My physiotherapist’s News Therapy

As he strapped and fastened the belt, the
physiotherapist told me that he had found a new therapy and now was at peace
with himself and the world.

I have stopped reading newspapers and I don’t watch
the television, he looked at me for my reaction to his new therapy. Newspapers I
do read but not as the first thing in the morning but before I sleep and am
drowsy, I skip the first page without fail jump to the inside pages, he
elaborated, happy that I was not wearing a look of ridiculing his new found key
to happiness.

My introduction to him as a journalist had earned
me free introduction to a new therapy if one wants to be at peace with oneself
and the world.

Frankly, I could not agree more.

On vacation for a week I forgot that my day
begins with reading newspapers. There was no television. I don’t watch the TV much
anyway. The deafening clamour that the so called ‘discussions’ on news channels
are, even the journalist in me tries to look for news and fails to find one. There
are vertical, horizontal scrolls in multiple lines giving something they call
the news. This is in addition to what the news reader says. One is terribly at
loss.

If the all-powerful government can cut off social
media with regular intervals in the Kashmir valley, it can as well try to ban
publication on line and off line of newspapers, order television channels to go
off air for at least two days in a week. Am sure peace will return at least for
four days in the week.

I can then tell my physio friend that I have
improved upon his new discovery.

(Story) Teller Maid

Chanu updates Sushama on the twists and turns that her life takes, when she is doing her work meticulously of doing the dishes and wiping the floor. In her story one gets updates- real life- on small issues like women's empowerment, beti bachao, banks, mosquitos, money lenders, domestic violence etc. etc.
She was happy this morning. Her husband was kind, did not beat her last night although came back home with his usual quota of desi tharra. How hard do you work, he told Chanu and made her drink some milk. He had also earned Rs.400/- from the e-rickshaw he has purchased using the savings of Chanu and did the inaugural run. He has taken money from a money lender as banks were not helpful. The interest is high- 10 per cent. She is willing to toil even harder to make the family happy-sending her daughter Chandni and son to school.
Chanu also purchased new pair of chappals- with a high heel- replacing her flip-flops.
That was the story today. The scene will change tomorrow.

Jockeying around…

Not long time ago we knew a jockey was a person who rides a horse in horse races which were meant for the rich and enjoyed gambling.  The dictionary meaning is that he is a boy or a man who rides in a horse race, a horse dealer, one who takes undue advantage in a business. As a verb it means to jostle by riding against, to manoeuvre, to trick by maneuvering.

Now jockeys have entered your life in a big way and no, we are not talking about the undergarments brand only.  Tune in to any FM radio station and the one who engages in endless chatter and in between plays some songs is called a Radio Jockeys or RJ. A radio jockey is a person who whose job is to introduce different sections of a programme or play recorded popular music on radio. With multiple radio channels competing to grab your ears today’s RJ also jostles, as the dictionary meaning says, against other RJs. There is maneuvering and the art involves tricking the listener into staying put on the same radio station.

Then you have the Disk Jockeys. Come any public function involving celebration  of birth days or wedding or engagement. A good DJ is the one who makes the people- young and old, bold and bald, fat or thin- to hit the dance floor and shake a leg. These guys stand behind the mysterious looking instruments with multiple buttons and the DJ is quick to shift from one song to another in quick succession to keep the rhythm or the party and keep people on the dance floor.

If the RJs and the DJs are the jockeys who are known for their profession, there are jockeys in your everyday life who play the role of Radio or Disk jockeys. They chatter endlessly giving others little time to talk. They manoeuvre, trick and are generally harmless but for their ability to keep people engaged and stay tuned to their ‘radio stations’.  In today’s fast moving world, the number of jockeys in your life will only increase. Take for instance the mushrooming WhatsApp groups who are controlled by WJs- we can call them WhaatsApp Jockeys.

