Dal-fry

On Our Judgement Free, some paras about waiting for dal-fry in Madhya Pradesh. It was thoroughly worth it.

His arms

On Our Judgement Free, you can read my account of visiting an aromatic establishment in the town that's now famous for giving the world a President.

It was once famous, or maybe not, for another woman.

Take a look: In his arms.

A button and a commission

My kids collect buttons. (Don't ask, because I don't know). A few days ago, they were sitting in front of my Apple laptop listening to some music, and my daughter decided this would be a good time -- why not? -- to stick a button from the collection into the CD/DVD drive. So she did, and it vanished in there much like more appropriate objects for such drives do: slowly at first, then it got swallowed. I could hear it rattling around inside every time I picked up the machine.

Here's the thing, though. First I called the guy I know at my local Apple service centre, Maple Technologies. When he was done laughing at the button story, he said they could easily get it out, but I would have to pay, for "removal of buttons" is not a phrase that occurs in my warranty. Of course, I said, that's what I expect.

Still, I then called the 800 number for Apple's warranty service, because I wanted to be sure that getting this done would not violate any terms in my warranty. Woman who answered listened to me, tapped a few keys, went away for half a minute, returned and said: "Take it to Maple, and you won't have to pay anything because this will be covered under your warranty."

And so it was. Last night I got the laptop back, the button placed carefully inside a little ziplock bag and taped to the front. No charge.

A small thing, I know, and this is not to say I have not had other problems with Apple: but it is these small things that keeps me an Apple customer.

In something of a contrast: two weeks ago, I used a travel agent called ExtendedStay, who seem to specialize in Madhya Pradesh travel, to make a reservation for three nights at the Madhai Wildlife Resort on the edge of the Satpura Tiger Reserve.

ExtendedStay charged me Rs 10470. It was a nearly last minute thing, it was Diwali season, we were in a rush, so I trusted them and paid. Naive I know, but I've used plenty of other online agents (cleartrip, for one) without any problems, so I didn't think much about it.

It was a fine stay in a gorgeous spot. (More about that soon).

Then we spoke to the owner of the Resort, who told us that ExtendedStay had paid him his charge for those three nights, Rs 5100. i.e. had I approached the Resort directly, this is what I would have paid. (I have this in writing from him, as part of my final bill). I didn't approach the Resort directly because it was ExtendedStay who first suggested the Resort to me, and I thought it only fair then to go through them.

But this meant that ExtendedStay had charged me a commission of Rs 5370, i.e. over 100 percent. No travel agent I know of, no online site, would do this.

On raising this with Vishwas Tiwari, the person I dealt with at ExtendedStay, he replied, and I quote: "What you are trying to do is whining over pizza price after consuming it, haggling to return the ticket after completing the journey and trying to buy insurance after hitting a pedestrian."

So here's my advice, if you plan to travel in MP: visit Madhai and the Madhai Wildlife Resort for sure. But stay far away from ExtendedStay.

(And if you have any buttons, please don't send them to me.)

***
Postscript: I have just received a message from the above-mentioned Vishwas Tiwari of ExtendedStay. Here it is, verbatim:

I have better things in my life that fits in my daily routine than reading any tom dick and herry's blog. There are several million blogs in the world where out-of-work people discuss:

- How they self treated there old hemmorid
- How they mastered in blowing saliva bubbles
- What new paper they read to ease constipation
- and every other non sense topics in between

Mr Dilip, to me, you seems to be no exception.

In this democratic world I can not stop anyone's opinion and expression.

Your belligerent, coercion, threatening and blackmailing will be responded at appropriate time and forum.

Thanks and happy blogging
Vishwas Tiwari

***
Postscript Nov 10: Much the same material is now a review of ExtendedStay on Mouthshut.com, here.

Roadrunner -- cover

More about my upcoming book, Roadrunner: An Indian Quest in America.

A talented fellow called Pinaki De designed the cover, producing several trial runs and bearing with my constant back-and-forthing with plenty of good humour. I owe him plenty for what I think is a superb effort. He has the cover up on his blog here.

