Cynics and dreamers - the aisle seat is for neither.

Apropos this Economist article.

I used to prefer aisle seats on domestic flights until I realised one day, I'm going to end up murdering people sitting in the middle/window seats who want to get into the aisle as soon as the plane has landed so that they can stand uncomfortably on the toes of mental midgets like themselves. Have had quite a few if-looks-could-kills and actual arguments.

So looks like the cynics should prefer the window seats, and are better off dreaming about a future where everyone remains calmly seated as the plan comes to a halt instead of wanting to instantly eject out of their seats (which I would gladly help them accomplish while in the air, if I could).

Sleeping with the fishes

You have had a long day ascending the hills. You see the hotel-cum-safehouse approach. You begin to relax. You think you are safe.

You trust the bellhop with your bags. He leads you to the room. You walk in. It's quiet all around. You hand him a fiver. He leaves.

You make the mistake of plonking down on the comfy chair. Then you look at the bed. The towels are made in a familiar form.

You recognise it instantly. The brief gulp of air that escapes your mouth isn't hidden from her. You explain about the towels; the fish on the bed. You wonder if you'll be sleeping with the fishes tonight.

The alarm on her face is unmistakeable. Yes, you have had a fatal dose of the movies.

Bus Ek Pal

I take the company bus to work in the morning and return by it in the evening. I am convinced these buses have bombs on them that will go off within 30 seconds of the bus reaching its destination.

What else explains the mad rush for fellow passengers to alight? As the bus nears its stop, people from the back storm to the front. As the bus stops, others will get up and into the aisle. The line to get down is clogged. But they don't mind standing uncomfortably, rubbing more than shoulders with people in front and behind them. All they care is that they be out into the open, where presumably, they will be saved (yet again) from the poisonous gas slowly filling their empty seats.

Me? I sit down defiantly. Some kind of sit-in protest that is doomed because, well, I do also have to get down at some point. Sometimes, I swing my legs out into the aisle. It announces to the hyenas behind me that yes, I want to get down too, but can't you see that people seated ahead of us must be allowed to get down first? And where are your manners? And do you have to get down in a group? Clearly, the signal is too subtle and packed with too much information, because they rush past me, stumbling and saying "sorry" without meaning it. I must be acquiring a criminal education in sparking off stampedes.

It's funny, this urge to dismount at the earliest. There's no visible advantage in having to wait for 2 more seconds. People who are supposed to get down don't stand in the middle of the bus discussing the Kashmir issue or whether P is not equal to NP. So what are the rushers afraid of?

That leaves only one explanation. But it can wait - it's time to go.

"Pune’s Rosy Winters" - an article

The following formed the basis of an article about Pune in the winters that I wrote for the December edition of FlyLite, the in-flight magazine of the airline JetLite, which is put together by Spenta Multimedia. The content belongs to the publishers.

Pune’s Rosy Winters Once known for its historical traditions and now an educational and commercial hotspot, Pune rediscovers its roots each year in its invigorating winters.

There comes a day when the early rising Punekar will step out of his house, pause in slight surprise, and try to clear his eyes. When the blurriness remains, the Punekar realises that the light fog is to blame for the reduced visibility and that winter has arrived on padded feet.

Winter arrives quietly in Pune and is greeted with relief by the city, especially since an unpleasantly hot October is a common postscript to the rainy season. Pune has always lived, figuratively and literally, in the shadow of a metropolis that makes much of its monsoons. But winter is a season Pune can lay claim to as its own. Unlike the disruptive machismo of the Bombay rains, Pune's winter is gentle in both arrival and tenure, mirroring the laidback ways of the place. A trip down the sleek Mumbai-Pune expressway through the misty Western Ghats more than amplifies this difference.

In the Pink The phrase that the locals use to describe the first month of the winter says it all. Punekars bask in “gulaabii thandii”, literally the “rosy cold”. During this time, citizens, in their light woollens, can be seen bearing a light rosiness of both cheek and demeanour.

Since Pune's winters are temperate, especially in comparison with the frigid bitterness of many North Indian towns, they can rouse residents to action rather than cause them to cower behind a thick quilt. Once the indolence of the early cold morning is defeated, a walk in the balmy ambience is the best way to kick off a day. Given that parts of commercially booming Pune are sometimes bedevilled by smog towards the evenings, the mornings remain the best time to soak up the sun-kissed winter.

A favourite variation of this is to walk up the nearest ‘tekdi’ or hillock. Pune is blessed with an abundance of these easy-to-climb hillocks, which offer vantage views of the city, especially in the late evenings. Many of these tekdis have a temple at the summit, providing the spiritually-minded with a reward for their exertions. For the more material at heart, tekdis also offer flat summits for exploration, hot snacks and tea, and the pleasant company of fellow wanderers. Much higher than any tekdi is Sinhgadh on the outskirts of Pune which boasts of a legendary fort of the Marathas. It is a favourite with both trekkers and foodies. The traditional pithla-bhaakri or onion bhajjis washed down the special buttermilk gains a special tang after a pleasant wintry ascent.

Avian Season For those with their feet firmly on the ground, the season offers other charms. The many lakes in and around Pune receive several varieties of migratory birds. Chief among these are different kinds of ducks, geese, and herons. However, the chief headline-hoggers are pink flamingos that come in from the West and the North, via the Rann of Kutch. Apart from trekking expeditions, local adventure groups organise bird watching tours to places such as Pashan Lake, Bhigwan Dam, Kavdi, and Sinhgadh, and have inspired many an amateur ornithologist.