July 2013. May 2015. No update. In fact there are so many. Just remained in mind. After waiting- yes- waiting for long there was retirement day. December 31, 2013. Declined farewell from office. Extension??? Was not sure. Was sure that I would not be asking for one. Was happy to remove personal things from office- photographs- diaries-salary slips- etc etc and of course personal copies of books that friends had given over the years. Surrendered the office Blackberry and laptop. Unburdened myself- simply put.

Was not exactly excited when was told that my services would be required for one more year.

Good. The extended one year to passed. A new arrangement- flexible timing and thrice a week. Not bad.

Things have dramatically changed for the time I have at my disposal for myself. Several things to be done. Books to be read. Songs to be listened to. Meeting friends. Helping Sushama in kitchen. Calling family members and actually thinking of a holiday!

Don't know why people do not retire. Retirement from job is in fact getting a new job that can give you time to live your life. Give time to family. How have I spent the five months of my semi-retirement... In the next post..

Post semi-retirement I have learnt to smile. This one is an old photo!

In touch with the town

I travel to office in my car- it is more than ten year old now but still in good health. Not much travelling- mostly home to office and back home. Occasionally something crops up.

The about-to-take-up his new job friend showed me his Honda Accord that his office had provided him and my mind raced back to the days I actually joined as a journalist. The vehicle used to be cycle for budding scribes like me. We would keep the bikes spic and span and in top condition. The Chief Reporter would comes on his Vespa that he had purchased second-hand. The news editor and well, the editor too would reach the office on their Vespas. Only the Managing Editor would travel in the office car- a Land Master and later to Premier Padmini.

I would travel distances on cycle, going to rallies, press conferences, police stations. On the cycle one could be in touch with the city, see the people from close, see the roads and the buildings from close. The car has taken away so many of these things. As I drive, I am mostly worried about the cheek-by-jowl traffic, keeping an eye on the traffic signals, on the fuel meter and the temperature meter. The radio of the car blurts out some music I cannot make out as the radio is old.

My friend will be driven by chauffeur. But he too will miss the roads, the people and the buildings. He would be attending calls on his mobile or working on his laptop and firing instructions to his colleagues.

Most of the journalists today have cars. They miss a lot and so does the day's journalism.

Luggage

Luggage. Two recent incidents brought memories that had something to do with luggage that we carry while travelling. First, the incident. Not a frequest air traveller the young man, an engineering graduate, hesitated but picked up the bag his mind told him was not his although it looked just the same. He waited as the conveyor belt had all but three bags left- including the one he though must be his. It weighed a lot than what he had handed over to the airline for travel to Delhi.

Reaching home, he realised that it was indeed someone else's- some lady (from the clothes in the bag) who was on the flight! Frantic calls from the lady (who apparently got in touch with the airline and was told of the exchange) who pleaded that she was travelling abroad and needed the bag badly (one understands!). But there was no way the bag could be reached to the airport.

The second incident- rather- discovery of the very special bags that Varun and his friend carried on their bikes as they travelled from Nagpur to Delhi- a distance of 1080 kms. The bags sat on the pillon, hugging the seat, also providing a cushion to the rider! Another sat pretty on the fuel tank without much fuss.

My mind raced back to the luggage I carried way back in 1979 when I travelled to Pune to join my new job. I carried a 'holdall'- something not many of the younger generation would know about. The 'holdall' could carry your matress, bed sheets, pillow, some clothes and well a bit of everything! one had to hire services of a 'coolie' to carry the holdall as it was near impossible for one to hold it! By then, the the steel (aluminium?) trunks had given way to lighter (modern moulded luggage was yet to make entry) bags.

The modern bags are light in weight, better looking, come with wheels and easy to carry! But then most of them look the same and there is a danger of you picking up someone else's bag!

007 and Lucky 13

Not a believer in numbers. Have never been good in numbers. Numerology was never and unlikely to be an area that would interest me.

But what if a certain figure gets attached to your life?

Seven is one such figure. They are seven- days in a week. Seven colours in the rainbow. Seven steps- saptapadi- in a Hindu marriage. Seven notes in music, seven continents, seven seas, saptarshi (seven saints- as the constellation is known as)...... A pure coincidence but a family- two generations- had the figure seven linked in various ways.