If you like it, please leave him a note saying so.

***
Incidentally, Pinaki lives in Chandannagar, which is one of the five once-French enclaves in this country (the French called it Chandernagore). I've been in three of them so far (Pondicherry, Karaikal and Mahe, fascinating places all), and Pinaki has promised to show me around Chandannagar. That will leave just one, Yanam (Yanaon to the French) in AP.

A name by any other rose

The Visitor's Book at the beautiful Golf View Hotel in Pachmarhi, MP, has plenty of compliments about the food, the service, the ambience. It has less, but still plenty, complaints and suggestions. Many people asked for railings on the first floor balconies and terraces. Many wanted exhaust fans in the bathrooms. Many wanted a generator for the times when the power failed.

Apart from those, there were some specific requests. A selection:

From Raju Sarang: Swimming pool is lacking.

Sunil Chhablani: Indoor games, TT, spa needed.

Ankit Bansal: Indoor games, gym, spa.

Vikram Bhargava: There are no activities for kids. DJ and Discotheque is a must in this isolated place.

Pawan Sekhri: Should be more recreational activities, it's very quiet in the eve, or sports.

Praveen Katiyar: Banquet Hall is a must.

Lavkesh Jayesh Mehta: Provide some indoor entertainment, it is a must.

AK Ghildiyal: Should keep some playing equipment like football, cricket bat/ball, badminton racquet. Should provide cycles on rent (all good properties provide such facilities). DVD players in Victorian suites should be provided.

Punit Agrawal: DVD players. Swimming pool/Kids pool. Indoor games -- chess, cards, carrom, snooker. Daily flower bouquet/rose in room. Curtains should be darker. Wifi zone. Some good modified Gypsies will add on. Change name (Doesn't suit, No Golf Course).

Dalrymple

A week without phone or web connectivity (except for a fitful hour one night) in the middle of Madhya Pradesh. Bliss, in many ways. It also means I've got a pile of mail and other to catch up on, but never mind. The bliss made it all worthwhile.

The last issue of Open magazine carried a review I did of William Dalrymple's new book, Nine Lives. As ever, your thoughts welcome.

Bowling for water

Walking to the Bee Falls in Pachmarhi, our excellent guide Shoaib (known to all as Sahib) Khan stopped every now and then to explain or show us some little natural delight.

First was an insectivorous plant -- he referred to it as drosera, or the sundew plant. I'm not even sure how he saw this thing -- it was no more than a pale red smudge on the side of a moss-encrusted rock we were passing, small enough to fit three times over in the space of a thumbnail. But he stopped us, reached across to the rock and pulled off one of the plant's little leaves, two millimetres across. In the light of the evening sun, tiny hairs on the leaf glistened; when he put his finger to it and gently drew it away, threads of some sticky liquid went with the finger, like a tiny shiny instant cobweb. The hairs and this "enzyme" -- what Sahib called the liquid -- trap any unsuspecting insect that happens to alight on the little red leaf, and slowly the leaf coils in and around the struggling insect, and life is leached out of it.

I wouldn't want to be a little insect in these parts.

Later, he plucked a sprig and asked us to smell it. Mint. "I planted these," he said proudly. And now that he had pointed them out, I saw mint sprigs all around us, a lighter, brighter green than the surrounding grass and moss.

Next, Sahib told us that the bedrock in and around Pachmarhi is very porous, in some ways like a sponge. It's why rainwater gets absorbed into the earth, it's why it remains such a lush area, and it's why streams often seem to emerge from the rock itself. To demonstrate, he picked up a red stone about the size of his palm, then rotated his arm as if he was bowling, only bowling like one of the mystery bowlers in the film "Lagaan", whirling his arm around and around, like he was winding himself up. Then he showed us the stone. It was noticeably more moist than when he picked it up. The bowling simulation had forced the moisture to the surface.

For the rest of our stay in Pachmarhi, our daughter periodically whirled her arm about. Never mind that her little palm contained no stone. Porous or otherwise.

Cosmopolitan

"This is not a cosmopolitan city any more. People who insist on using 'Bombay' should be thrown out of this city."

