The mood change ***

Madhavan sat fuming. He had returned in a foul mood. And the mess he encountered as he entered the house did nothing to improve his mood. And then Viji had come, with her own pent up gripes, going on and on until he snapped at her.

As he sat, Madhavan became aware of the incessant sloshing noise from the back of the house. Soon it became unbearable. It was his son, Vinit, in the bathroom. Madhavan soon reached a boiling point; he dashed to the kitchen, bellowing , “Stop it and come out.”

But the sloshing continued, even more intensified. Vinit had not heard his father and was happily thrashing about in the bathtub.

“Daaai.” Madhavan blew his top.

For a few moments there was silence. Then at the slit opening on the wall of the bathroom, a little face appeared. Vinit peered out of the slit, his wet hair plastered down, his goggles still in place. Madhavan looked at his son for a moment. Then he burst into uncontrollable laughter. Viji stared incredulously, not sure what to make of this sudden turn of mood. And then she too broke into chuckles. Vinit smiled. Everything was okay.

Why the chicken crossed the road… or “It’s an onion… it’s a turkey… no it’s a chicken!” ****

He stood in contemplation. Something disturbed him. Something was not right. He stood still while everyone else whizzed by. And to him, in his own stationary state, everything else appeared to be unchanging, if not deteriorating, in spite of the apparent activity. After a while, he had convinced himself. He had found the outward path. He had to do it. Now. And impulsively, he dashed across the chaotic road, narrowly missing the thundering juggernauts of monster trucks and the speeding cars. And soon, he was on the other side. Safe. And exhilarated. He had made it.

But as he looked back, he saw that several others, caught up in the euphoria, had followed him. And these poor souls had been pitifully crushed by the unyielding onslaught on the road. And then it dawned on him. Nothing had really changed. Except for the hapless victims, who had come to a violent end. But in the larger scheme of things, the monster trucks still whizzed by, in their fervent zeal to get to where they wanted to go. And the hangers on, they still hung on. The ardent followers raced behind, caught up in the excitement, but often falling by the wayside exhausted. The lookers-on stood impassively, watching the scene disinterestedly. The toilers toiled in steadfast resolve, oblivious to everything . And others, elsewhere, carried on in ignorant bliss. Life went on as ordained by Him. And everyone played their part. Even the chicken who crossed the road. And even those who, in a brief respite, debated on Why the chicken crossed the road.

Reality ***

Pathy sat up with a start. He sat dazed in the darkened bedroom, drenched in sweat. It had been a nightmare ! A terrifying one. But he was alright now. His house was intact. Here he was in the comfort of his bed. His wife lay beside him, breathing softly. She looked like an angel in her sleep. And his baby stirred and stretched in her cot, just beside their bed. Everything was fine. He gently touched his wife’s cheeks. She moved and sighed. Pathy’s eyes moistened. What a terrible nightmare that had been. His house had burnt down in front of his eyes. And as he stood helpless and impotent, Amy and the baby had perished in a horrible fiery death.

Pathy recalled the last part of the nasty dream. He had gone crazy, lashing out at everyone. He cursed the Gods. He smashed the idols in shrines near his home, slashing anyone who tried to stop him. And then he was restrained. And locked up in the home for the insane.

Pathy smiled to himself as he recalled how angry he had been at God. He had wanted to destroy the Gods who had destroyed his home and family !

******
The rays of sunshine shone through the slats of the high window, falling on Pathy’s face. He opened his eyes slowly. He turned. His hands were secured to the metal bedframe with nylon rope chain. He looked around in a daze. The place had a strong odour of disinfectant. The rows of metal framed beds were neatly arranged, with many of them occupied by inmates in white coveralls. Then it dawned on Pathy. He was still in the asylum.

******

Pathy lay in deep contemplation. He knew now that the terrible thing that had happened was real. But only as real as he wanted it to be. Only as real as the timeless drama of maya, in which his own life was but a fleeting moment.

Caution in Free India ***

India got its freedom in 1947. And since then, its arguably the free-est place on the globe. You can do anything there - from peeing or crapping by the roadside to honking all the way on the roads. But there is this rare establishment, somewhere in Mother India which is an oasis of no-no's. And while you are there, do control your laughter.