Seven children- four sisters and three brothers. The eldest son too had four daughters and three sons. The surname SATOKAR too happens to have the number seven- seven letters- in it. The mobile phone number ends with seven. The home telephone number too ends with seven.  Never asked for it but memebership number of the housing society also ends with seven. Well, Sushama, the name of lady in the house, too has seven letters in her name.

Thirteen. Unlucky for some has turned to be lucky. In a highly superstitious society in Sri Lanka, 13 is a number people would like to keep away from. Was happy, therefore, to buy a car which registration number that totaled 13 (76), got it for a good bargain. Friends had cautioned that I would find it difficult to sell the car and there would be no buyers. After many came home to inspect the Toyota after my transfer and went back without saying in so many words about the 'unlucky' registration number one who took the car for a trial ride. The gentleman agreed to a price we quoted- the number 13 has been lucky for him, he said adding that he was looking for a vehicle with number that would total 13.

Could I have asked for more? Thirteen proved lucky for us too!

Started totaling numbers that are attached to us. Flat number 229- total 13. Employment number 814. Total 13. There are quite a few other numbers that total 13. 

I am looking forward to next year- 2013.

Encounters with would be killers

It never occurs to you after you meet someone that the person you are talking will murder someone soon.

Am keen to see “Deshonnati’. See how it published the news. Murder involving its editor?

The news was on page one of Times of India’s Delhi edition- a good 1000 kms away from Nagpur. ‘Editor kills employee.’  

Brash and ambitious with the killer instinct to take the competitor enemy head on, a miser, stingy to the core. Did not pay a dime to a friend whom he employed as the newspaper’s Delhi correspondent (I would support the agitating employees, understand their plight..) PP had all the qualities one needs for a short cut to be on the top.

I am not surprised reading the news.  ‘Desnonnati’ sales would have shot up (if the employees are not on strike) - readers wanting to know more about the editor who shot an agitating employee. Rival newspapers would try to play it up even more- look for scoops- it’s a matter of sales after all. The matter will take years in courts and quite possible that PP the editor will be acquitted. He sure is much more powerful than the poor employee who was shot dead.

PP would be the second editor involved in a murder in Nagpur's media history. It was other way round years ago when editor of a dying Marathi newspaper was shot dead by a police sub-inspector. Yes, it was the editor who got killed. There were stories of the editor black-mailing the cop who, having lost patience whipped up his service revolver and killed the editor on seeing him at his door step in the morning.

Although he hated competition and would equally hate his newspaper not coming out one would never think he would actually gun (or order his guard to..) down an employee seeking wages.

Not paid well but used to a lavish life style thanks to their profession, Dube, editor of the now defunct Nagpur Patrika was under tremendous pressure of his employer to make the newspaper sell more. People fear police. Police fear the press. There are ways the police extract money from all and sundry. Crime reporters and some editors know how to extract money or favours from the police. Dube was one such editor. Harassing, a cop? he paid with his life. A bachelor thankfully, there was nobody to cry when shot dead at point blank range by someone supposed to protect the law.

Employers, ‘maliks’ have their ways of ‘killing’ those they employ. Very few are shot point blank like PP did. Others employ more devious ways of causing a slow death, killing your mental peace, your family life, your happiness. No text book formula to survive and overcome this. A documentary wonderfully showed how a petty shop worker- watched out of curiosity from his window by a student in the next building because of the way he yells at his wife and daughter every evening out of frustration caused by endless yelling by his shop keeper owner ‘malik.’ One evening the worker is unusually kind to his family. The young student follows worker to find out first, the cause of his yelling and then how he is suddenly a changed person. The worker has found a deserted spot where he has hung a photo of his cruel ‘malik’, yells at the ‘malik’s photo’ full throated, abusing the filthiest to his heart’ content- before leaving for home.

Not everyone can find solution not to bring office frustrations home. It is better though to leave office, workplace tensions back in the office. Not to take them home. Difficult though to maintain one's cool if one is not paid salaries or is underpaid.