Shirish Parkar, spokesperson for the Raj Thackeray's Maharashtra Navnirman Sena (MNS) party. (Quoted in Hindustan Times, October 15 2009).

Not feeling the rain

My unfortunately fitful (one day, I'll turn that around) travel blog, Our Judgement Free, has an essay I did on Assam's Manas National Park for the current issue of FlyLite.

Please read it here. Your thoughts welcome.

Roadrunner

My new book, Roadrunner: An Indian Quest in America should be out in a matter of weeks.

It's been my preoccupation for nearly four years now. Among other things, I made three long road trips around the US gathering material for it. Check the labels "'merican road", "'merican road #2" and "'merican road #3" on the list to the left for my blogging efforts from those journeys.

I'm pleased with the way it looks as it heads for the printing press finally. It will even have an insert with some of my photographs.

Hey, I like the book, I hope you do! More about it in this space in the days to come.

The dilemma

Bit of email came my way a day ago. It was about my elected representative in the Maharashtra Vidhan Sabha, one Baba Siddique of the Congress Party. Someone had filed a RTI query asking about how he had spent his MLA funds. This message listed several cases where, it said, "public funds have been misused [by Siddique] for favouring private groups of people. Some items are also fraudulent, i.e. fictitious items are shown as expenditure."

Here are the cases listed in the email message:

A. Parichay Society’s private premises/plot developed into a garden for private use through MLA’s public funds amount to Rs.5,19,685. (Item #3 here).

B. The wall of Baba Nagar Hill road, a private property was repaired / constructed through the MLA funds amounting to Rs.2,07,870. (Item #3 here).

C. Claims made to repair/construction of gutter/footpath, at Chuim Village, using MLA funds, amounting to Rs. 4,15,890. There are no footpaths in Chuim village. (Item #15 here).

D. Bought a laptop and printer for himself from MLA funds amounting to Rs. 1,03,000. (Item at bottom of page here).

E. MLA claims to have made a balwadi at Chuim Village in 2008 spending MLA funds amounting to Rs. 2,50,000. The Balwadi at this place was actually constructed several years earlier. (Item #18 here).

F. Funds for community centre which has been converted into Buddhist temple. Rajan Sherly Gaothan, Rs 2.5 lakhs. (Item #19 here).

G. Funds for Zafar Baba Dargah. (Item #17 here).

H. Recently the MLA distributed garbage bins, all over his constituency, bought through his MLA funds. However, there is no trace of such uses in the RTI reply. (Photo here).

I. In his adverts and brochures, MLA claims to have used his funds for Education and other general uses, but those are not reflected in the data revealed under RTI. The question then, is, which funds did he use?

J. We also wish to point out the MLA has directed approximately 85% of the funds available to him in areas where the Municipal Councillors are from his political party. While, this is perhaps not legal offence, it definitely is a moral one.

K. RTI application and reply available here.

***
What's a voter in my constituency to do?

Vote for a man with a long record like this of misusing his MLA funds?

Or vote for his opponent, part of an alliance of parties that, among other things, a comprehensive inquiry indicts for their crimes during the riots in this city in 1992-93?

What would you do?

Me, I'm not happy with what I did. That's the dilemma of our democracy, the way it leaves a voter unhappy.

Smiling from balconies

I have in my hand a news item from the Asian Age dated October 11, 1997 (12 years ago). It carries a reproduction of a print ad placed by the Shiv Sena party "a year ago" in all city newspapers -- i.e. in 1996, one year after a Shiv Sena-BJP coalition government came to power in Maharashtra.

The ad carries a prominent picture of Shiv Sena chief Bal Thackeray, and he has these words to say: "When I announced free housing for slum dwellers, cynics said I was building castles in the air. Last Dashera, 5000 slum dwellers actually went to their new homes. This Dashera, there will be 5 lac more. And in the next 3 years, 40 lac slum dwellers will be smiling from their balconies."

