others. We got a message that Franck would make his own arrangements to arrive at the hostel and that we could proceed in the bus. At last we reached the hostel, albeit safely at about 11-45 pm.

Next day morning when Franck came in to take our class, we found that he and his other companions could not even enter the stadium till almost the first game ended, as their names did not match those on the tickets. So at the end of the first game the gate authorities apparently relented and allowed them inside. So Franck made it a point to sit through the whole game.

Despite all the anxiety and adrenalin, and quite a bill at Rs.2010 (Euros 30 x Rs.67), is a life time experience.

Isn't it? You tell me! :-)

Till then, 

Krutagjnatalu, Nanri, Dhanyavaadagalu, Nanni, Dhanyavaad, Thanks, Dhonyabaad, Gracias, Grazie, Danke Schon, Merci, Obrigado, Shukraan, Shukriya, Aw-koon, Kawp Jai Lhai Lhai.

Hemantha Kumar Pamarthy

Chennai, India

Hemantha Kalam - 6 'Delivering-Safety'

Hemantha Kalam

Kalam-6

'Delivering-Safety' 

Recently my daughter got me an old copy of "The Straits Times" (of the Singapore Press Holdings or simply SPH) issue dated the 22nd July, 2013. 

Well, we have this practice in our family that whichever state in India we may visit or whichever country in the world we visit, we do bring a copy of the local newspapers, essentially with the aim of the whole family taking a look at them to understand the format of news dissemination, the layouts, the presentation of news and so on as more of an academic interest.

Coming back to "The Straits Times", I found two news items quite interesting.

The first news is from the neighbouring country Malaysia (page A-10 Section Asia-The Straight Times, 22nd July, 2013) which says "KL postmen caught dumping bags of mail"

Clearly intrigued, I went through the whole, amusing if not annoying, news item to realise that about three postmen virtually dumped all the mail to be delivered to intended recipients, at a desolate area near Kuala Lumpur's posh housing estate in the Ukay Heights district.

The dumped mail apparently contained cheques, bills, bank statements, correspondence, letter and many others. Several residents have not been receiving their mails for almost over six months and they appear to be quite relieved, now.

Here is the link for this news.

http://www.straitstimes.com/breaking-news/se-asia/story/malaysian-officials-clear-mail-dumping-ground-kl-20130722

Shouldn't we be thankful that our mail delivery is safe and though might be delayed, is not being denied despite all the junk that is being mailed to us by so many promoting organisations? :-) 

In fact, people such as me belonging to the yore understand and deeply appreciate the role of the Post and Post Wo/men who were literally messiahs bearing important news-be it a child birth or a birth of a new job or plain love/affectionate letters, returned contributions to newspapers, journals and magazines and those rare times of bringing in complimentary issues of printed matter.

I, for one, always cherish the times I had spent waiting for the post day in and day out as Post in those days was synonymous to hope. And Hope need to be safely delivered.

Now that so much has been said about 'delivery' let me now proceed to the second and headline news item on the same issue of "The Straits Times" which screams "Passenger killed after SMRT bus overturns"

There is a reason for this news item hitting the headlines. As per the tail piece of the report, the last such "Catastrophic" accident took place was apparently in 2005. 

As per Indian standards, the news in itself is very simple, the bus veered and turned over and a passenger was crushed between seats in the impact and expired-and that's it.

But this item apparently deserved front-page headline space on "The Straits Times"  as such accidents in Singapore are rarest of the rare?

It might be unfair to compare this isolated incident to those that happen in India everywhere and on a daily basis, keeping the population of both people and vehicles in both countries in mind.

But there is a lesson or two for us here.

1. The government of Singapore appears to be more sincere in ensuring such mishaps not happening and

2. The person who is striving for the Traffic Security in Singapore, interestingly, is a person of Indian Origin (should I be saying 'naturally' here?) dubbed 'The Tireless road safety warrior' Mr. Gopinath Menon.

The 69 year old Mr. Menon has spent more than three decades making roads in Singapore less dangerous.

Here are the links pertaining to this news

http://www.straitstimes.com/breaking-news/singapore/story/one-passenger-dead-after-smrt-bus-skids-along-dairy-farm-road-20130721

http://www.straitstimes.com/breaking-news/singapore/story/smrt-bus-crash-driver-had-accident-free-record-bus-had-no-brake-or-ste

http://www.stcars.sg/guides-articles/motoring-news/the-tireless-road-safety-warrior/a/128985

Isn't it time we really start thinking about our own traffic and safety more seriously?

You tell me! :-)

Till then, 

Krutagjnatalu, Nanri, Dhanyavaadagalu, Nanni, Dhanyavaad, Thanks, Dhonyabaad, Gracias, Grazie, Danke Schon, Merci, Obrigado, Shukraan, Shukriya, Aw-koon, Kawp Jai Lhai Lhai.

Hemantha Kumar Pamarthy

Chennai, India