What a Relief

 "What a relief!", it was our comedian Satish Shah's catchphrase or takiya kalam (for those who are more inclined to shudhh desi versions) in one of the episodes of the 80s sitcom "Yeh Jo Hai Zindagi". One of the rare genuine comedy serials of those days. Satish Shah would barge in any where ask to use the restroom, those days it was still referred to as the bathroom and appear after a couple of minutes uttering this catchphrase. That aside, this feeling of immense relief after having successfully accomplished the mission is universal. 

Blessed are those whose bowels respond to their signals and let go irrespective of the hour of the day or night. Then there are those like us who resort to all possible methods to get rid of this unwanted piece of sh** literally, but alas there is very little relief. Ask any person in their seventies and eighties and each one has his own saga which he can narrate in graphic detail, no actually you don't even have to ask them, they will invariably announce it to all and sundry. Remember "Piku" where Amitabh Bachhan plays the role of a perpetually constipated old man obsessed with this activity. Oldies do have an issue but then there are some of us who have faced this struggle all our lives. Even in the Academies and later in life one had to get used to the fact that the stomach needed to be cajoled, persuaded through drinking gallons of water, Yoga or any other means which anyone suggested, after all it did become a problem especially when you have an early morning cross country run and your stomach in total non cooperation mode. Too much water before the run would itself be a problem and a bloated stomach would only exacerbate the torture.

Actually the word for describing this situation is "constipation", but in this day and age, it is more important to sound sophisticated and euphemisms of the kind, "sluggish bowel syndrome" are thrown around. But honestly it is best described by the Urdu word, "Kabz". I am not sure of the etymology of the word but it may have originated from "Kabza", which means occupation. The sh** actually is an unwanted occupant of the stomach and just like other encroachers it just refuses to budge having made it its permanent abode. One has to resort to all the tricks to dislodge it from its firmly entrenched position. Increasing roughage in your diet by adding fruits, vegetables, and salads or various other home remedies normally hardly make a dent. For chronic cases a frontal assault by gorging on more food just aggravates the uneasiness and then the last resort, catch the adversary unawares by adopting the Pathan approach and administering anema  provides  relief. I am convinced the stomach has a brain of its own which decides whether to reward the host body or to punish it. Generally this ailment is afflicted on the middle classes, who are stress prone or the rich, the lower strata of the society indulge in hard physical labour, can eat anything  and are in a state of bliss in this aspect.

Although Allopathy describes constipation only when sh** doesn't happen even thrice in a week, but we Indians are conditioned in such a manner that an early morning ablution is a must. Probably because our ancient systems of medicine Ayurveda and Unani both lay emphasis on the the "Vaat, pitt, kaf", both  'vat' and 'pitt' are found in the stomach. No wonder, we are conditioned to expect this morning ritual to be adhered to. Obviously it's healthy but on an odd occasion if the sh** does take a break, maybe that too is the requirement of the body.

Generally a person suffering from constipation is supposed to be  short tempered and  irritable, apparently even Hitler was a sufferer. You never know if someone had succeeded in curing him, we may not have had the Second World War. It is worth checking out if this Pathan approach would address the concerns of Putin, Zelensky or Xi Jin Ping and make the world  more tolerant and assimilated.   

A Bridge Too Far

 Morbi has been a terrible tragedy, highly avoidable, the bridge collapsed under extreme stress of two kinds, physical going beyond its designed capacity and of man's greed. The FOMO syndrome, fear of missing out probably was responsible for the number of visitors on the bridge on that unfortunate day. We all are greedy in some way or the other, greedy for information, greedy for money, greedy for food...

Bridges  are an innovation of the human kind which  have surmounted every possible obstacle, be it river in spate, across seas, deep valleys and ravines, our innovative Engineers have designed and erected one marvel after another facilitating mobility. A sign of progress whether in life or in battlefield. Army Engineers have erected bridges in a jiffy over all kinds of obstacles giving an edge to the troops over their adversaries. Suspension bridges typically were constructed where traditional bridges on beams, arches etc are not feasible due to logistical difficulties. The sappers may correct me if the perception is invalid. Sappers construct bridges and also demolish them when needed to deny the same to the adversary. Sappers have been at the forefront of bridging activity everywhere whether it was the Commonwealth Games, which incidentally was accomplished in just six days and they didn't even rest on the seventh!  Mumbai Railway foot overbridge too required Army to step in to salvage the situation by sending their Sappers as saviours.

