Leopard at Nagarhole

It had been a wild weekend.

The Nagarhole and Tholpetty wild life sanctuaries had provided us with more sightings of wild animals than any other safaris in the past. We had taken two safari trips in the Tholpetty Wild Life sanctuary, one on the Saturday evening, one on the Sunday morning, and one in Nagarhole wild life sanctuary on Sunday evening, resulting in the sightings of herds of Indian Gaurs, wild Elephants, huge number of spotted deers, Sambars, and a large number of exotic birds. But the most anticipated cats, Tigers and Leopards had eluded us this time too.

The desperation of a Tiger sighting in the wild for us wildlife photographers was so much that we had been going to Bandipur Wild Life Sanctuary three times in the past four months, with back-to-back safaris. But still, the King of the Indian jungle never made its appearance for us. The passion had almost turned into an obsession. When would we see the tiger? When could we attain the nirvana?

Due to the very frequent visits to the Wild, a joke had grown to exist in our families. If we would go to the jungles one more time, the Tiger, exhausted of hiding from us, would come across, give us an autographed photograph of itself, and pray us not to while away our time in chasing it again. Yeah right!!! We had prayed that at least their wish may come true.

After the Sunday evening safari at Nagarhole, we began to munch on the few crumbs that we had brought along, before launching on our drive back to Bangalore. It was twenty minutes past six in the evening, and the local guards told us to vacate the place as soon as possible. Nagarhole Wild Life sanctuary is a protected forest, and the roads to the place close at 6pm. This is to prevent vehicular traffic on the roads in the jungle, so that wild animals could be left alone in the evening and in the night. Every extra minute that we spend inside the gates after 6pm will have to be accounted for, once we reach the gates that lie at the border of the forest, which is 23 kilometers from the forest office. As we got into Tata Safari, I shut my camera, and put it inside the camera bag. I knew that there could not be any great photograph that can be made after the sunset. Any flash photography in the wild generally looked like desperate shots from a novice. My other friend Shreyas, a passionate wild-lifer, had his camera ready.

As we cruised along the smooth road, we stopped occasionally for wherever there were spotted deer grazing by the side of the roads. I had almost stopped taking the pictures of the spotted deer because these were in abundance in Bandipur, where I had quenched my thirst of taking their photographs in the previous year. Very rarely, there could be some occasions for unusual shots of the spotted deer, but I had become numb with my laziness to take my camera out for these beautiful but commonplace mammals.

"The forest guard was talking about Tiger census next month", mentioned one of my friends. The Tiger census by the Indian government invites a lot of civilians who are interested in wildlife, to count the tigers in the wild. This is a great occasion to move around with forest guards into the dense jungles, where generally trekking is prohibited. We had been told that the food and accommodation would be taken care of, by the department. Plus, there was a promise of rare sightings of exotic species of denizens of the jungle. A tiger sighting cannot be ruled out, one of the forest guards had said. "Let's check it out. May be the tiger sighting for us, is reserved for that occasion," mentioned other friend, who had turned into a fatalist.

It was getting closer to seven in the evening, and dark. The forest around us was turning into an eerie silhouette that encompassed mystery and suspense. There was almost no chance of sightings in this light, I thought. Suddenly, my friend at the wheels, Anand hit the brakes. "Sshhh," said Shreyas, as I could see a wild elephant herd on the highway shoulders ahead, lit by the strong head lights of the vehicle. I was pleasantly surprised by this bonus forest excitement. Slowly, I withdrew my camera from my camera bag, and began to change the lens to shoot a picture of these mammoths. I could feel the nervousness of Anand at the wheel, who carried the responsibility of the whole team in his hands.

"Don't use flash," instructed Shreyas.

"No, I am not planning to," I said, as I emerged out of the window of the vehicle, placed my camera on the top, and set it into a long exposure shot.

I came back onto my seat to see the picture of the elephants in the low light.

Suddenly, one of the elephants turned towards the vehicle, and walked. A chill traveled through my spine. We all knew that we could not beat an elephant if we drove in reverse gear.

But, the elephant went into the huge lantana bush beside the highway, along with the other elephants, and they huddled together, as though plotting for their next move.

Anand hit the accelerator, and the vehicle sped past the giants, as Shreyas struggled in vain to take parting shots of the huddle.

That was an exciting moment, I thought to myself, as I placed my camera inside the bag. Good way to end the trip.

I closed my eyes, and let the cool jungle air brush past my face from the open window. I was enjoying the last moments of our nice trip to the wild.

"I see some movement there...RIGHT THERE!!!" said Shivaram, hurriedly. He was famously known for his weird jokes, and could it have been one of them???

"Where?" said Anand, as he slowed down the vehicle.

Shreyas jumped up to get a glimpse of the road ahead, and something that was moving.

"Go ahead, it is still on the road"

"Yes," said Anand, as he sped ahead at wild pace.

My eyes were frantically searching for the small thing that these guys had already seen. Where was it? Where was it???

I believed that I had already lost it.

"Right there," showed Shivaram, pointing to a huge fair cat that was slowly moving towards us by the side of the highway.

"That's a tiger cub," he said.

I was astounded. This was the moment that we had been waiting for a very long time. I could feel the excitement in every nerve of my body. I could feel the mystery in the ambience, as all those exciting moments of wild cat encounters that I had seen on TV, and had read about in personal experiences by famous hunters came across to me in a single wave, and hit against me. I could feel the electric energy as it traveled from the wild cat a few yards away, and connect to me in a strange way.

"It is a leopard," said Shreyas, as he pulled out his camera, and began shooting pictures, with flash as strong as flood lamps.

The fair cat moved stealthily into a bush by the other side of our vehicle. "I do not see it anymore," said Shreyas, as he peered out of his window. "It is right there, inside the bush" said Shivaram. Shreyas continued the flood of flashlights, with his camera facing the bush, though he was able to see anything in the dark.

Half a minute later, we were certain that there would be no leopard inside the bush, else, it would have lost its sight with all the flash lights Shreyas hurled at it.

"Ma'an, that was exciting," said Shreyas. I was still coming to terms of the fact that we had sighted a leopard. Finally, we had sighted a leopard, in full view, in its own territory!!!

Shreyas showed the images on the preview screen in his camera. It was indeed an adult leopard. As I moved to the next few pictures, I could see that the leopard had been behind the bushes beside our vehicle in the pictures. To my shock, it was there even in the last picture.

I stared out of the window on the other side of the vehicle, a little unnerved. The carnivore would still be there, may be waiting for us to leave so that it can attack the deer on the other side of the road.

As Anand moved the vehicle, all of us were drenched in strange emotions of excitement, and fear. We carried the exciting memories of this brief encounter, all the way to Bangalore city.

Here are some of my pictures of the same trip....



Hope you like them.

Brickbats for Bouquets

The flowers are the only things that have become a man's friend, despite no utilitarian value, says Eckhart Tolle in his best selling book, A New Earth. Many other great authors have likened the flowers to life, wife (newly married of course ;-) ) and love (before marriage :D ). Jokes apart, flowers have always been regarded as the most beautiful means of communication of love, devotion and respect.

Not one of the Victorian authors, who always had the heroes holding exotic flowers for women, would have imagined the brutal purposes that the same flowers are being used in the current world.

"He is getting married tomorrow afternoon," said a friend of mine, about another friend.

"Oh! This is on a weekday. I don't think I can make it. Maybe I will go for the reception later in the evening," I said.

Reception is the party that is hosted the Indian marriages, where the bride and the groom stand with their best clothes on a stage, as though ready for a battle of political speeches. They would have to do more 'pretending' than the politicians, putting on a fake nice smile, greeting the loads of gaudily dressed relatives, whom they never knew before, who have bouquets in their hands, and dinner on their minds. It does require a strategy, and sheer mental strength by the couple to sustain 3- 4 hours of sweat, itch, and mental diversion techniques to avoid the urge for a quick rush to the rest room.