Not exactly a feather in Nagpur's cap.

Bathroom blushes

   The best protected place during a rocket or bomb attack is the bathroom, the defence expert said looking at the French window with glass panel- splinters of this glass will seriously injure you, if not kill, in case a rocket hits or a bomb falls on the hotel he said taking out a thick adhesive tape which he told me to paste criss-cross in several lines on the huge glass. This will ensure that the glass does not fly off in case……

    

   I spent several nervous days following the instructions whenever I would go for bath in the huge room number 102 in the 300-room Kabul Hotel. Ears already trained to hear firing of scuds and falling of rockets in Kabul, the time spent in the bathroom would make me nervous- what if a rocket indeed hit when I was in my birth day suit in the bathroom? You can’t remain in the bathroom for long?? And what if the bomb fell on the bathroom itself? The news next day would be that the journalist was found dead in the bathroom.. the thought of dying in a bathroom while reporting from a war-torn country --……wierd worries would crowd the mind. The worries faded away with time. Nothing happened in Kabul at least with me in the bathroom.

   Bathroom back home in Delhi a year later, however nearly killed me. That was way back in the late 80s.

   It was a day in November. Parliament was in session and there was an unusual rush of visitors - we were among the few to move in the brand new society. There was no proper road to reach the society.  There was no water supply- one had to collect water from the bore well and electricity was erratic. Visitors planning to move in would make a visit for a glass of water. Irritated at the delay I closed the bathroom door and looked if there was enough hot water in the brass drum that had an electric element fitted to heat water- Indian ‘Jugaad’ technology. Switched off the heater and lifted it to pour water in the bucket and I knew I was about to die. Electric shock on watery surface--in bathroom. No chance of escape. Eyes desperately looked for a dry surface- no chance. The current threw me with a great force to the wall- a bone protruded from the shoulder. Thrown curled on the floor- I knew I would soon be dead. Mysteriously, the current had suddenly gone. The wire had snapped from the plug- pulled by my leg. I was alive.

   Bathrooms became topic discussion in our society last week when a young housewife slipped and broke her leg in the bathroom with no one else in the top –fourth floor- and the flat door as also the bathroom doors locked she yelled in pain- heeeeeeeeeeeeelp. Someone noticed, heard the cries. People collected, broke opened the flat door and broke the bathroom door. Nooooooooooooooo, she yelled again- please call some ladies---- the men desperately looked for some women who could put some clothes on the lady in excruciating pain. Should there be phones fitted in bathrooms as hotels have? Should you carry your mobile phone in the bathroom? Should one not bolt the door? Should?????????

   Bombs or electricity, bathrooms have always been the place I enjoy the best. Alone, you are all by yourself. All great ideas, thoughts that my brain ahas ever generated were always in the bathroom. ‘Let noble thoughts from the universe come to me’, as the Rigveda says—Aano Bhadra Kritavo Yantu Vishwataha’..

   Then wasn’t it in his bath tub that Archimedes shouted ‘Eureka…?’ The great US Fed Chief, Alan Greene, I am told would dictate to his secretary lying in his bath tub!

Di for Divorce

They sat, cheerful, bright-eyed and seemed genuinely looking forward to understand more about one of the largest news agencies in the world. This was striking contrast to most other delegations of journalists, officials, foreigners that visit our office (wanting to know more about the wire agency) who mostly look tired with 'the earlier this ends the better....looks. The Bhutanese looked happy people from a country that gives paramount importance to its famed Happiness Index.

Are we happy people?

I gave families in our building a happiness test. (I consider myself happy, at least not unhappy!).

The immediate neighbour lives alone- divorced (wife fought, sought and got divorce and left with the child). A happy couple on the floor above- a morning walk together etc. etc. A teacher with a husband who resigned his job, son in Canada, daughter in school- a worried lot. Another case of divorce in making- husband a Malllu, wife from North-east. Yet another case of a young girl staying with parents after a divorce. A family with wife who has migrated to US with children, leaving the husband behind alone. Its a mixed bag. A friend (not in our colony) non-nonchalantly talks of her first and second husbands. She is not looking for a third as of now, she says. Has a child with diabetes.