Cultural Capital Pune's cultural calendar is packed in the winter, with music events ruling the roost. The days during the festival of Diwali, especially the “Paadva” day, are marked by early morning classical music concerts by top musicians. However, the undisputed star on the cultural firmament is the “Sawai Gandharva Music Festival”.

The festival is named in memory of Rambhau Kundagolkar or ‘Sawai Gandharva’, a leading Hindustani classical music exponent of the 40s. Of the Kirana gharana, Gandharva tutored several students who later rose in musical prominence. Chief among these was the legendary Bhimsen Joshi. Led by him, these students started this festival, now over fifty years old, which always features a stellar list of classical musicians.

The event is held on three successive days, beginning in the afternoon and going on till well into the night. Held in the open with some partly covered areas, the result is a very unique experience for spectators. Sweaters of increasing thickness are worn as the evening wears on, blankets are used to reserve areas for groups to recline during the night, and a thermos is pulled out for tea & comfort. Municipal rules prohibiting shows past 10 o clock are cheerfully violated (permission is eventually granted). But nobody in the neighbourhood really minds, especially when some of the best musicians in the country are on stage.

The performers on the bill are usually singers and instrumentalists of various Hindustani classical music styles. The event also showcases leading musicians of the Carnatic form of classical music, and dancers. For each performer, an appearance at the Sawai Gandharva is a stern test in front of the connoisseurs, who have cast discerning ears at many a pretender over the decades. The Sawai is very much a home of music, especially an open-air, wintry one.

The fastidious Sawai attendee will tell you that for several people, the Sawai is the social event of the winter calendar. A chance to meet friends, and to have tea and snacks with them at 1 in the night. But for the average music lover, it is a once-in-a- year opportunity to hear some of the best sounds in the business, and to do it in the company of the stars above.

In recent times, a number of other cultural events have sprung up during the winter months, such as the Pune International Film Festival and the Pune Book Fair. Another festival-in-memoriam is “Pulotsav” which commemorates Pune's most favourite littérateur, P. L. Deshpande, or “Pu La” as he was fondly known. A man of immense artistic talents, a keenly observant Pu La used humor writing, theatre, film, poetry, and song to depict life around him in ways no one else has. This two-week festival is devoted to the arts, featuring Pu La vignettes as well as theatre, music, and reading performances.

Since winters in Pune rarely descend into single digit temperatures, the city is never hobbled by the weather. As January ends and the sun becomes less oblique, winter fades away just as gently as it arrived. Each year, the hard-to-impress Pune old-timer will insist that the city was not what it used to be. But come next November, this sentiment will be assuaged by the winters of Pune's content.

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Notes
1. Thanks to Sumant for sending the publishers my way and Nikhil for his inputs.
2. While setting out to write this, I realised I knew hardly anything about Pune winters beyond the usual minutiae. There's quite a bit more to this place.
3. If you thought the title was slightly diabetes-inducing, I can explain.
4. Ironically, this time, the winter only showed up towards the end of December (and then with a set of frigid knives).

Listening to a book

Listening to a book

I have kept away from audio-books, feeling that the sight of words is an important part of the experience of reading. However, I have been travelling by bus these days and find the roads of Pune not very encouraging of the reading habit. I did remember Hirak writing about how he got used to audio books, and that emboldened me to give it a shot.

The local British Library does have quite a few audio books and offers a choice of authors of my interest: ranging from Richmal Crompton to Agatha Christie to Ian Rankin to Ian McEwan. I decided not to pick up anything heavy or language-intensive. Alexander McCall Smith's "The Sunday Philosophy Club" seemed perfect, and given that the dead-tree edition always seems to be issued, I picked it up.

It has been three days and I find myself to be quite comfortable with the experience. The only irritant is that I cannot "see" the spellings. Isabel Dalhousie mentions many names, ranging from Scottish painters and poets to visitors and passers-by, and the Scottish names are hard to form in my head. Even simpler nicknames escape me - I found out from the link above that her niece was "Cat" and not "Kat" as I had imagined it. Did McCall Smith explain the name while introducing this character? You see, the other thing is that when a truck zips by with a vigorous honk, some words do get muffled. But I had chosen such a book where it would be possible to interpolate the story under such travel conditions.

The biggest plus is that, thanks to the excellent reading by Phyllis Logan, I get to hear a variety of Scottish accents. I am very interested and even fond of these accents, so it's a huge plus.

A journeyman speaks

A journeyman speaks

One of the Headingley 2002 heroes, Sanjay Bangar, has a nice little post on playing for traveling on the Indian Railways. (link courtesy: friend Arun K.) I hope he won't mind me calling him a 'journeyman'.

If you like train journeys, read these accounts by Shamanth and Salil.

Victoria no. 203 - a singleton object?

Victoria no. 203 - a singleton object?

Strolling past many Victorias yesterday, I noticed something that made my trivia-overdosed heart beat rapidly: a Victoria with the number 203. What the...!

When scepticism returned to her little seat in the cranium, I wondered: are there many such Victorias exploiting the number? (and we haven't yet hit the remake). Or did I see the only Victoria no. 203 doing the rounds? Can someone switch the lights on this matter?