"The reception is today, not tomorrow," my friend said.

"What? Why? Isn't the reception to be held after the wedding???" I asked.

"That is the logical way. But, economics speak otherwise," he said, as he explained me the reason why Receptions were being held the earlier day. The Wedding houses ( Kalyana Mantapa) in Bangalore are rented out from afternoon till the next afternoon. Hence, if the Receptions are held on the first evening, then one can save on the rent for one day, by vacating by afternoon the next day. Most of the weddings have their Muhurtha (auspicious moment when the wedding has to take place) in the mornings.

Hence, the couple standing on the dais in the Reception is not a couple yet. They are a bachelor, and a spinster.

Hmm....interesting.

"What gift are you planning?"

"Oh! The bugger did not even put 'gifts by your presence only' ??" I asked, not having seen the wedding card.

"Nope. Actually, it is good not to put that," my friend said.

"Why?"

"If that liner is present, then many people would not get gifts. But, some stubborn ones will still get bouquets, which creates a lot of confusion and ill feeling in the others who would be empty handed," he explained.

"True," I was beginning to understand the various nuances of gifting for receptions.

"What do we take?" I asked him.

"Think about it. It should be something that they will 'cherish for life', and should be 'useful for both of them'," he said. I agreed.

That evening, he called up again. "Did you think up any gift?"

"Not yet. I was totally busy today," I said, burning the mental images of the hour-long coffee break that I had taken.

"My friend suggested a silver cup," he said.

"No silver cups please. My cousin received so many silver cups in his wedding that he decided to use the silver in Paris Hilton fashion. One silver cup each day, and never use it again," I said with a chortle. Paris Hilton supposedly never wore a dress the second time. ( I am sure she has some friendship with a Laundry guy ;-) ) .

"Wall clocks?" my friend suggested, reminding me of the Wall clock my cousin had gifted me, but had forgotten to take out the sticker bearing the name of the person who had gifted him that, on his wedding. "Naah, there will be too many clocks, and he will be forced to gift them to others," I said.

"May be a Deo set," he suggested.

That was the best that our non-creative minds could come up with. "Let's get that," I said, preventing the urge to remind him they would not 'cherish for life' the Deo set, or could never use the Deo together.

My friend picked me up the next evening, on the way to wedding. "Which Deo set did you get?" he asked me.

"What? I thought you were supposed to get it," I replied, taken aback.

"Shit! Shit! Shit!!!" he cursed.

"Let's go to Gandhi Bazaar. There are some nice shops, with good Deo sets there," I said.

"That is out of the way, will take a long time," he said. "There is a bouquet shop near the Kalyana Mantapa. Let's get a bouquet," he added.

And thus, a random set of flowers were pulled together, tied up against their wishes, pasted on a conical shaped white cardboard sheet, with some designer plastic cover on the top, that resembled a funeral box of flowers.

As I was on the drive back from the wedding, the uneasy feeling of incompleteness haunted me, as I had not done justice to my friendship by hurrying with a default, for a gift.

UNEASINESS???!!!! YOU ARE CRAZY!!! I HAVE USED FLOWERS ALL OVER MY PLAY 'MIDSUMMER'S NIGHT'S DREAM', Shakespeare would have screamed.

I reply: Oh! Yeah.... Krrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr...... takk (flash back Bollywood style)

The scene after my cousin's wedding Reception, few months back was gruesome. After having loaded all the box packed gifts into various cars, to be taken home, there lay a huge pile of bouquets on the dais of the wedding hall, like the dead bodies of Persians who were killed by the Greek in the battle of Thermopile [remember the movie 300?? ;-)].

Some good looking cousin of the groom realized that she should bring them back to life, and walked over to the pile, and started sorting.

"I want some of those too," said her kid sister, as she ran over to the pile, and picked up some for herself.

Some more ladies realized that the bouquets formed a part of the gifts/wishes, and were to be taken care off, too. They walked up to the pile, and started putting the bouquets in different groups.

The more expensive of the bouquets, that had a wooden basket inside which the flowers were arranged, were in high demand. All of them wanted that, for different reasons. One of them said, "You can take out the flowers, and put fruits inside them, to place it in front of guests," which was still a noble use.

"I can use the basket to keep all the pending utility bills," said another aunty, who had no clue that she was rampaging on the theory that there was a feeling behind the gifts, "And you can use this for our pen stand," she continued handing a bouquet with cylindrical wooden base to her daughter.

"This is long," the kid complained.

"Cut the base into half," architectured her mother.

Though some of the bouquets did end up in the bride's hotel room (this was one of those wedding where Reception was after the wedding), many of them were routed for utilitarian purposes. Ekhart Tolle has never seen an Indian reception yet ;-)

I just prayed that the groom not have any allergy towards flowers, else it would be rougher night for him than planned.

Confused between gifts that the couple may never use, and the bouquets that create a drama at a different level of life, I decided to stick with currency in a decent envelope, whenever I fail to come up with a creative idea for a gift.

Pictures of Goa trip

junta,

here are some of the pictures of Goa trip earlier this year.




Hope you like them.

Don't Kill The Golden Goose

The ancient battle of Cauvery water resurfaces, but in a new 'avataar'. The Chief Minister of Tamil Nadu is supposed to have made a jingoistic statement that has awakened the soldiers in Kannadigas. In the recent days, with all the new challenges in terms of pathetic traffic management, stupid International airport issues, ridiculous IT vs Non-IT battles, the Gowda betrayal cries, the Cauvery issue had taken a beating. It seems like a nostalgic Karunanidhi wanted to relive the past, and hence made an immature statement.

What surprises me is the matured way in which the citizens of Bangalore have been handling the issue.
In the previous organization that I was working in 2002, the threat on Tamilians in Bangalore was so very much, that the organization had sent across a grape vine that any Tamilians not turning up for work for three days would not be penalized.
Though there have been a few instances of Tamilian property being damaged this time, a wide scale protest against Tamilians is missing. The Kannada leaders have realized that there is no point in making this a language issue. It is a water issue, and let's stick to that.

Bangalore is cosmopolitan. It has a huge population of non-Kannadigas. To fight that fact is in vain. But, to accept it, and enjoy the variety, using it to our strength is maturity. There is a huge population of Tamilians in Bangalore, and in Karnataka on a larger scale. This population of Tamilians are people of Karnataka.
Yes, they are people of Karnataka.

This population lives here, uses the resources here, pays taxes to Karnataka government, and contributes effectively to the growth of the city and the state. If we do not get good water to drink, this Tamilian population suffers the same plight. Karunanidhi would not send free bottled water to the homes of Tamilians living in Karnataka. Hence, this issue is as important to a Tamilian living in Karnataka, as a Kannadiga living in Karnataka. It is time for the Kannada leaders to move to the next level. It is time for us to pull Tamilians in Karnataka to fight this battle with us.

Bangalore has not only attracted the attention of the world, but has pulled in huge amount of Foreign Direct Investments. It is foolish for the Centre to ignore this fact, and play into DMK's ruse. Bangalore should be given special status with an assurance of uninterrupted power, and water supply, quick implementation of communication networks, and world class commuting facilities. Unlike other big cities, where huge amount of money is due to a large population of workers in labor-intensive jobs, Bangalore's economic development is through optimal population of highly skilled knowledge workers. The IT attracted the ITES, which has now trickled down to legal outsourcing, and many other new job creations spreading out to many other cities in the country. Bangalore is a Golden Goose. It is the duty of the Centre, not to kill it, but nurture it to take the economy of India to the next level.

Trip to Chitradurga

junta,

here are some of the pictures of my trip to Chitradurga...





Hope you like them.