This is, of course, a reference to the famous promise that helped bring that SS-BJP government to power in 1995, that they would provide free homes to 40 lac (4 million) slum dwellers in this city. With this ad a year into the government's term, Bal Thackeray was letting people know about the progress of this programme.

So why is it reproduced in this news item in the Asian Age another year later? The headline on the item might say it all: "Dud scheme has housed just 1,468."

Yes, on October 11 1997, "only 1468 tenements [were] ready for occupation".

That was about the last we heard about that particular promise. In fact, in this very news item, Thackeray himself said that "he had never set five years" as a target, and that time limit "had been thought up by the media which … put words in my mouth".

Plenty to think about there. I've been thinking about it all as I look at the current round of SS-BJP ads. At least they make far vaguer promises -- competent governance, security, that sort of thing. Specifics get you nailed down, you see. Especially in the comparison between 1468 and several hundred thousand.

Pathetic, useless

On page 9 in the Hindustan Times yesterday (Sunday Oct 11), I found this nugget from an interview with Raj Thackeray, referring to "outsiders" coming to Bombay to live:

"But why can't they hold their local politicians responsible for the pathetic situation in their states? What about those useless leaders in their states who have failed to create employment there? It is their failure for which we are suffering here."

All right. Two reactions.

1) On page 11 in the same paper, I read this: "According to the Mumbai Human Development Report 2009 prepared by the National Resource Centre for Urban Poverty ... most of Mumbai's migrants are not from the north, but from other, neglected parts of Maharashtra ... Maharashtra accounts for 37.4 per cent of the city's migrant population."

(Clearly that word "most" really should have read "the largest fraction", but the point remains).

What should we conclude from that 37.4 per cent? Going by Raj Thackeray's logic, such as it is, we should conclude that the "local politicians [of Maharashtra] are responsible for the pathetic situation" in Maharashtra. That Maharashtra has "useless leaders who have failed to create employment". Etc.

2) By a rough calculation, there are about 120,000 Maharashtrians living in the US. (See this comment for how I came up with that number. Others in Australia, the UK, South Africa, etc, but let's focus just on the US). All of these Maharashtrians emigrated from this state in search of a better life.

What should we conclude from this number? Again, going by Raj Thackeray's logic, we should conclude that they emigrated because Maharashtra's "local politicians are responsible for the pathetic situation" in Maharashtra. That Maharashtra has "useless leaders who have failed to create employment". Etc.

Are these conclusions valid? And if so, who are the leaders and politicians he is referring to, especially considering he is a leader and a politician himself?

Or is the logic itself flawed? Your thoughts welcome.

Three women and some tea leaves

On a recent Jet flight, I am safely strapped in to my aisle seat in the last row. What this affords me is the chance to listen, unwittingly, to excited muttering from the flight crew standing in their area right behind me. I don't catch most of it, most of the time it's too excited and low. But two words I do catch, and those two words are "Mallika Sherawat".

Apparently The Sherawat is among us, somewhere in front of me.

For some reason, one hostess, Priyanka, leans over the man sitting across the aisle from me and tells him that The Sherawat is on the flight. He looks at me and shrugs, then asks me for my newspaper. "She just looks so GOOD!" the young woman trills. The man still doesn't look impressed.

Suddenly all the flight attendants rush up the aisle, beaming and whispering excitedly and smoothing down their uniforms. I catch a lone word: "Photograph". Somewhere up ahead, a woman in large shades gets up from her seat and follows them all the way to the front -- The S, I presume -- and someone draws a curtain closed.

Minutes later, the curtain opens, Ms Shades strides back and sinks into her seat, and the staff rushes beaming back towards us at the back. Priyanka leans over the same man and repeats her earlier pronouncement: "She looks so GOOD!"

My educated guess is, this man is not a Sherawat fan.

***
At the Golden Temple late that evening, a young mother walks past me, leading her son to the pool. She stops, bends to his level and wags her finger in his face. "Yahan pe pishaab nahin karna hai, theek?" ("Don't pee in the pool, OK?").

He looks oddly chastened.