A friend visited recently. A fraction of her usual happy, chirpy self. Looked totally withdrawn. Divorced after 35 years of marriage- two grown up daughters and a teen-aged son. Something is wrong somewhere.

We as children, have heard story of a wife chasing the death God Yama and fetching her husband back to life. While in Colombo, a friend lost his mother and within minutes the father died too. It was a double cremation he had to perform.  Will these become only stories?

After the Lady Diana and Prince Charles 'fairy tale' divorce the the most high profile divorce in news these days is Katie Holmes and Tom Cruise.

 Don't make life a web!

I  feel excited at the thought of retirement that is not very far. A kind of feeling you get when promoted to the next class in the school- new teachers, new uniforms, new books and some new friends!
You don't want to be in the same class for more than a year. A change after an exciting career spanning over three decades is something exciting.
Wonder how people stay put in jobs by hook or crook. I think it is simple greed and may be fear that the next person taking over may find skeletons in the cupboard. I always admired Bapu Sathe- so popular even after retiring from active politics- a regular in many a cultural, social event in Delhi, Mumbai, Pune...Nagpur. The man even walked the ramp! Politicians don't retire- I don't know why. Our living God Tendulkar also refuses to retire. Gods don't retire and Tendulkar is considered as one by his fans- may be he has taken it seriously while saying he still has lots of cricket in him.
I see quite a few retired souls in the neighborhood. I don't want to be like some of them- doing nothing. A fairly healthy grandpa just roams the whole day. Another sits with  the society watchmen. I like Sardar Ramindar. Was editor with a reputed daily- enjoys life. Plays golf, reads books. Enjoys his drinks and experiments with food. Has been visiting exotic places with his wife- Bali is the latest he is planning to go. 

There are thousands and thousands of such time bombs everywhere in the state, the police friend of mine had said after disfigurement of statue of Dr. Ambedkar in a Mumbai suburb in late 90s had caused wide spread riots. Statues,  idols are installed overnight the purpose in most of the cases is encroachment of land- installation of a religious idol or a statue- ensures the state, civic machinery would not move, he said.

Miscreants, many times under tacit support by political bosses, indulge in such activities, he had said.
Media- films, cartoons, TV footage, social networks now have become tools that spark trouble- some times for foolish and innocent activity (like those cartoons by Assem that did not warrant harsh action by the police at all!) or the film by the Israeli fanatic against Islam that now is causing trouble in many countries.

Like everything else in daily life media, be it news, photographs or cartoons and films- too is becoming adulterated..toxic. There is no way these toxins can be filtered out. The TV news channels want TRPs. In their mad penchant for 'breaking news' anything and everything becomes a 'breaking news'. Assem and his cartoon friends like Kejriwal seemed to happy to pose before equally eager cameras. Who cares for the consequences? 

They hide behind trees, flyover and foot over bridge columns and pounce upon unsuspecting motorists. Extort money from most of those caught, giving receipt to a few. No, I am not talking about pick pockets or highway robbers or petty gangsters. It is the traffic cops. I see them doing this at quite a few places in Delhi.

Cars are stolen by two types of people, I once told a cop with a pot-belly who stopped me and I insisted on a receipt for Rs.100 fine. The car thieves and the traffic cops. The traffic cops tow away the so called 'wrongly parked' cars leaving no sign whatsoever for the car owner who invariably is told of the 'lift' by either by-standers or a nearby paan shop owner. In most cases there are no 'No Parking' boards but then the cop has a target to meet and the crane (made famous by Kiran 'crane Bedi) have to earn their livelihood (car lifting outsourced by the police- a good partnership!).

What is happening to our police force? On one hand they are getting beaten (Lately in Mumbai and then in Bhubaneswar) by mobs. The cops fail to have even this basic intelligence that mobsters are collecting at the meeting armed with rods and other 'weapons', planning arson. If our police cannot have intelligence on this how can we prevent another 9/11?