Nine Queens.... the movie

'Bluffmaster', the Hindi flick came as a 'relief' Aishwarya, breaking junior Bachchan’s vow to join the Hall of Fame in Bollywood to have given the maximum number of flops humanly possible. I had been very impressed by the style treatment to an excellent story, which had a good dose of humour, and romance. It surely promised a great future for the Mumbai movie industry that was evolving into a new avatar.

Alas!!! I realize now that it has been more than inspired by the Argentinian movie ‘Nine Queens’. Nine Queens forms a quicker, realistic, and a straighter story than ‘Bluffmaster’, and keeps the pace throughout. Despite flaunt of style, the nonchalance of the narration impressed me the most.

The story is simple. A young con joins an experienced con for one day. In this day, they chance upon the opportunity to make the money worth their lives. The excitement is about the various barriers that they come across in their pursuit of the opportunity, in the form of an invaluable set of 9 ancient stamps called the ‘Nine Queens’.

If you like fun movies, and don’t mind the subtitles, this is a great movie for a Sunday afternoon watch.

Have fun.

The Five Levels of Initiatives

“How to make my team perform?” I asked my coach. I was participating in a leadership program where I had taken up the community project of bringing homeless children under the care of NGOs. My team consisted of a group of my friends, who were working with me on the project.

“Why? What is happening?” my coach asked me.

“My team is wanting to perform. But, they are not. They are coming up with a lot of reasons that stop them from taking actions. I end up trying to solve those problems for them. This leaves me with no time to visualize the future for the team. I become involved in the routine issues of the team.”

“Do you actually realize that you are not helping them by doing their job?” my coach asked me.

“Yes, I realize that. They will not learn anything if I do the job for them. But, when they request, I am forced to help,” I said.

“You are not relating to them as leaders,” my coach made a statement.

“What?” I was puzzled.

“You treat them as weak human beings who need help.”

“No, I treat them with respect,” I protested.

“I get that. But respect has nothing to do with you relating to them as leaders,” my coach added.

This was very confusing. I treated them with utmost respect, and was ready to help them if they needed it. What was wrong with that?

“A very important character of a leader is to create leaders around him. Without such a group of leaders around you, you will never be able to grow on a global scale. So, if you want your team to excel, create leaders around you and ‘relate’ to them as leaders,” my coach said.

“How can I relate to them as leaders? What do you mean by that?” I asked.

“Consider them to be powerful human beings. How would you, as a leader, talk to another leader? Imagine that, and bring forth that in the team,” said my coach.

“There are five levels of initiatives when your team members confront adversities,” my coach continued, “These are

1. Waiting to be told

2. Asking what to do

3. Make a recommendation, and take your feed back to take actions

4. Take actions, and advise you.

5. Complete the job, and report it to you.

If they are in the first two levels, you are not relating to them as leaders. They are coming up with a problem to you, looking out for a solution. As you don’t think that they will be able to carry out your suggestions, you will end up doing the job for them.

You will have to make it clear to the team that you will relate to them as powerful human beings, who can overcome adversities, and expect them to come to you only with the third level of initiative or higher. The first two levels are unacceptable.”

I was getting a sense of what my coach was telling me.

“When they take time to figure out a solution, and make a recommendation, it would make the project more exciting, as their solutions are being implemented. Plus, it would give you a lot of time to spend on creating a vision for the team, rather than micromanagement of daily tasks.”

“This is fantastic,” I said. I realized that by relating to my team members as leaders, and getting them to come up with innovative solutions, I would have to let go of my attachment to my way of solving the issues. But, it would make the project exciting, as the team members would be bringing forth their creativity in overcoming barriers.

“Would you want to share this with your team and get them to be leaders?” my coach asked me.

“Oh! Yes. I will do that right away,” I said in excitement.

“Good. Now, there are some other things to consider while you are working with your team,” my coach said.

I listened intently.

“These are the traps that the team will fall into, if you are not careful. These are,

1.Unimportant

2.Irrelevance

3.Immeasurement

Unimportant

Recognition for a team member plays a significant role in the quality and quantity of the work that gets done from the person. If the team member feels that he is not important for the team, and does not see that his presence or absence makes any difference, he would rather be absent. As a leader, the onus is on you to realize the importance of each member of the team, and share it with him or her. When there has been a significant contribution from any member, it has to be recognized and acknowledged immediately.

Irrelevance

If a team member were not sure about where his work fits in the bigger picture, he would not find his work relevant. The irrelevance of his work would not give him the excitement of accomplishing it. Hence, work without excitement would soon result is minimal and finally no work. You will have to draw out a bigger picture of the accomplishments of the team, and point out the contribution of each member of the team in the accomplishments. This would not only make the contribution relevant, but makes the team member whole-heartedly take the acknowledgement for the team’s accomplishments.

Immeasurement

The job done by the team member will have to be measurable. Not measuring performance is a sure shot way of failing. You can employ any standard to work with the team member and come up with a way to measure the performance of the team member. When the performance is measured, you would have defined a game for the team member to play. At the end of a milestone, the team member can check whether or not he has been successful in accomplishing the results expected. If he has not been able to accomplish the goals, he can observe what is missing in the effort and bring it into the activities, such that the milestone is met effectively,” my coach ended.

“This is awesome. I will take care of these things,” I mentioned, sitting at the edge of my seat, ready to implement these distinctions right away.

“Good luck to you,” my coach smiled.

- Authored by Thejas K R, with inputs from Landmark Education, and Harvard Business Review

Towards a flatter world...the sequel

the first part of this two part write up is here

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

An year later, I was sitting at a Cyber cafe (Internet parlor), having created my first email account with Yahoo. I had just one email id to whom I could send an email. He was my cousin who was working for Intel in Portland, and had given me his email address when on a vacation to India. For my first email, I had typed a long letter with more than five hundred words. After I pressed the 'Send' button, I felt elated. I had sent my first email.
But, would he receive it? Was the email address right?
These questions haunted me as the Indian Postal Service always made it a point to lose all my letters (the real world version of the email) to my cousins.
The next day, I went to the Cyber cafe again and logged into my email account. I was surprised to find a reply to the email from my cousin. Though, as an Engineering student, I knew all the technology behind the emails, and the Internet, it was a strange experience for me to actually see that the message had traveled all the way to the United States, and had come back (figuratively). All this had happened within a span of one day, and with a cost of not more than twenty rupees per hour.
I had thought, 'God! What is the world going to be?'
I did not even think in my wildest imaginations, about the number of emails that I sending and receiving today.

"The wild animals visit this place almost every night," the forest guard told the four of us, pointing to a small water hole, a hundred yards ahead. Three of my friends and myself had ventured into a trek in the protected forest of Parambikulam in the November of 2006, with a few forest guards. We were staying in an old bungalow in the middle of the forest, built by the British in the last century. This house did not have any facilities, but was just a structure with a few doors and a roof to serve the wildlife enthusiasts to stay for a night. The house had deep pits dug on all the sides, to prevent the denizens of the jungle from coming near. A small plank on the pit on the front side was the only entrance to the bungalow. A small lantern was the only source of light, helping the cook to prepare the dinner using firewood from the jungle, and water from the nearby stream that we had brought, earlier in the evening. The ambience was eerie, as one of the assistant forest guards started narrating jungle tales of a tiger that was tormenting the villages skirting the forest. There was a occasional bark of a deer, a quacking sound of a strange bird, and some other sounds that I could not distinguish. After the dinner, the forest guard suggested that we could go out for a night walk, as it was a good time to sight wild animals. Though I trusted the experience of the forest guard, I was skeptical about him. He had behaved weirdly in the jungle walk, earlier in the evening. He did not interact much with anyone, but just kept to himself, and was always marching ahead when we trekked. Sometimes, he did try to speak to us in a language which my Tamilian friend guessed to be Malayalam, and my Malayali friend thought to be Tamil.