***
The next morning, I go to the langar in the Temple for a bowl of steaming chai. The woman sitting across from me also has a young son with her. When the man serving us all pours her bowl full of chai, she produces milk and a glass from out of seemingly nowhere -- is she a magician? -- pours a tiny bit of chai into the glass, then fills it to the brim with milk. The result looks much like milk still, if very slightly tinged with brown. She gives the concoction to the boy.

He frowns.

Out of nowhere again, she produces another glass. Sets it down, then arranges a corner of her dupatta over it. Proceeds to strain the chai-tinged milk through the cloth into the second glass. A reasonable little heap of tea leaves builds up in the corner of her dupatta.

The boy drinks, happily.

Toys in the bath

When we enter Amritsar airport, there's a sign saying "Pick Up and Drop", with an arrow indicating an immediate right turn. We follow the arrow and turn. Immediately, we see a second sign, and this one says "Toilet and Bath".

I'm suspecting that somebody is trying to say something about people arriving at Amritsar airport.

After checking in, I head for security. I pass two counters that say "Uzbekistan Airlines" and "Turkmenistan Airlines". I'm intrigued, because I had no idea that there were flights between Amritsar and these countries that fell off the former USSR. No idea that enough people would want to fly between Amritsar and these countries for their airlines to operate such flights. What connects this city to them, does anyone know?

Speaking of such connections -- firm by name Mahan Airways has multiple signs on the airport approach announcing flights five times a week from Amritsar to Birmingham, Dusseldorf and Dubai. Another intriguing set of cities. What might connect all four?

Inside, I have to wait, because the security counter is not yet open. So I amuse myself by reading two large blue signs, and by resolving to offer you some extracts from them.

The first is a 23-item list titled "Circular no. 41/2005, Exemption from pre-embarkation security at Civil Airports." On this list, #1 is "President". #2 is "Vice-President". #3 is "Prime Minister". It goes on from there, working its way slowly through various levels of officialdom and dignity.

Then there's the famous #23: "Shri Robert Vadra, while travelling with SPG Protectees."

I really wonder where else in the world you'd find a list such as this, that actually has someone listed by name: Dusseldorf? Turkmenistan?

The second blue sign is "AVSEC Order 05/2005", a list of items you are not allowed to take on board aircraft. It has all the items you might guess -- box cutters, ice picks, metal cleavers, flare guns, hand grenades and many more.

Then there's "Realistic Replica of Toy Weapon".

The levels of fascination here leave my mind reeling. The list does not, I assure you, mention "Toy Weapon". So why, I can't help wondering, would a toy weapon be ok, but a "realistic replica" of one not be ok? In any case, why would a "realistic replica" of a toy weapon not amount to a toy too? And if someone was caught trying to smuggle one such on board surreptitiously, say in the hands of her 4-year-old, could she point out that it actually is a toy? Or that it is an unrealistic replica of one? Would such explanations satisfy a conscientious security guard, may their tribe increase?

But the most important question of all might be this: what if Robert Vadra tried to board a flight carrying a realistic replica of a toy weapon?

All we can say is, if he tried to do so at Amritsar, it's at least possible he had a bath on the way in. Put him on the flight to Turkmenistan, then.

62 years

The last time, I went to Wagah as one more of hundreds of tourists from both sides of the border. Every evening, they flood here to watch the elaborately choreographed ritual that is the lowering of the flags and the closing of the border gates. On both sides slogans ring out: "Bharat Mata ki Jai" on our side, and "Pakistan Zindabad" on that. Random folks pick up flags and run up to the gate. Young men lead the crowds in the slogan-shouting.

But it's all done in a cheery, festive mood; and the result is a spectacular spectacle.

This time, I went in the morning. No elaborate ritual, no slogans. Just a huge number of trucks parked on the road and off to the side, packed to the brim with crates. "Those? They're tomatoes going to Pakistan", said my driver, Tony, in the thickly Punjabi-accented Hindi I love listening to. And at the dhabas just before the Customs gate, milling crowds of truck-drivers and blue-uniformed men.

I sit down to wait, I've got at least an hour to wait. Order a chai, then another. Then something to eat, and I am served the fieriest paratha I've ever sampled, luckily with a large dish filled with cool dahi. All around me, the truck drivers sit, chatting and drinking and munching.