Bridging of obstacles or gaps are essential, so we have 'bridge' courses in academics to cover the gap in scholarly pursuits and even dentists provide you dental 'bridges' once again to cover the gaps in your teeth. Then there are the Cam"bridge" or Ox"bridge" variety who have 'bridged' the major obstacle of social hierarchy and "have arrived" in the society,  by their bridge connections. Although they take great pains to prevent any 'bridging' with the masses preserving their  elite class. As if this was not enough, we have the Bridge players who would prefer a No Trumps to any other suite. 

Admirals are more at home on the nautical bridge, after all that is their seat of power,  but the "Old Man at the Bridge" Ernest  Hemingway would not have been amused at the shenanigans. "The Bridge over River Kwai" proved that where there is a will there is a "Way" at least Hollywood was convinced about that. Although the "Bridge was a little Too Far" in Operation Market Garden during the Second World War. More recently it is the "Crimean Bridge" or the Kerch Strait Bridge, which has been making waves for all the wrong reasons, if you look at it from the Russian point of view. Wonder if Simon and Garfunkel will compose something new on  this  "Bridge over Troubled Waters". The litterateurs would warn against 'burning our bridges' but we can't seek refuge behind "we will cross the bridge when we come to it" as we have actually reached a point of no return, can't possibly keep procrastinating all our lives. As it is there is enough "water under the bridge" before you fall prey and land up with the "Brooklyn bridge".....

Smell the Coffee

 Cold Coffee, hearing the words one starts to salivate, this concoction is simply divine, probably this was the famous magic potion brewed by Getafix which gave superhuman powers to the Gauls. After all aren't NDA Cadets super humans and I dare say an ex NDA would kill for a drop of this elixir. Cold Coffee was served in the evenings but alas it was only once a week, the rest of the days it was something which resembled Tea and smelt like it, but was otherwise just plain boiled water with plenty of sugar, which too was devoured in tumblers generally plastic ones. Generous doses of this brew worked wonders for the bowels early mornings, the evening dose kept you going through the motions i.e. Roll Call, Ante Room procedure, Preps, the pre Dinner sprints and post Dinner sessions both moral and physical. 

NDA Cadets are not in love with Coffee alone they are also tipsy about Tipsy pudding and can go to any lengths to get more than their fair share of this dessert. There have been umpteen number of incidents where cadets have lost their wrist watches in the bowl of Tipsy, recovered by someone else and returned duly licked clean. Every article which can be used to store the sweet dish is put to good use so a helmet or jap cap is fair game. All is fair in love and war, here it is love for the Tipsy and each one is at war with his competitors for the extra Tipsy.

Anyway to return to the Cafe Frappe, Iced Latte or Iced Mocha as the woke generation would refer this drink to, was something to die for, Hell hath no fury as compared to a six termer deprived of his cold coffee, if he happened to be out for some obscure reason, it was the fundamental duty of every second termer to save his share of the coffee, else, God forbid...The coffee in the tummies would be forced out by other means to drive the lesson home. But can you blame them for this demeanour, not really, imagine how did the 'Devas' behave when the 'Asuras' got hold of the pot of elixir during the 'samudra manthan' (churning of the ocean), Lord Vishnu himself enticed them in his avtaar as Mohini to steal it from them. We are mere mortals.

Just let your imagination run wild, "It's a hot summer day, after a gruelling run on the periphery followed by the cooling down on the Vertical Ropes, Beams and the Mat, when you hear the sound of the Tea room bell, the aroma of coffee is wafting through the corridors and finally the CSM has decided to call it a day. The cadets are sprinting to their cabins to pick up the tumblers and then patiently wait in queue for their turn, that folks is the epitome of discipline.  It is not the Drill Square, as we were often told that "Drill is the bedrock of Discipline".  It is the Tea Room corridor  where we attain Nirvana, controlling the mind, body, emotions and learn to mediate  with zen like with single minded devotion on just the Can of Coffee. No Starbucks or Cafe Coffee Day can come close to that taste and flavour .....  so wake up go smell the Cold Coffee!!