As we started the night trek, I started following the forest guards, with a torch in my hand, followed by my other friends. The forest guard did not even carry a torch, but just a stick, which he was swinging wildly as he walked. Few minutes into the jungle, and it was getting scarier, surrounded by dark green trees, bushes, and grass, in the forest, dim lit due to the partial moon. It looked more of a dream sequence, than a real life experience, as most of the things that I could see or hear were not clear. Suddenly, I could hear human voice. Unsure, I became more attentive. There was definitely a voice. As I observed, it was coming from the forest guard, who was more than fifteen yards ahead of me. I froze. It looked like he was chanting something.
Could it be a ghost chant? Or was he just crazy?
Suddenly, I could see a sparkle at he right ear. He was holding something.
It appeared like a mobile phone.
It was indeed a mobile phone. Later I was told that it was a BSNL connection.
Few years back, we did not have proper phones in important towns in India. Today, there was a cell phone connectivity in the heart of the Parambikulam jungle. Is the day far when the tigers and leopards would have email accounts?

On a recent visit to my native place Kilar, a secluded village off the NH 206; on the way to Honnavar from Jog falls, I had taken my digital camera. There was a Upanayanam (threading) ceremony of one of my cousins, and there was a large gathering of all my relatives, whom I had not seen since childhood. I like such gatherings because they are a great way of meeting up with everyone, and saving time rather than visit each of the houses. I was clicking a lot of candid shots, as this was a unique occasion, where all my relatives had come together, after a long time. After a hearty lunch, it was the time of giving gifts to 'Vatu', the person who has been threaded. I was happy that I could cover pictures of everyone, as all the people would definitely come to give the gifts. I positioned myself beside my threaded cousin, and his parents, and shot pictures at will.
After the eventful day, I had to return back to Bangalore the same night. I had to leave on an onsite deputation to Minneapolis, US in the weekend.
After reaching Minneapolis, I uploaded all my pictures on an online album, and sent the links over to my cousins in Bangalore.
The next day, I got a call from the sister of my grandmother in New Jersey. She had got my phone number from my family in Bangalore.
She told me that my cousins in Bangalore had forwarded the link to my pictures, to my cousin who was threaded in the secluded village. He had been able to view all the pictures through a dial up connection, and had sent the link over to my grandmother's sister over the phone. My grandmother's sister had browsed through all the pictures, and had called up to tell me that the pictures were nice, but I had missed out her friend, who had supposedly come to the gathering.
All this in one day?!!!
I stood stunned.

On my recent vacation to Honnavar, a place I loathed as a kid because of Sundays without TV, I could see my grandmother sitting with her kitchen help watching the latest report by 'Aaj Tak' on Iraq War. "This Bush is crazy, why is he still fighting in Iraq? Saddam is already caught," she was telling her help. "Many people may not know that Saddam is caught. Looks like there are not many TVs in Iraq," said the kitchen help.

From the days of the snake charmers, Kings and their elephants, it is a wonder to the world as India moves towards auto drivers with mobile phones, and blue toothed connected super malls. Kitchen helps talking about global issues, mobile phone connectivity in the jungles, and village boys sending Orkut friend requests, all hint at the communication media flattening the world. In this world, where each country needs the others to develop, a flat world would prove a boon to the humanity. Together, we will win.

Towards a flatter world...

As I was browsing through the book, 'The World is Flat' by Thomas Friedman, that talks about the amazing way in which the technological innovations were making communication so very easy that the world appeared flat without barriers, I began recollecting some of my experiences as an Indian, who stood as witness as it unfolded right before my eyes. Here is a slice of my journey towards a Flat World.

I stared out of the window into the unkempt, large garden, with thick undergrowth, and lovely jackfruit trees. It was a cold day, with the white light from the clouds creating the setting from a British movie 'Pride and Prejudice'. But, I was in a gloom.
It was not because of the clouds.
It was a Sunday in the winter of late 80s, and the day of the 'Heman and the Masters of the Universe' [a very popular cartoon TV series in the late 80s in India]. I was at my grandpa's place in Honnavar, an important coastal town in Karnataka, and it had no television sets then.
This was what I loathed about going on a vacation. No 'Heman' at nine, and no 'Mickey and Donald' at ten.
I remembered the attractive TV advertisements that I had seen of 'EC TV', in Bangalore. Though there were other brands, such as 'Videocon' and 'BPL', EC TV appeared like an inexpensive brand, which my calculative grandpa could be convinced to buy. A little afraid to propose this idea directly, I had scribbled 'Why not buy a EC TV' in Kannada, and left it at the dinner table.
I can still remember the roar of laughter that emerged from the dining room when my parents and grandparents sat for lunch.
'Hrrmmph', I had said to myself, 'these elders will never spend a paise for us.'

On an August day of 2006, I logged into 'Orkut', the most popular site amongst the young, and the most hated site by corporate firewalls. I had got a friend request from 'Pachchi'. I was confused. All the Prasannas (who become Pachchi for their close friends) that I knew were known by different petnames. There was only one Prasanna who was Pachchi that I knew. He was from my native village amidst the Western Ghats. Two years back, this village had no proper telephones, with the few houses that did, needed to have an incandescent bulb kept at a very close proximity to the instrument, without which the instrument would die of cold.
Pachchi had not only gotten hold of a computer, but had browsed the Internet enough to get to know about Orkut, and sent a friend request!!!
Gawd!!! Forget about the two digit growth of economy, this was more astonishing.
Soon he would stumble against a Brazilian woman interested in Indian culture, and due to his religious upbringing, would launch into a Gyan Transfer about Indian scriptures to her.
The Internet was flattening the world at a fast pace.

The Internet was an enigma to me in the summer of '98. I had just met up with a friend of mine the other evening, who was boasting of a 'Hotmail Account' that he had opened for free. I had never used a Windows machine, and was totally ignorant about what the 'Hotmail Account' was.
I did not even have an idea about what the 'Internet' looked like.
A recent article in a local magazine had great words to speak about the new phenomenon called the 'Internet'. As this was somewhere related to the Computers, and as I was a Software Engineer aspirant, I decided to read the article. In there, I was introduced to the concept of URL. I wrote down the URLs like nationalgeographic.com, readersdigest.com mentioned there.
I called up my friend with the 'Hotmail Account' and got the directions from him to go to the 'Yahoo Cafe', which was one of the first few Internet cafes in Bangalore. I pulled another friend of mine to join me to check this new invention.
As we followed the directions to 'Yahoo Cafe', we moved through small lanes, and dirty roads. Finally, we saw a new board sporting 'Yahoo Cafe', on the first floor of a dilapidated building. I was upset. How could they not treat this new invention with respect? How could they have it accessible at such a run down place?

'Two Hundred rupees for one year membership, four hundred rupees for life membership," uttered a spectacled young man behind a flaking table of the Yahoo Cafe.
"What is the cost for using Internet for non-members?" I asked him.
"Eighty rupees for non-members. But only sixty rupees for members," he smiled.
"I will use it now. I will become a member next week," I told him.
"Your wish," he shrugged, as he directed us to a dark, damp room, with eight computers.
He clicked on an icon on a computer, which opened up a window, and then he went away.
As my friend stared at me, not sure what to do, I pulled out the paper with URLs with a broad smile. My article had empowered me on the Internet.
I typed 'Readerdigest.com' and the site opened. I read through the site for a few minutes. Then I typed 'NationalGeographic.com' and the site opened. It was a very basic site, with minimal pictures. We read through that. Then, I did not know what to do. It was just ten minutes, and we had fifty more minutes to go.
INTERNET WAS BORING.
"I am told that there are some sites that you can search, using Yahoo.com,” my friend said.
I typed 'Yahoo.com' on the URL. The Yahoo homepage appeared. We saw a place to type the subject, and a 'Search' button by its side. Now, what could we search for on the Internet?
My friend typed "Shah Rukh Khan" and clicked on the Search button. It was irritatingly slow, and after a minute of blank white screen, some links appeared. My friend clicked on one of them. After one more frustrating minute of blank white screen, the site began to load on the screen. Suddenly, we saw a picture of an attractive woman on one of the sides of the web page, with a 'Want me? Click Here' statement highlighted. My friend clicked on that. Another screen popped up. One link led to another, and we had more than twenty windows opened up. It was now very, very slow, and did not respond for almost five minutes. It was a mess out there.
We did not know how to close the windows!!!
I suggested that we call the person to close the windows.
"Are you out of your mind? How can we let him see all these windows?” my friend said frantically.
We waited for five more minutes. We were in there for almost an hour now. I took the courage to go up to the young man behind the table, and told him that we were done. As he came up to the computer, and began closing the windows, I observed how he was doing it, meanwhile getting embarrassed with all the content of the windows.
We came back home with a decision, never to waste our money on Internet again.