“The scoop on poop” or “Are cows better alive or dead?” ***

To produce one kg of meat takes the same resources as is required for about seven kg of beans.

Cows belch a lot of GHG (greenhouse gases), besides embedding a bunch of these gases in their gaseous and solid excretions. But we can anaerobically digest poop, to capture methane.

So overall- the Kamadenu - a cow that gives milk that can be used for making butter, ghee, cheese etc. and whose poop is a good source of fuel (whether solid or digested anaerobically to produce fuel gas) - is worth more alive than dead, assuming you can live on one pound of beans after feeding the cow five pounds of fodder, now you even have one extra pound of fodder and a slightly emaciated cow.

If you just slaughter it, you are wasting all the food you gave it, getting nothing out - even range cows that do not do much help a lot by landscape management- calculations of methane release from grasslands show that cattle grazing helps.

And the bulls, I guess our good cows, need to have some fun once in a while, so spare the bulls also, so once in a while they can hit the stock markets...

Holy cows are good alive...the ancient Indian practice of using cow poop as fuel was a sustainable practice.

(plagiarised from my old friend "Shagaraj")

Women Only MENotinvited ***

It was a moment of idle insanity. No other explanation as to why I would read this article entitled “Ladies at women-only gathering have a blast talking about shoes”.

It talked about WEVents, a social women-only gathering with the tagline Women Only MENotinvited.

During the event, there was a talk about shoes by a Ms Koh, who had thoughtfully brought along several samples. And picture this: “As she passed the shoes around, the 70-odd guests started trying out the shoes and getting their girlfriends to take pictures of them. The level of chatter increased as people started sharing stories about shoes and accessories.”

Koh said that if ladies want shoes bad enough, then they should just go for it. (Koh just happens to be in the shoe business). Koh admitted to owning more than 100 pairs of shoes and had to eventually give some away. How magnanimously philanthropic of her.

And she gave the girls some useful hints: “The best way to organise shoes is to put them in boxes with a picture of the shoe on the box. That way you don’t have to open each box too look for a pair of shoes. You can also categorise it according to the type of shoes like heels, flats or wedges,” she said.

The ladies plan on having a gathering once every three months and maybe move on to monthly events in time to come. Well, you cant have too much of intellectual discourse. But please exclude us men.

Winning ****

“Winning is everything”. The words rang in Hu Yin’s ears. His coach Yang Ping had drilled it into him. “You must have the killer instinct. The end justifies the means. Go all out. Remember - its either destroy or be destroyed.”

Hu Yin stared at his nervous opponent. Radin stood, looking hesitantly, eyes downcast, completely awed by the supremely confident world class player on the other side of the net. Hu Yin felt a twinge of pity, but he quickly shook it off. “The opponent is the enemy. Your only aim is to destroy him.” He remembered his coach saying.

Radin readied to serve. And just as he did, Hu Yin held up his hand, signaling that he was not ready. But Radin had served. Unsettled, Radin readied to serve again. Hu Yin’s mouth curled in an imperceptible smirk. Radin served. Into the net. Hu Yin looked at him pityingly. And just as Radin stooped to pick the shuttlecock, Hu Yin let out a whoop, hands upraised, startling Radin.

In a matter of minutes Hu Yin had reduced the young man to a wreck. He had Radin frantically running all over the court. A shot just over the net had Radin scrambling to the forecourt, falling headlong at the net. Looking up, he saw Hu Yin, his shoes almost touching Radin’s forehead. Hu Yin towered above him to an impossible height.

Game over. Hu Yin had his shirt off, and did a jig on the court, to the screaming cheers of his fans. As he stopped, he saw Radin. He stood, spent and crushed. Hu Yin turned around, and jiggled his backside at Radin to the deafening howls from the fans. Soon his team-mates and his coach were on him, hugging and kissing him, and congratulating him. “You destroyed him. You proved you are the master.”

Hu Yin lay on his bed. He had been lying there for hours, unable to sleep in spite of being tired out from the punishing exertion over the past few days. The sight of the defeated and humiliated Radin standing with stooped shoulders haunted him. And as he pictured the scene in his mind’s eye, all of a sudden, the scene changed. It was Hu Yin standing there, crushed in defeat, shoulders slouched, spirit drained. Hu Yin knew it then. One day, it would be his turn.

