As I write this story, I must ask all of you readers out there to laugh out loud whenever you get the opportunity, for that is one of the most integral parts of our great Bangalore.
Last week was every student’s most dreaded nightmare: the Hindi exam, or at least that is what they call it when two hundred students are massacred in about two hours with nothing but a piece of paper. I use the BMTC bus system to commute to school, and today was no exception. As I stepped into a rickety old bus, the female conductor shot at me a look of pure loathe, the likes of which are used by jailors in movies while throwing food at the prisoners. “Ticket?”, she shrieked, nearly jabbing my eye with those murder weapons called ball-point pens. ”Pass”, I said, struggling valiantly to dodge her mightier-than-the-sword pen. She wanted to see my bus-pass, so she motioned with the aforementioned pen. Upon finding nothing reason enough to throw me out of the bus, she threw it back at me, again using my eyes for target practice…she evidently was supposed to be at the war-games in Pokharan, thought I. By the time I got out into the pleasant Bangalore drizzle, I had already suffered several scratches, the fruits of several ‘accidents’ with the conductor’s bag.
I had to get another bus to school, so I waited. To kill time, I kicked stones at a puddle. Soon, the puddle was full of stones. Time check:8.12 a.m. 18 minutes to the school bell.
More time flew. 8.19 a.m. 11 minutes to bell.8.22. “Providence favours the brave”. 8.24. ”The supernatural being will help”. 8.25. “Curse the BMTC!”. 8.25, 43 sec. The Messiah in the form of a shining blue-white wheeled chariot! “All is not yet lost, my dear Bala!”. The divine messenger almost hit me, but who was I to care? I stepped in to its roomy, dry comfort. The conductor was a man, and more importantly, he didn’t bother to even look at me.
We were moving at hypersonic speed, with agility that an SU-30MKI wouldn’t be able to match. We wove around traffic like a dogfighting aircraft. At breakneck speed, we were almost at my school gates. 8.29 a.m. and 19 sec. out of the bus, running into the school as if for my life. The eagle had landed. Hats off and collars up to this divine intervention.
The exam, as usual, was like what the Chinese troops did to the thousands of protesters at Tiananmen Square. At long last, we battle-hardened soldiers evacuated ourselves and the casualties from enemy territory.
Back to the bus stop. A bus. Going back home. At the intersection between Chord Rd and Magadi Rd. A violent jolt woke me from my musings on the past couple of hours. It was the bus moving through the rain-created slush near the Underpass That Wasn’t. This was no underpass, no magic box, it was always going to be a to-be-completed-in so-and-so date project. Traffic jam. No signal. Chaos. Ashen-faced cop trying his very best to control it all. No B-Tracs system for this guy-just old fashioned hand signals. Moving on. At the connecting stop. Waiting relentlessly. Still waiting. A figure clad in a raincoat approaches me like the villain in TV soaps. Turns out it is just my uncle, happening to be in this part of town. Good man, kindly offers me a ride home.
At this moment, bus number innumerable pulls into the stop. It’s a direct bus.
Debate rages in my head. Uncle or bus. Bus or uncle. A car with just me and him or a bus with forty other guys?
In the end, independence wins over. I say, ”No thanks, but you must visit sometime soon”. Why did I make that choice? I’ll leave that for you to guess, because I myself am not that sure. Another brutally tough question: who is the protagonist in my yarn? Well, I’d say it isn’t a ‘who’ but a ‘what’- the BMTC, Bangalore and, more importantly, its culture…
Bala
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Nat Geo Junior Hunt-2
On Thursday, 15th May, 2008, I left for Mumbai on the early morning Spicejet flight. As soon as the aircraft landed, I headed for the cockpit of the aircraft, only to be greeted by a humungous human chain, starting from the cockpit. It seemed that I was not the only one interested in planes…
The aircraft was a Boeing 737-800, registered as VT-SPK. Finally, when I was at the cockpit, I met a cheerful guy on the left seat; whereas the First Officer seemed to be in his own world of thought…I asked the Captain a few questions, which he answered with patience and enthusiasm.
Once out of the terminal, I found that my flight timings being congestion-inclusive, I had landed an hour ahead of schedule. So I called up Mrigul, one of the guys responsible for me, and asked him where he was. He fixed up something with his boss, for me to get to their workplace. Once there, I viewed most of the episodes and was escorted to Mrigul’s house by his boss, Nitin. I left my bag (or rather, threw it) in a corner and took a small nap (essential, as I had got up at the ghastly hour of 5). Once I was roused from my slumber, I was served an amazing lunch by Mrigul’s cook. After I was done, Mrigul came to pick me up with Malvika, the writer. We went to the studio and I saw the script for the first time. It was a long one, and I was in for a tough evening.