Later at home, "Internet is boring," I told Ravi, my friend who was like a tech-guru to me.
"Why?" he asked.
"Pah! I surfed the Net for one hour, it was so boring," I said in disgust, and added, "Wasted eighty rupees."
"Arre," he said, "You don't know how glorious the Internet is. I went to a site that was hosting movies. I saw that they were showing 'DDLJ'." DDLJ was a blockbuster Hindi movie of the mid-nineties. Though, now I realize that he was bluffing, because this was an era when the Internet was so slow that each byte appeared to come to India through Air India, the bluff did create a renewed interest in me towards the Internet.

Few days later, I chanced upon a book on Netscape Navigator. As I browsed through the book, I became aware of the power of Internet, and its numerous possibilities.

A month later, I had the occasion to meet up cousin of mine, a newly married Software Engineer from California, who visited us with his wife. In the process of showing off my intellect on Internet, and associated technologies, I blurted out everything that I remembered from the book on Netscape Navigator. He listened to me with keen interest.
Then I asked him, "A lot of data is said to be 'floating' around on the Net. What do you mean by 'floating' around? It should be stored somewhere, right?"
"Actually, yes. It is stored in some place," he said after a moment of silence, not very sure of his answer.
"But, Internet is said to uncontrollable by Governments, and private people. If the data is all stored in a place, don't you think the Government of that country will get an upper hand on the whole of the world?" was my sincere question to him.
He thought for a moment. He thought for almost a minute, which was a pretense that he was trying to make sense out of my question.
Then he said, "Actually, I do not deal with Internet technologies, but I am told that it is stored in Holland."
"Why Holland? Don't you think that Holland will get the power over the Internet if all the data on the Internet is stored in that country?"
"Actually, though it is stored in Holland, their Government does not know that it is stored there," he said.
Actually, he did not know anything about it. But, it did leave me thinking, that when the Holland Government comes to know that all the data on the Internet is stored in its country, it is going to become the Superpower of the world.



(Thank you for visiting my page..... Watch this space tomorrow for the concluding part......)

As the tide rises....

I didn't switch on the car radio. The intermittent muted thud of the windshield wipers as they wiped the shapeless splashes of rain drops induced a gloom that I was enjoying. Stuck in the internationally acclaimed traffic jam near the world famous Silk Board circle of Bangalore, I was looking at the 'TATA' board on the rear of the truck poised in front of my car. Any moment, the traffic light that I could not see would turn to green, and the lazy drivers would be forced to shift the gears to the first, and traffic would move, I thought.

I was enjoying watching the reckless biker, who had rudely cut past me in the previous signal, wait helplessly ahead, getting drenched in the light drizzle. I was secretly hoping for the rain to come harder, so that the water would creep into the dude's pants too.

Just then, there was a slight hint of the movement of the vehicles, and the truck in front of me moved ahead slowly.

As I passed the SilkBoard signal, and swerved right into Hosur road, I was happy with the speed with which the vehicles were moving. I guessed that the traffic jam was only on the previous road.

Or!!! I was wrong.

I hit the brakes violently. The traffic abruptly came to a halt by the side of the Silk Board flyover.

I was clueless about this strange phenomenon. This was not a hot spot for traffic jams, as Hosur road had been relatively free after the expansion in the last six months. I waited patiently, as curious Hari and Geetha stared at me from the rear windows of a Toyota Qualis. I did not know them personally. Actually, I had not seen them in my life ever before. The two people were staring out of a rear window that proclaimed 'Hari' and 'Geetha' as though the initial credits of a Kannada movie, on the glass.

Suddenly, it rained harder. I turned the knob of my windshield wipers to move faster. I was secretly happy, imagining the plight of the biker, whom I could not see now. This was fun.

Just then, I saw muddy water build up on the road. I was wondering about where it all would go. I saw an opening beside the road shoulder, where all the water was flushing down. I waited for the traffic to move, not very much aware of the cause of the jam. I imagined that it could be some confused traffic manager, hired by the Traffic Police, who had no clue about what he was doing. Undernourished, and untrained, these chaps seem to be hired in a hurry by the Bangalore Traffic Police. Similar to the hordes of freshers being herded into the IT industry, some of whom have never touched the ';' button on the key board in their past, and the management suddenly disappearing from the sight, leaving the hapless clients staring at these chaps in the hope that the person who wrote "Outsourcing in the latest 'in' thing" is right, the hired 'Traffic Policemen' always try their best to come up with some strategy to convince the junta that they are right for the job. They think creatively, coming with some mini 'STOP' boards, orange jackets, and sometimes whistles too, but are not able to stop the James Bond inspired crazy men behind the wheels of the Tempo Travelers of the IT companies, who are licensed to kill.

As I waited in the lashing rain, watching Hari and Geetha, exchanging some comments about me, I could hear the light lapping sounds. The last time I had heard, was a climax scene in an English movie where a boat is drowning.
Where the hell was this coming from????

Now, I could see that the water had built up enough, so much so that it was lapping in light waves against the bottom of my car.

I was shocked.

Dammit!! I was not on a boat. I was in a car. And cars have holes. Through which water can come in.

Suddenly, I looked at the opening through which water was being routed out. The water level had risen beyond the hole. I could not see the hole now.

My heart sank.

(to be continued.... along with a video)

Brief moment of almost fame

"Guess who called up today?" my mother asked me one evening, a few weeks back. Just returning from a long day at office, I did not care if it was from the Prime Minister himself.

"You guess," I told her back.

She smiled at the fatigued joke, and mentioned, "Sumitha aththe (aunt)".

Oh! Sumitha aththe was the wife of my father's uncle who was a famous politician, and moved around in powerful circles.

"What's up?" I asked her.

"She wanted to talk to me about a proposal for you," my mother mentioned with a naughty sparkle in her eyes.

Aha!!! This had been going on for the last six months now. The first step of the process of an arranged marriage. My mother was getting unnecessarily excited about almost every proposal, some of them very good looking, some of them very smart, and some of them were both. A look at the mention of the height on the 'Biodata' of the able ladies, and my mother would sink in her chair in disappointment. Having a son whose height two men could share was certainly not working out for her. Most of the girls would look like kindergarten kids in front of me.

"Hmm," I said.

"The girl is very tall, it seems," she said.

"How much?" I threw the question, untying my shoe laces.

"Pretty tall. I think you might have seen her," the smile was still on her face.

"Eh?! I have seen her? Where?" I was surprised. A train of memories of all the marriage functions that I had attended in the past few months flew past me. Naah!!! None were 'tall'.

"Deepika Padukone," she uttered.

I was stunned.

A moment of silence followed.

"She is a Super Model. She is a celebrity," I uttered, voice barely coming out.

"I know her. She has also acted a movie I think," my mother said.

Why on Earth would Deepika want to marry me???

Oh! Lemme rephrase the question. 'Why on Earth would Mr Padukone want to propose her to me???', because I am sure that Deepika would not want to marry me if I am the last man on this planet.

Or, may be she would..... if I am the last man on this planet.... and only in that case...... or.... would she..... hmmm....