Rishi Rich

 Rishi Rich it is then finally, after Liz Truss's disastrous stint of mere 44 days in 10 Downing Street.  "The Colony has struck back", with due apologies to Lucas Films Ltd,  some of the oldies would recall"Empire Strikes Back", the 80s block buster. Yes to an extent it is the 'alien'  in the Island nation, who has captured the throne. An alien, a brown man, a Hindu ruling the roost. A Kamla in US,  Rishi in UK,  Indian diaspora is definitely going places. Brown and black is a deadly combination, both of them have an African connection as well.  One has it in the blood the other has a connection through his parents having migrated from the Eastern part of the once Dark Continent. Brits need to be wary of this connection, another man from another era, a century ago also sorted them out first in South Africa and then literally bundled them out from India, you guessed it, Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi. Men and women of colour have finally come of age after centuries of having been a "burden" on the "Beasts of Burden", their 'white brethren' who have had to carry this for centuries. It is now the turn of the Burdens to come to the aid of the Beasts. Having once been equated with Dogs, "Indians and Dogs not allowed!", these beastly people and their beastly religion, as Winston Churchill once remarked, is the toast of the Empire whose Sun never set. It has now eclipsed not just set.

Murthys have also played a part in this success story, Infosys founder Mr Narayan Murthy is a visionary, he founded Infosys and took it to dizzying heights. His progeny did one better she picked on a start up and has groomed it to the pinnacle of British Parliament. The fact that he is richer than the King is incidental. No wonder there are memes galore that with the the Three Murthys in 10 Downing Street, high time it be renamed 'Teen Murthy'. As it is Indians have a penchant for changing of names. The other one doing the rounds is, it be rechristened as Dousing Street, after all he has his role cutout as a firefighter in these trying times.

Rishi as the name suggests means a Sage, a sagacious man, a politician at heart, just happens to have the Indian blood flowing in his veins, but obviously he is a dyed in the wool conservative and rightly so. He is a British citizen who has to serve the people of Britain, which I am sure he will do full justice to, having seen his impeccable credentials .  After Bo Jo and the Lettuce Truss finally the islanders have homed onto friend Sunak, better late than never. So the Punjabi in Sunak has to come to the fore to take the bull by the horns, while continuing to worship the cows as a devout Hindu. Like all Indians he is aware that to win over the fathers, you have to first get mothers on your side, so naturally worshipping cows is the first step towards getting the Bulls going and get the Bears off the radar. Pound has off late become a light weight and can do with some heft and lift. I am sure a generous dose of Lassi, Maaki ki Roti and Sarson da Saga will script a new saga of Salvation of the Goras! Go for it Rishi, hum tumhare saath hain!!!!

2 States Revisited

A couple of years ago there was a movie based on a Chetan Bhagat novel based on his own autobiography by the same name. A Punjabi boy falling in love with a Tamilian girl, wooing her and her complete family and the socio cultural issues which they face as a couple. But the culmination was a "they lived happily forever!" Over the last couple of days we were part of a similar wedding except that the groom belonged to the Bengali diaspora while the bride was the Military Tam-brahm Tamilian Brahmin. We have seen dear Meera grow up from the toddler days, the serious studious girl evolved into a pretty damsel and one fine day we found ourselves as her local guardians when she made a momentous career decision of joining BIT Mesra in Ranchi for her under graduate engineering. It is a proud moment for any parent to be conducted around in their schools of education by their kids, I found myself in a similar space. It was here that she met up with her Babu moshai,  the gentle genial Soham. 

That much for the introduction, yesterday we were witness to the formal solemnising of this holy matrimony, ' vivah ka pavitra bandhan' sounds a lot better,  this union of souls is not just holy, it is pure, and more in the spiritual domain in India . While I was pondering over this event, it struck me that as an Observer you can get the feel of the moment, unlike when you are an active participant in the rituals and the coordination which is typically part and parcel of any such mega event. Reminded of my son Abhijat's wedding just a couple of months ago. So here I was enjoying every moment of the typical Tamil wedding ceremony early in the morning in the land of Rabindra sangeet, it was the soulful flawless Carnatic rendition by Ramesh's mother and sisters which set the mood. Ramesh incidentally is the bride's father and my chuddy buddy, Meenakshi his lovely better half is also best friends with Preeti my own 'Shariq e hayat', the same thing in Urdu. The decor was so simple yet done very tastefully, simple bamboo stems decked up with marigold flowers,  banana stems which are considered very auspicious, apparently as each plant withers away after two three  young shoots have sprouted,  signifying procreation. The simplicity of the ceremony is probably the u s p of a Tamil wedding with the groom and the bride's father decked up in simple dhotis with bare torsos,  both appearing more ascetic than someone going to step into the rough and tumble of the  'grihasth ashram'! May be that's the reason why they begin with the Kashi yatra, where the groom to be, threatens to go to Kashi to pursue the spiritual path of 'sanyas', and the bride's father entices him with gifts to abandon the thought and accord consent to this matrimony. Gifts are simple just an umbrella and some sweets. How gullible we men folk are, we don't even wait for four pieces of silver before betraying our cherished and preserved bachelorhood.  We get hooked line and sinker and fall for our respective beloveds. But to be fair to dear Soham, bride as pretty as Meera would have shaken up the resolve of any Vishwamitra, so the charade of Kashi yatra was just fun and frolic... May be in bygone era of arranged marriages it provided a little lighter side to an otherwise very serious life event. 