We were all ready at the studio, with me having finally familiarised with the script and the backgrounds ready. But it was not to be done with so soon…poof!came a power failure…we were in for it…
About an hour and a half later, the auxiliary power unit was plugged in and we were ready to roll. I was made to stand in the centre of the background and the camera was focused. Then the lights came on, one by one. Ever wondered what it might feel like to be roasted by the Devil in Hades?? Maybe not, but if you have and want to get a taste, showbiz is for you…those lights, or at least, that’s what they’re called, are enough to run a thermal power plant!
But, as they say, God is everywhere…in my case, He came in the form of a table fan, a bottle of cold water and my handkerchief, with Nitin and Co acting as His messengers.
There was a huge green cloth draped over a frame, and it served as my background. The camera was placed on a tripod a few metres behind, and right over the camera was a teleprompter. As the text could not be read by me minus glasses from that distance, it had to be enlarged many times. A little mike was taped to my shirt and a long pole-mounted fluffy mike was held by a man so that it was right above me, but it wouldn’t be on camera. There were lights everywhere, the two aforementioned and three more at various other locations. Why there were so many lights is still a mystery to me…
Then the first line of anchoring began…by the time a fourth of the first episode was completed, I was sweating profusely, and Nitin had to break it off because of the sweat.
I felt drained after just two episodes, but fought on doggedly… after the third episode, by His doing, the lights went out. A break of at least an hour was to be enjoyed, but no, I pushed myself further to take advantage of the partial lighting…
Dinner was a quick affair, with some Vada-pav being the sole form of sustenance. After it, we worked tirelessly, and were rewarded handsomely enough when I finally said, ”Well, that’s all from me now, keep watching Nat Geo, and Think Again!”
I must admit, if this is the life of an anchor, it certainly wasn’t that bad!
Mrigul dropped me off at his place and went out, and I was left alone with a TV and a PS2…I played (and lost) FIFA ’06 continuously till 1:30, after which sleep divinely wrapped itself around me.
The next morning, I woke up for some reason at 6.30, and, finding Mrigul dead to the world, I decided to postpone his resurrection.
At 7.30, I shook him like Oliver Twist’s schoolmaster, after which he finally awakened...
After we were readied and dressed, he drove me around Mumbai with the intention of showing me the Gateway of India without me going to my flight a day late. It seemed like a tough duel, but we were making progress on the hopelessly clogged roads of the city, which even the natives seem to dread. We stopped for some brunch at McD’s, and finally reached our destination. I was disappointed, because I had expected a lot more out of the symbol of British rule in India, which was being renovated. While one half was covered in mesh, the other looked like a Stone Age relic. I could not spend more than five minutes here, both because I didn’t want to and because we hadn’t the time.
A couple of hours later, we said our goodbyes, and I entered the labyrinthine corridors of the airport. My flight was delayed by about 45 minutes, and when it arrived, I was glad to take my seat. This aircraft, a brand new Boeing 737-900, registered as VT-SPU, was a brand new one. An hour and a half later, I was in another cockpit, with a fresh set of questions for the pilots. My adventures with Nat Geo are now over, and with them, (as of now) those with the HAL airport…
The aircraft was a Boeing 737-800, registered as VT-SPK. Finally, when I was at the cockpit, I met a cheerful guy on the left seat; whereas the First Officer seemed to be in his own world of thought…I asked the Captain a few questions, which he answered with patience and enthusiasm.
Once out of the terminal, I found that my flight timings being congestion-inclusive, I had landed an hour ahead of schedule. So I called up Mrigul, one of the guys responsible for me, and asked him where he was. He fixed up something with his boss, for me to get to their workplace. Once there, I viewed most of the episodes and was escorted to Mrigul’s house by his boss, Nitin. I left my bag (or rather, threw it) in a corner and took a small nap (essential, as I had got up at the ghastly hour of 5). Once I was roused from my slumber, I was served an amazing lunch by Mrigul’s cook. After I was done, Mrigul came to pick me up with Malvika, the writer. We went to the studio and I saw the script for the first time. It was a long one, and I was in for a tough evening.
We were all ready at the studio, with me having finally familiarised with the script and the backgrounds ready. But it was not to be done with so soon…poof!came a power failure…we were in for it…
About an hour and a half later, the auxiliary power unit was plugged in and we were ready to roll. I was made to stand in the centre of the background and the camera was focused. Then the lights came on, one by one. Ever wondered what it might feel like to be roasted by the Devil in Hades?? Maybe not, but if you have and want to get a taste, showbiz is for you…those lights, or at least, that’s what they’re called, are enough to run a thermal power plant!