"But, Sumitha aththe says that her family is traditional. They are looking out for boys from traditional families," my mother added.

How do I qualify for being ‘Traditional’? The only times I wear Kurta/dhoti are during the times of Ethnic Days in my office.

May be I could wear Kurtas more often, I thought.

"Because she is into movies and modelling, and you were into movies and modelling before, she thought that we might consider the proposal," mother continued.

A chill traveled down my spine. Was this really happening??!!!

"Are you crazy???" I asked her, excited enough that I could not make out whether I was feeling happy, or confused.

"I know. I told her that she may not fit you in anyway other than the height," now my mother was smiling, almost on the verge of laughing.

Whew!!! That was something. Sumitha aththe had some real wild imaginations. Mother did think logically.

"You and she will not make a good pair. She is a little dusky I am told," laughed out my mother aloud.

Err.... anyway, she was never my favorite.

One monsoon visit to Jog Falls

Holding the slippery boulder tight, I peeped down. It was an exhilarating experience to watch the vigorous muddy water of the Jog Falls, trying to squeeze into the crevices between the rocks, and lurch out into air, before descending down the ravine, appearing as a heap of crystals. The bottom of the waterfalls could not be seen, as the water was falling into a mist that was erupting from down below.
I just stared at the magnificent falls, as the excitement simmered down, and I began losing myself in the aura of the nature's magical creation, the Jog Falls.



Jog Falls, counted as one of the famous waterfalls worldwide, was just another place for me. This place was one of the most common places that I visited every summer since my childhood days, as it was a half hour drive from my grandpa's place in Talaguppa. We had to drive past Jog for visiting any of my other relatives nearby. Once, I had seen it in summer, sporting less water than the water pipe to my grandpa's garden. I always wondered 'what’s all the hype about?’

And suddenly it happened. Due to the heavy rains in the catchment areas in the Western Ghats this year, all the waterfalls in the Ghats were in the best of their spirits. But the celebrity amongst them was none other than the famous Jog Falls. The Linganamakki Dam that is built against Sharavathi River had been filled up to the brim; the gates of the dam were opened to the maximum. The gushing river had flowed down to the Jog Falls, forming a feast for the eyes. Immediately, news had flashed all over the television channels, and newspapers that Jog Falls is at its powerful best, a scene that had been witnessed twelve years back.

Four of us friends planned a one-day trip to the place. A night bus from Bangalore took us to Sagar (Shimoga District) on August 11th, and from there we were able to get my uncle’s car to Jog Falls. As we drove through the intermittent drizzle, I noticed the carpet of fresh green grass that was splashed out from the road shoulders, to the farms, trees, and even walls of the village houses. I was almost tempted to stop the car, get out into the drizzle, and roll on the green spread.




We had been advised to visit the Linganamakki Dam, the China Gate, and the Jog Falls in that order.

On the National Highway 206, also called at the B H Road, we took a deviation to the left at Churikatte, 18 kms from Sagar. This route passes through a small village Idwani. We stopped there and got down to ask at the roadside cycle shop about the way to go to Linganamakki Dam. "Jog straight, Jog straight," the man at the cycle shop screamed, misjudging us to be foreigners, with our weird clothes, hats and expensive cameras. He appeared surprised when I asked him the way to Linganamakki Dam, in my native language Kannada. He showed us another deviation, a nondescript road to the left that took us to the viewpoint from where we could get a good sight of the charming dam.



As it was already nearing the afternoon, we drove straight to Jog Falls, from Linganamakki Dam. As we parked our car in the Mysore Bunglow viewpoint, and came out to watch the falls, I could feel my heartbeats racing. Finally, I was going to watch the Jog Falls in full splendor. This was the waterfall that I had watched as a kid, and as an adolescent. Though it had attracted tourists from world over, it had never fascinated me as I had always seen it in the summer, and the winter, when the gates were hardly open.

Now, it was like the first time I went to college. I was nervous, and curious.

Slowly, I pulled out my umbrella, my camera, and walked towards the viewpoint, where hundreds had already assembled to watch the 'performance'. The roar of the waterfalls drowned all the excited screams of the crowd that had gathered. As I made my way to the viewpoint, I was shocked.

I could see nothing.

It was just plain white all over.

The mist had taken over.

The disappointment was huge. Finally, after all these years of bearing the waterfalls in its gawky form, we had traveled all the way from Bangalore, specifically for this occasion. This was a cruel joke of Nature on us. I felt let down, and frustrated.

But, all was not lost. The crowd assured me that in a few hours, there would be rough winds that might clear the mist. We waited for an hour, during which, there was occasional glimpses of the Jog Falls, in its knightly form. Though the mist never cleared completely, to get a full view of the falls, it did give us some special moments to click some good pictures.

We decided to move to the other viewpoint, the British Bunglow, constructed by the British during their rule. This viewpoint is very close to the waterfalls, and promised to give us a better view of the falls. The British Bunglow viewpoint is a ten-minute drive from the Mysore Bunglow viewpoint, built by Mysore King during British rule. As we parked our car, and came up to the viewpoint, the view made it all worth. Magnanimously, the Sharavathi River showed off all its muscles, as it created the powerful, and the angelic waterfalls, diving into the abyss below. As my eyes swept the landscape, the exquisite waterfalls pouring out all over, bordered by the green trees in the background, and light blue sky visible between white clouds, I stood marveling at the heart catching spectacle.



The Jog Falls consists of four main waterfalls. The Raja, known for its majesty, the Rani, known for its elegant form, the Roarer, known for the loudness, and the Rocket, known for its shape. Due to the flood of water from everywhere, the four waterfalls were in full flow, unlike any pictures that is often used on the calendars.

We decided to move closer to the waterfalls. As we made our way through a muddy path, in the light drizzle, we came across an official board on which somebody had painted carelessly 'Danger'. We proceeded, as there was a continuous flow of the crowd to the rocks at the edge of the waterfalls.






It was on the rocks on the edge of the waterfalls that I had an experience of my lifetime, when I peeped down into the waterfalls from up above.

On the way back, we stopped at the China Gate, between the Linganamakki Dam and Jog Falls. The water flowed smoothly over the concrete structures, creating a beautiful setting.

An hour drive back to Sagar, on the silky and wet highway amidst the greenery, and we were set to board the bus back to Bangalore.

Jog Falls holds mystery of the Sathoddi falls, the grace of the Abbi falls, and power of the Hebbe falls. It has not only helps build a local economy by its tourism, but contributes Lion's share of the electricity needs of Karnataka. It is on the itinerary of all the ministers, and other government officials who are on official visits in the neighboring districts. But, beyond the hullabaloo, it has been a friendly neighbor to me that always smiled at me, on my occasional visits to my grandfather's house. It has been the kid next door to me that makes me feel that I have grown up with it.

Here are some of the pictures of the trip.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/66091089@N00/sets/72157601627219813/

Here’s a video of the Jog Falls from the top, in Mungaru Male stye ;-)



Hope you like them.

Thejas

my 2 cents on behavioral observation

"Treat others the way you want to be treated," goes the popular advise.

But, does it work?

Let's analyse.

Assume that you are a very punctual person. You have promised a person that you meet him/her at eleven in the morning. If you reach the place at the specified time, you realise that the other person has not come yet. You wait for half an hour. Then, the person arrives, with a smile.
There may or may not be a trivial mention of apology by the person, with a smile that is almost stops at saying 'I don't value your time.'
Let us not go into the right or wrong of the actions of the other person, as the focus here is about you.

Let's assume that you reach the place by twelve, an hour late. The person is just half hour late, and has been waiting for you for the rest half hour. When you reach the place, you may or may not come across a look that makes you feel guilty.
If you do not apologise, it is still alright with the person.
But, if you throw a few words of apologies, even though you don't mean it, the person buys it wholeheartedly.