Suddenly there's a commotion. Someone has emerged from the gate with a sheet of paper. He's quickly surrounded by a knot of drivers, more joining the knot as he walks over to the gate pillar and sticks the paper there. Some drivers whoop in delight and hare off to their trucks, and there's quickly now a line of them barreling through the gate, some playing who-blinks-first to edge others out. The tomatoes are heading across the border.

Coming across this way, at least an hour later, are the men I'm waiting for. A long-retired Pakistan Army Major and his son. Now 84, the Major grew up in Kapurthala, in now-Indian Punjab. He used to play tennis at the club, and had a good friend in town. The Major left for Pakistan in '47, and has not returned since, being turned down for a visa several times. 62 years that he has not been able to return to his roots.

I'm here because I know someone in his family, and I helped the Major, in a small way, get his visa when he applied last week. So for the first time in 62 years, the Major returned home. I was proud to be there to greet him, happy to accompany him to Kapurthala, moved to see his tears when he saw and embraced his friend for the first time in 62 years too. The friend turned 94 today. It was important that the Major made it today. Both men have felt the pressure of time building against them, against their chances of ever meeting.

But now they've met. May there be many more such meetings, between many more old friends.

(More when I get the time).

Martyrs

"Welcome dears," says the sign opposite where I hand in my shoes. "For more knowledge about the Sikh religion, please visit Central Sikh Museum at the main entrence [sic] of clock tower side."

I went to that Museum on my last visit here, three years ago. Not much could have changed -- not the gory paintings, not the memories of a bloody history, not the martyr's gallery. Yet I went again now, drawn there again now, only to see again now what I could scarcely believe then. What left me conflicted and disturbed then.

This time I walked past most of the gory paintings. Walked straight through three halls filled with them and dozens of other portraits. Walked right up to the spot. Not much has changed. Just as I remember.

On my left, a handsome portrait of Shahid -- note, Shahid, meaning martyr -- Bhagat Singh, in shackles in his British prison, awaiting his fate. Below him, photographs of the mangled and bloodied faces of thirteen men who "sacrificed themselves to up keep the dignity of the Holy Book" on April 13, 1978. On the wall in front of me, a reverential portait of Jarnail Singh Bhindranwale. Immediately in front of me, an artist's rendition of "Sri Akal Takht after Military Attack, 6 June 1984".

That is, at the climax of Operation Bluestar, when the Indian Army assaulted this ground holy to Sikhs to defeat armed men who had holed up here.

Below it, in tiny fading English letters, are these lines:

"Under the calculated move of Prime Minister of India Indira Gandhi, Military troops stormed Golden Temple with tanks. Thousands of Sikhs were massacred. Sri Akal Takht suffered the worst damages. Sikhs rose up in a united protest. Many returned their honours. Sikh soldiers left their barracks.

The Sikhs, however, soon had their vengeance."

I feel the same frisson of unease I felt three years ago, as I absorb that last sentence and as my eyes now move right. There are three portraits there, all the same size as Bhagat Singh's. These list only names and dates, no short explanation in English as most other portraits have warranted. For these, the explanation is only in Punjabi.

These are those names and dates, copied verbatim off those portraits:

Shahid S Beant Singh Ji, 1949 to 31 Oct 1984
Shahid S Satwant Singh Ji, 1967 to 6 Jan 1989
Shahid S Kehar Singh Ji, 1940 to 6 Jan 1989

You know these three men. Note, again, Shahid. All three times.

She has plenty to answer for, Indira Gandhi. I mean, my feeling is that a great number of our myriad seemingly intractable problems can be laid at her door.

Yet she was, when assassinated, India's Prime Minister. To look up at her killers accorded the same reverence as Bhagat Singh, mentioned and portrayed in exactly the same way, is to ask some serious questions about martyrs. About terrorism. About freedom and those who fight for it. About nationhood. About what all those so easily-used words mean. About India.

The questions leave me, all over again, profoundly disturbed.