Having fallen for the charms then, it was the turn of the Pandits to take Centre stage and their flawless 'mantrochhar',  the chanting of mantras reminded us all of the religious sanctity of the betrothal. Then finally having gone through the traditional havan and all the swahas it was time for them to literally swing around with all friends and relatives fishing over them, blessing them.  So curtains for the first part of the wedding was only after a very sumptuous Tamil spread for lunch, where even a hard core fork, spoon angrez like me gladly jettisoned the cutlery and relished the meal with my hands down to the last morsel. Not to forget the brief interlude of a South Indian Idly,Pongal filter coffee breakfast also. 

It was now the turn of the Bongs to get into the act, with an ethereal white rajnigandha mandapam and the groom decked up in his  traditional Bengali attire with the 'topor' the unique headgear looking the part,  Meera had transformed from the Tamil bride to a Banarasi clad  Bengali Bodhu, kohl eyed, with traditional Bengali  makeup on her forehead. The highlight of the evening was the seven pheras which the bride takes of the groom, while the bride with her face covered with paan ( betel) leaves carried by her brothers. Thereafter, the garland exchange and they were finally pronounced man and wife having gone through the motions not just once but twice on a single day. The traditional Begali dinner with Machh (fish) and Mishti Dohi, Rasogulla thrown in in ample quantities. No wonder their language and music is so sweet.

Watching Soham, I was convinced that girls invariably look for their Dads their beloveds, and just in case it is not so, then she makes all efforts to turn him into one. In Meera's case I don't think she had to make any effort, simplicity and decency were part of his identity,  a thorough gentleman with impeccable grooming, all credit to his parents Madhusudan Ray and Ananya. 

So the similarity with 2 states ended with just that the bride and groom were from the South and the Eastern part of the country. Here I think both sets of parents were very proud of their children for having made a perfect choice. So it was "yehi hai right choice baby". .

CHITRAGUPT

Chitragupt is the Hindu God who is responsible for data management, keeps track of your deeds, 'karma' and boy He must be  a nerd to be able to manage such a huge volume of data. I am sure he would have got the best possible tools for Big Data analytics. He may not need Artificial Intelligence as with His supreme intellect he would be able to do all the analysis even before you can say Jack Robinson or better still Ramesh Singhania.  All the same I am a recently converted admirer of his abilities at book keeping. 

 I was just entrusted with the task of compiling the data of my NDA course-mates and here I am at my wits end after more than a fortnight having barely made any progress. By the way I am supposed to be at a decent level of computer literacy and what I presumed to be child's play, with the good old Google docs form doing the needful and I could just pick it up and work at it and hog all the credit. But this task of getting these lazy bums to shake their booties and fill in the details is beyond even Hanuman so it can't be human. It would be easy perhaps to get Sanjeevni than try to elicit responses from these rascals. Newton's Second Law of Motion works in only one way here, the inertia of rest, simply impossible to shake them out of it, but there is no inertia of motion as they can come to a grinding halt without any external force, because the natural state of an ex NDA is to be permanently at Rest only. The movements are purely momentary lapse of reason, whenever it does occur, if at all.

Having finally kicked their butts as that is the only force which works here, they did comply and started to fill in the details. But the battle had just about been joined, with many of them expressing their computer illiteracy and very proud of their exalted status, they naturally expected us to be the data entry operators to do the needful. As is customary, I had requested for their current photographs and family photographs also, primarily for the reasons of identification, as some of us have actually taken this ageing a little too seriously and have greyed and grown bald that even our mirrors may be refusing to recognise us. So it was wise to arm ourselves in advance rather than be shocked out of our wits that may jeopardise the merrymaking in the reunion itself. While some others have apparently been there at the Samudra Manthan and were the ones who stole the elixir and have defied the laws of nature totally by just maintaining that youthful handsome drop dead looks that again may cause a different kind of turbulence amongst the fairer sex.  The family photographs shared have their own unique stories with some with a toddler in their arms, now one is not sure whether  the progeny here is a result of a late bloomer in life or an early grand child in your arms. If the latter, it is not a matter of concern but if it is the former again, you are the cynosure of all eyes, after all, you still have it in you!!! while the others are all spent forces, empty cartridge cases...!!