What works in this situation is "Treat others as they want to be treated" and not "As you want to be treated".
What do you think?? ;-)

But, " Treat others as you want to be treated " was easier. You know how you want to be treated. You could taken actions based on those. " Treat others as they want to be treated" is difficult, as you are not sure about how they want to be treated.
Valid point.
But, who said life was easy??? :D

One way to go about understanding how the other person wants to be treated, is the way the other person treats you. If the other person is very sensitive, he/she expects the same of you. If the other person is easy going, and you become all sensitive, emotional.... you may get a "Jeez, cool it!!!". If the other person is not very punctual, he does not expect you to be punctual.

However, I would like to throw in my disclaimer on this observation. This line of thought only works when the relationship is not of the type mentor-mentee, or coach-coachee. In these situations, it becomes the "job" of the mentor, or the coach to not sell short for mentee or coachee, but beat them to shape irrespective of the personal behaviors of the mentor or the coach.

For your success,

with warm regards,
Thejas

Lakkavalli memoirs...

I had been to the Bhadra Tiger Reserve in Lakkavalli, near Tarikere in Karnataka.... Here are some of the pictures of the same....



junta,

Due to a mess up with my camera at the Inspection Bunglow, I could not do justice to the wildlife out there.

Hope you like these.... :)

FILM APPRECIATION WORKSHOP

To inculcate good culture of appreciating art films, by viewing the films, critically participating in discussion session with the directors, and other experts, 'Sine Maathu' an enthusiastic group has set such programmes for the coming months, by screening 8-10 films in series through film appreciation workshop. 'Sine Maathu' has already accomplished screening three critically acclaimed Kannada movies 'Nayi Neralu' and 'Beru' in the month of April, and 'Mussanje' in May. Discussion sessions with the film directors Girish Kasaravalli, P Sheshadri and Ramadaasa Naidu along with artists added extra flavour to the participants of the workshop.
Press reviews of these events have been encouraging.

In June, 'Sine Maathu' has come up with another movie 'Mouni' in Kannada (with English subtitles), directed by B S Lingadevaru.

This film will be screen at 5pm, on 17th June 07, at 'Sine Maathu' , at K V Subbanna Aaptha Rangamandira. Sri Lingadevaru(director), along with main artists and others will be present for discussion with participants after the screening of the film.

Brief synopsis of the film will be given to the participants before the screening of film and the interaction session will be held in camera. The outcome of the discussion will be recorded, viewed and studied later, for research purposes.

The fees for the workshop is Rs. 50/- . Please register your participation on or before 15th June, Friday, 7pm since seats are limited to 55.

Here are the details,


Mouni

Direction: Sri B S Lingadevaru

Screened on 17/6/07, Sunday, 5pm onwards

Discussion and interaction with director, artists and experts from 7pm onwards



Venue

'Sine Maathu'

K V Subbanna Aaptha Rangamandira

No. 151, 7th cross, I Stage, Teachers Colony, Opp to Vasudha Bhavan

Near Dayananda Sagar College of Engineering,

Bangalore – 560078



Contacts

9242523523 – B R Gopinath

9845931306 – K S Rajaram

9945530192 – Manohar Salimut

9980934686 – Thejas K R

Further details are in the attached poster. The maps to the venue have also been attached.

Regards,
Thejas

MAPS





Posters

Monsoon at my workplace

"Bahar itna achcha mausam hain aur aap idhar baitkhe kaam kar rahe ho," uttered my colleague in the office. She had triggered a wave of sadness in me.
'Aha!!! Let'z go outdoors' I decided and came out of the building to witness this....

Monsoon at my workplace.....

Joney Bellaaa.....

"Your grandma feasted on the joney bella ( fluid jaggery) today," announced my mother, with a smile just after I returned from work yesterday.
"Oh! Is it?" I looked at my grandmother with a mischievous glance.
"No...no," my grandmother said in defence, " I just had a few drops along with avalakki ( south indian dish )".
"No, your grandma pretty much feasted on the bella," insisted my mother playfully.
I narrowed my eyes on my grandmother, with a look suggesting that she may better tell the truth.
Suddenly, she burst out in laughter, her lips parted revealing a funny toothless hollow, adding to the sparkle in her eyes. She had been caught. She was never the one who would easily give it up. But, it looked like the fluid jaggery had an amazing effect on her. I felt it cute.
"Your father and sister have been attacking it too," added my mother.
"What about you?"
"How can I stay different?" she gave a toothy smile.

Earlier that day, my guru of trekking, Mr Shastry had called up. He had been insisting that I pick up the original fluid jaggery that he had brought in one of his trips to west coast of Karnataka. Fluid Jaggery is a very important part of the breakfast of the Havyakas of Sagar (maybe Havyakas of other parts too). The fluid jaggery is pretty much different from the fluid jaggery that can be prepared by boiling the solid jaggery in water. The original fluid jaggery is completely sweet, without the traces of salt/limestone that is added to jaggery to make it solid. The original fluild jaggery, called the joney bella, is obtained by the direct processing of the juice obtained from squeezing the sugarcanes. This processing is done in certain farms, in a location called 'Alemane'.

My first memories of this wonderful liquid goes back eighteen years. In the summer of '89, "Joney bella, joney bella, joney bella," screamed the kids at the breakfast table, at my grandpa's place in Talaguppa, near Sagar. My two cousins, and myself sat waiting and screaming for the joney bella to come. My chikki (aunt) brought the liquid marvel in a plastic container, and placed it on the table for us to rampage. As we drew several helpings of the thick fluid, I found a thick ant floating in the joney bella on my plate. I was horrified looking at the size of the ant. It was unusually big. I could imagine that a bite would have been fatal.
But, it appeared like it was dead. It was not making any movements.
"Don't worry, that is just 'Bellada Godda'. It won't bite" told my grandmother.
"What is Bellada Godda?" I asked, curiously. I was sure that my grandmother from the village didn't know how dangerous the ants were. She did not know about my experience of having worn the cotton vest that was left for drying, in the path of red ants, due to which I had to bunk my school that day, two months back.
"These are a kind of harmless ants. The are fond of joney bella. They somehow make it to the container, but most of them die, drowning," told my grandmother.
"What do I do now?" I asked like a punctilious brahmin, afraid to touch anything that has been in contact with animals/insects.
"Don't waste the bella. Take the ant out, and have it," she said.
What??? God knows how voilent was the insect's death, and what are the fluids that might have come out of the insect while dying. I could only simulate this to the underwater adventures that my friends and myself were involved in the pool, during swimming classes. What if the ant had pissed or puked in the container?
"Don't you think it will be dirty?" I asked.
"Don't be silly," said my grandma, as she fished out the corpse out of my plate. "I just said a mantra that has purified the bella in your plate. You can eat in peace," she added to my satisfaction.
As I began to relish my idlis with joney bella, my grandpa, sitting at the other end of the table called out to my aunt. "Get me some sugar please," he said.
He added a spoon of sugar to the joney bella and relished it further.
Now, do you blame me for the sweet tooth?? ;-)

My trekking guru had been insisting me for sometime, to go to his place and collect the joney bella that he had got for me and for some of his other disciples. I drove to his place today, and met up with him. As he gave me the container full of joney bella, he told me that he had obtained it from the island of Igunda. This is an interesting island near Honnavar, in Karnataka, which has 40 Havyaka families. The island has some farms, and farm houses, and the only means of coming up to the main land is on the boat.
He told me that they prepared the best joney bella he knew. He had bought a hundred kilograms of the bella, and had brought it to Bangalore to give it to friends and trekking team. I had thanked him for his benevolent gesture, and had brought it home.

It really did bring about a new excitement in the family.

"Swish, click, tick" and the horror at the Hair Saloon - reminiscence....

haven't been able to think up new things for a while....

here's one of the older ones that I had penned during my stay at Minneapolis, US.

Hope you like it...

----------------------------------------------------------------

George Bush ordered those bombs to be dropped on Iraq, but but did you know that some of them were a contribution from the desis here???