But, as they say, God is everywhere…in my case, He came in the form of a table fan, a bottle of cold water and my handkerchief, with Nitin and Co acting as His messengers.
There was a huge green cloth draped over a frame, and it served as my background. The camera was placed on a tripod a few metres behind, and right over the camera was a teleprompter. As the text could not be read by me minus glasses from that distance, it had to be enlarged many times. A little mike was taped to my shirt and a long pole-mounted fluffy mike was held by a man so that it was right above me, but it wouldn’t be on camera. There were lights everywhere, the two aforementioned and three more at various other locations. Why there were so many lights is still a mystery to me…
Then the first line of anchoring began…by the time a fourth of the first episode was completed, I was sweating profusely, and Nitin had to break it off because of the sweat.
I felt drained after just two episodes, but fought on doggedly… after the third episode, by His doing, the lights went out. A break of at least an hour was to be enjoyed, but no, I pushed myself further to take advantage of the partial lighting…
Dinner was a quick affair, with some Vada-pav being the sole form of sustenance. After it, we worked tirelessly, and were rewarded handsomely enough when I finally said, ”Well, that’s all from me now, keep watching Nat Geo, and Think Again!”
I must admit, if this is the life of an anchor, it certainly wasn’t that bad!
Mrigul dropped me off at his place and went out, and I was left alone with a TV and a PS2…I played (and lost) FIFA ’06 continuously till 1:30, after which sleep divinely wrapped itself around me.
The next morning, I woke up for some reason at 6.30, and, finding Mrigul dead to the world, I decided to postpone his resurrection.
At 7.30, I shook him like Oliver Twist’s schoolmaster, after which he finally awakened...
After we were readied and dressed, he drove me around Mumbai with the intention of showing me the Gateway of India without me going to my flight a day late. It seemed like a tough duel, but we were making progress on the hopelessly clogged roads of the city, which even the natives seem to dread. We stopped for some brunch at McD’s, and finally reached our destination. I was disappointed, because I had expected a lot more out of the symbol of British rule in India, which was being renovated. While one half was covered in mesh, the other looked like a Stone Age relic. I could not spend more than five minutes here, both because I didn’t want to and because we hadn’t the time.
A couple of hours later, we said our goodbyes, and I entered the labyrinthine corridors of the airport. My flight was delayed by about 45 minutes, and when it arrived, I was glad to take my seat. This aircraft, a brand new Boeing 737-900, registered as VT-SPU, was a brand new one. An hour and a half later, I was in another cockpit, with a fresh set of questions for the pilots. My adventures with Nat Geo are now over, and with them, (as of now) those with the HAL airport…
Of Mother-tongues and Other tongues
As a perfectly normal 13-year-old guy (notwithstanding the high iq...), I feel more like a Bangalorean than a Tamil or a Kannadiga, an Indian rather than a Bharatvasi, so much so that my mom and my grandma thought I needed a refresher course in Tamil, provided by my aunt who taught me the language of jalebis in the first place. My mom, on another front, was pushing for my learning Kannada, "so that you can read the boards on the buses"...and this advice(or should I say decree?) came after 3 years of going by bus, coming by bus and chatting with various conductors... :)
But, due to my constant protests with Gujjar-like intensity, they agreed to put me through a test...(for Tamil only, as i had flatly refused to touch kannada...)
I was asked to read a page of that weekly that my grandparents gave the utmost reverence...
I knew it was going to be a tough task, one that needed a lot of determination and grit...I opened the book...I was given a page to read, and I began...
I concentrated on it like there was no tomorrow...halfway through, three-quarters done...and Bingo!
I had passed with flying colours! (don't ask my mom how it went, because she'll tell you that I was no good...are mothers always pessimists?)
No Tamil training for me!!
I was in heavenly bliss, so heavenly that i thought that the stars were God's daisy chain...
Well, see you next time!
Bala
But, due to my constant protests with Gujjar-like intensity, they agreed to put me through a test...(for Tamil only, as i had flatly refused to touch kannada...)
I was asked to read a page of that weekly that my grandparents gave the utmost reverence...
I knew it was going to be a tough task, one that needed a lot of determination and grit...I opened the book...I was given a page to read, and I began...
I concentrated on it like there was no tomorrow...halfway through, three-quarters done...and Bingo!
I had passed with flying colours! (don't ask my mom how it went, because she'll tell you that I was no good...are mothers always pessimists?)
No Tamil training for me!!
I was in heavenly bliss, so heavenly that i thought that the stars were God's daisy chain...
Well, see you next time!
Bala
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