God bless the 25 who have already made their peace and are sipping their drinks nice and easy waiting for their brethren to finish their innings to welcome us aboard. At the last count I had about 115  out of the 272 who had finally obliged. The balance, I think require some other means which I better leave to your imagination!!!

GOAT

 I am sure you would have guessed it, this GOAT   is part of the lexicon of the Gen Y, I am referring to the title of GOAT conferred upon Roger Federer, Greatest of all Times. That he is a legend and will remain one is beyond doubt. But 'Greatest'!!  Well we have had Muhammad Ali, "the Black Superman"who also proclaimed his greatness, so was Sir Don Bradman in Cricket or even Sir Garfield Sobers. We had Dhyan Chand in Hockey, Nadia Comaneci in Gymnastics, Pele and Maradona in Soccer. I know I am treading a treacherous path here as Roger's fans even in my own family will treat a doubting Thomas like me with utter disdain and even contempt for not knowing my serves and volleys. Yes I indulge in Tennis very occasionally and am not really very good at it, but not that bad either. After all I was struck by the glamour of the game rather early and that too without watching the spectacle on screen. We didn't have the luxury of TV in our parts of the country those days. By merely reading about it in newspapers, Sports magazines and watching the Club version of Tennis where oldies indulged in their pastime trying to connect the two important pieces of equipment essential for the game, the racquet and the ball. Once they managed to connect the two, the next big challenge remained of sending this trajectory across the net. But to be fair, even in a remote place like Dhar which is near Indore in Madhya Pradesh, Uday Ranjan Club could boast of a Pune University champion in Hamir Chand Chaudhary with his mastery in the baseline exquisite strokes, he could mesmerise any casual onlooker also. Of course there were others, the local talent who could mount a challenge on their chosen day, where their street smart antics won the day against pure class. My father too dabbled in Tennis and thus we got to witness these duels. The who's who of the town were there, The Maharajah Dhar, his sons, leading advocates, businessmen and of course some Govt functionaries also spent their evenings in this passionate pursuit. 

My tryst with Tennis started when I joined RIMC, Dehradun. Having watched the game from the sidelines only, as an eleven year old was considered rather young to be baptised into this game, the school provided me the opportunity to get on the court with a small racquet which was my size, I still recall it was "Hitway", some Jalandhar company but it did get me hooked. So I played for a while but with hardly any players of our age, switched to Squash as that was considered to be the forte of Rimcollians. I played both in later years, but Squash became the preferred sport, owing to its easy availability in Cantts and more sparring partners. But Tennis was always the more glamorous cousin and with extensive TV coverage of the Grand Slam events, we had our own idols, Bjorn Borg, Jimmy Connors and John McEnroe were the stars those days and with six consecutive Wimbledon titles; Borg was considered the GOAT then. It was the firebrand McEnroe who ended his reign and Borg just retired and disappeared from the scene. Then there was this sixteen year old  unseeded German who by his sheer athleticism and daredevilry upset the Top seeds on his way to his maiden Wimbledon. Yes it is Boris Becker, I am referring to. Swedes continued to reign supreme in the 80s with Mats Wilander, Stefan Edberg et al, till Agassi and Lendl appeared on the scene. Indians had our own stars with father-son duo of Ramnathan and Ramesh Krishnan, the Amritraj brothers, Anand, Vijay and Ashok till Leander Paes emerged on the scene, who also refuses to sign off and is an ageless wonder. Pete Sampras was also the cool cat who was finally dislodged by Roger finally. It's been two decades since then, we have greyed, are on the verge of retiring ourselves but this man defied all odds and just played on and on, reminding me of "petrol khatham hi nahi honda hai!" A popular old  Maruti ad where a cute Sardar kid is playing with his toy car and when asked to stop, he says Petrol just doesn't run out. The gas appears to have finally run out, reducing everyone to tears, in a fitting tribute a very emotional arch rival Nadal another GOAT by any means bid him a very tearful farewell. I dare say there aren't many sports where two rivals are so deeply connected that their bond is not just of two sportspersons but that of two wonderful human beings. So Roger tussi great ho, tofa kabool karo!