'How?' You may ask.

There are more than two million desis, and most of them go to the hair saloons for more than 10 times in a year. All the loads of taxes generated would definitely cross a few millions, enough to make a lot of bombs.

Now, you agree with me. Don't you? ;-)

For a guy, who is accustomed to pay a paltry sum to the barber for a great haircut, I was in for a very big surprise in the US.

"Where can I get a good hair cut here?" I asked my friend, a month after I had come to the US.

"Arre," he uttered, with a tone of 'didn't-anybody-warn-you'.

"You should have gone to the haircut before coming here," he said, as he guffawed. He was repeating the same statement as many others, that a haircut in the US is very expensive, and in some places, needs prior appointment.

I had a closer look at him, and surely he had been to at least one haircut after he had last visited India, more than an year back.

"Buddy, I did that. But, it has been a month since I have come here, and you know, I drink a huge glass of milk everyday," I smiled.

"What's that got to do with haircut?"

"Milk helps in growing. The hair grew back," I uttered, as the other friend in the rear seats of the car burst out in laughter.

I still remember that day, some eighteen years back, seated at the rear part of my house, on the stone structure erected to wash the clothes, beside a 'water pump' fitted well, watching my sister getting a haircut from my dad. I had asked him about why were we being operated on by him, whereas he always went somewhere else to get a haircut. I do not remember his answer, but realized that feeling of the creative elation, when I accomplish my passion of washing the dishes, now. Before people start getting ideas, lemme confirm that I do not do that for a living, or my dad, a very senior level executive officer in a huge public sector company ;-).

The first time I entered the 'portal' of a hair cutting saloon, with my father, the lean barber was more than happy to welcome the new patron. I felt like a king when I was made to sit on a special wooden plank laid on the handles of the seat, whereas none of my neighbors were getting that.

I was wrapped under a white cotton sheet and then, the process began.

The sharp 'swish' of the steel scissors, then the 'click' of the steel scissors, and then 'tick' of the plastic comb when he hit it to the scissors. I swayed to his tunes, as the sleep inducing plastic comb danced on my head, the barber handling them elegantly, nudging my head in various directions in between. As the time passed, I felt the itches, as bits and pieces of the strands were all over my nose, cheeks, and ears, as though they were trying to punish me for getting them chopped off.

Finally, after almost three quarters of an hour, it was done. Two rupees, was the charge.

Summer holidays of the primary school meant loitering in the unkempt streets of my native village, Talaguppa. Some memories include the grandpa's big 'benaa' (playing field) where I have played a lot of innings of 'chinni-dhaandlu' (gilli danda) with cousins and friends, where some Olympic records were broken too ;-). Also pleasant are the memories of some unique short trips in railway steam engines (not bogies) as a railway line ended in the village, and the engine drivers were friends of my cousins. Also, dear to me are the memories of the barbers of the village, who not only were very gentle in handling their scissors, like a beautiful woman's touch, but also told me some adventurous stories of the surrounding forests. But the usual question was definitely there, "With whom did you get a hair cut last time? He has not trimmed the top properly."

Beautiful women have professional jealousy too. Didn't Aish try to malign Mallika ? ;-)

Two rupees, was the charge.

The NCC was a turning point in the way I got my hair cut. Well, it is for many, isn't it?

The high school NCC officer was very strict, and saw to it that all the cadets had very, very short hair below the barret. (Barret is the circular cap that the cadets, and other defense personnel are made to wear, when in uniform). In the beginning of every session (twice in a week), the PO cadet (senior cadet) would run his fingers on the sides and the rear of the head below the barret. If he was able to grip any hair, he would either try to manually pull it out ( relax, I am exaggerating :-) ), or give a severe punishment. This introduced me to the concept of military cut. I liked the cut, as I had seen similar hairstyle being sported by the numerous good-looking, protagonists of the American war movies :-)).

Ah! An incident which tickles my funny bone.

One fateful day, I was getting late for the session, and had forgotten to get a haircut the previous day. The image of the severe punishment loomed before me. It was scary. A weird idea struck me. I went to the bathroom with a pair of scissors, put the barret on, and cut my hair at the rear and the sides, wherever I could grip them. The result was, well, a strange expression, the blend of anger and humor on my father's face. But, I had no time, and had to rush to the session.

In the session, I escaped the cruel fingers of the PO cadet, who was shorter than me, but could not dodge the rip roaring laughter that I provided to my classmates at school, later in the day. One of them even branded me 'ili kachchida tale' [mouse feasted head, literally translating :-( ]

In the evening, the expert barber (with an experience of more than 20 years), to whom I went, was left wondering about who the dumb barber was, who had rampaged on head.

Twelve rupees, was the charge.

Well, thankfully that is all past.

After a week more in the US, I resembled the 'hippies' of the 70s. A brief research over the Internet, and I was enlightened about two chain of hair saloons. The 'Super Cuts' and the 'Great Clips'. They maintain websites of their own, and you can look up the store near to your place, over the internet. What is the world coming to ? ;-)

That evening, I found myself in front of a skyscraper of the downtown, in which one of the shops housed the local 'Great Clips'. The store is a small one, with five chairs and mirrors for the service. But first, you need to register yourself with the man behind a computer, at entrance. The first name, last name, social security number need to be given out. He gives you an estimate of the time for which you would have to wait for you to be serviced.

After twenty minutes of going through a men's magazine, in which I read all about the awesome exercises of muscle building, which I would never do, I was disturbed by a female voice "Theyaas" she called out.

That was me. 'Ja' is pronounced as 'Ya', due to Spanish influence.

A lanky female with blond hair, twisted and stuck somehow in a hurry, artificial make up biting into her pale, dry skin, and loads of lipstick, showed me to the chair.

Am I going to be operated on, by her???!!!

"Where are you from?" she asked.

"India," I spoke.

"Oh! That's a far off place," she said.

"Yes."

"Where is it?"

No surprise.

"Beside China," I said, very much sure that she would not suddenly be interested in India, if I gave her immaculate travel directions.

"That is the other part of the world," she said as she pulled out the electric shaver.

"Yes."

"What would you like?"

"Military cut," I spoke. I was addicted to it.

"What's that?" she stopped.

"Like they show in the movies. Like the marines. Very short to the sides, and back. Medium long at the top."

"Awh. Awright!" she said.

I knew I had to spell out numbers as specs. But, this time I wanted to do it the Indian way. If I had found it satisfactory, then I wanted to freeze on the numbers and spell out the same numbers every time.

That is, if she had not made me look like a bulky chicken.

In the next five minutes, she had finished my hair cut. 14$ after 1$ discount. Plus $2 tip. Dare to multiply by 45? ;-)

The bulky chicken trudged out, and rushed home.

For the next few months, I am going to enjoy a lot of 'hat' shopping, I thought. ;-))

My first time at Great Clips, was a horror.

Now you know why I have my weird hat on, in all my Florida pictures.

In the next few times, I have understood how to communicate to them though not in exact numbers, but with a combination of numbers, and images. I even did a bit of internet surfing for images with hair cut men. ;-)

But, a feeling of nostalgic sadness does sweep over me, when I think about my barber in Bangalore, getting a meager sum of Rs 35, for an excellent haircut, with least explanations from my side, and just the first time. He even does the tempering of the hair before the haircut, so that it is soft and straightened before he brings out the scissors.

One of the most relaxing times, have been the times that I have spent at the barbers at Bangalore, on Friday evenings. (Boys... you have liberty to laugh it out ;-) )

But then, he is happy with it, and continues to spread happiness to the stressed out souls of the city, through his tools 'swish, click, tick'.

From the creative scissors of my dad, to the electric horror of the Great Clips, with a lot rusticity, care, and some 'rampage' in between, it has been a great walk down the memory lane for me. Hope you have enjoyed reading about it, as I have enjoyed writing about it.