It was morning. As Hu Yin walked out of the games village, he saw the opposing team members. Readying to leave. Radin stood at the back. Hu Yin paused for a moment. Then, in purposeful strides, he walked over to Radin. Hu Yin caught Radin’s shoulders, and embraced him. Radin turned to him, surprised at first, but as their eyes met, he brightened and smiled. No words were spoken, but the two men held each other for a long moment. And as they shook hands in farewell, applause broke out, among all of the team-members and spectators standing around.

And Hu Yin knew it then. He had won. Finally.

Driving in India ***

For the benefit of every Tom, Dick, and Harry visiting India and daring to drive on Indian roads, I am offering a few hints for survival: They are applicable to every place in India, except the state of Bihar, where life outside a vehicle is only marginally safer.

Indian road rules broadly operate within the domain of 'karma' where you do your best, and leave the results to your insurance company.

The hints are as follows:

Do we drive on the left or right of the road? The answer is both! Basically you start on the left of the road, unless it is occupied. In that case, go to the right, unless that is also occupied. Then proceed by occupying the next available gap, as in chess. Just trust your instincts, ascertain the direction, and proceed.
Adherence to road rules leads to much misery and occasional fatality! Most drivers don't drive, but just aim their vehicles in the intended direction. Don't you get discouraged, or underestimate yourself. Except for a belief in reincarnation, the other drivers are not in any better position.
Don't stop at pedestrian crossings just because some fool wants to cross the road. You may do so only if you enjoy being bumped in the back. Pedestrians have been strictly instructed to cross only when traffic is moving slowly, or had come to a dead stop because some minister is in town.
Still some idiot may try to wade across, but then, let us not talk ill of the dead! Blowing your horn is not a sign of protest as in some countries. We horn to express joy, resentment, frustration, romance, and bare lust (two brisk blasts), or, just to mobilize a dozing cows in the middle of the bazaar.

Keep informative books in the glove compartment. You may read them during traffic jams, while awaiting the chief minister's motorcade, or waiting or the rainwater's to recede when overground traffic meets underground drainage.
Night driving on Indian roads can be an exhilarating experience (for those with the mental makeup of Genghis Khan). In a way, it is like playing Russian roulette, because you do not know who amongst the drivers is loaded.
What looks like the premature dawn on the horizon turns out to be a truck, attempting a land speed record. On encountering it, just pull partly into the field adjoining the road until the phenomenon passes. Our roads do not have shoulders, but occasional boulders. Do not blink your lights expecting reciprocation. The only dim thing in the truck is the driver, and the peg of illicit arrack he had at the last stop, his total cerebral functions add up to little more than a naught.
Truck drivers are the James Bonds of India, and are licensed to kill!
Often you may encounter a single powerful beam of light about six feet above the ground. This is not a super motorbike, but a truck approaching you with a single light on, usually the left one. It could be the right one, but never get too close to investigate.
You may prove your point posthumously. Of course, all this occurs at night, on trunk roads. During the daytime, trucks are more visible, except that drivers will never show any signal. (And you must watch for the absent signals; they are a greater threat.)
Only, you will often observe that the cleaner that sits next to the driver, will project his hand andwave hysterically. This is definitely not to be construed as a signal for a left turn. The waving isjust an expression of physical relief on a hot day, or a gesture to a fellow trucker. Occasionally you might see what looks like a UFO with blinking colored lights and sounds emanating from within. This is an illuminated bus, full of happy pilgrims singing bhajans. These pilgrims go at breakneck speed, seeking contact with the Almighty, often meeting with success. One-way Street-These boards are put up by traffic people to add jest in their otherwise drab lives. Don't stick to the literal meaning and proceed in one direction. In metaphysical terms, it means that you cannot proceed in two directions at once. So drive as you like, in reverse throughout, if you are the fussy type.
Lest I sound hypercritical, I must add a positive point also. Rash and fast driving in residential areas has been prevented by providing a "speed breaker"; two for each house. This mound, incidentally, covers the water and drainage pipes for that residence and is left untarred.
(plagiarised - source unknown)