Today’s morning sky – pre-dawn and daybreak – was like Shade Card meets Gradient Option. All ranges of colours, in all the transparencies (though not sure it would show in my modest-smartphone pix). But one visual that remained constant, as black gave way to light, was that of Moon and Venus (I’m guessing that’s her; she was the only star shining so bright) remaining so close to one another. The range of colours was, I guess, the other celestial bodies blushing at what Moon and Venus had been up to all night. After all, ‘Why were they so close to each other?’ And ‘Why are they still so close?’ But maybe, they were just seeking company, or even warmth, on a cold winter’s night. I guess we’ll know in nine months’ time.
And the night
With all their might
For the right
To continue or not being bright
The former finally loses, beaten black, blue, but no, not white
And the evening goes to the night, alright
Yesterday, I had a stomach upset:
The crap was on tap;
How did I get it, did I fret,
And then, ah: I must have had some crap.
Pat. Pat. Pat. Pat. Pat.
Pat. I found the book in Search.
Pat. I placed the order.
Pat. I got an SMS saying the order has been placed.
Pat. A notification popped up saying I could read the first chapter of the book online for free. (Pat. I ignored it. Why would I when I had just placed the order?)
Pat. I got an SMS saying the book had been dispatched.
Pat. The delivery guy popped up at my door within two days with the package. (If this had been the US or UK, his name would also have been Pat.)
Pat. I tore up the package.
Pat. I signed the receipt.
Everything went pat on my first online order of a book. (Yes, I’ve been that resistant.) It was like pat was on tap. It didn’t even feel like I’d bought a book. I felt like I was watching an episode of Mega Factories, like how Coke is made or something. And it felt as cold as a can of that. The only thing I noticed about this transaction was the delivery guy. He was unlike other delivery guys – postman or the courier guy. He seemed older and more well-to-do, like he had either fallen upon tough times or taken up a job post-retirement to fill his time. More the latter, or both, going by my instinct. (And I have a good one, although I say so myself.) In fact, if knew the language better, I would have struck up a conversation with him, also seeking to confirm my theory. I felt that deprived of human interaction in this entire transaction.
But that is a common refrain by now. So, here’s a story from the other side…
First, the flunky went about it. Not in Indian Writing. Not in Fiction. Not in Romance. Flunky gave up soon enough, like flunkies do. Time for Manager to prove why he was manager. He was certain the book was there. The system showed it, and apparently the system doesn’t lie. He retraced Flunky’s path. Nought. Nought. Nought. Then, he decided to look in the vicinity – any of the racks nearby. He was thinking like Holmes: a delinquent reader would have picked it up, browsed through it, and accidentally or lazily placed it at the first handy location. Nought. Nought. This side and that side of the close-by rack. By now, he, portly he, was puffing and sweating. I felt sorry for him, and was fairly certain (that gut instinct again) it wasn’t in store. As my feet began withdrawing away from the racks, he looked at me beseechingly, “It’s there. I’ve seen it.” I was getting less and less convinced, but was scoring him full marks for effort. Tuning off slowly, I clutched the other book I did find, and turned in the direction of the counter. Just then, he squeaked, “Found it!” Irfan’s Gut Instinct 0, Store Manager’s Memory 1.
Why did he put in so much effort? Pat. It’s the days of online ordering. If the customer (or the manager or flunky) doesn’t find the book in one minute in-store, they are going to turn on the smartphone. And also save some money.
I half felt like going up to the manager and giving him a… pat.
The pool. On a Saturday. On a Saturday morning. Few people around. Sunny sky. Begins turning grey. Clouds gather. Clouds begin cracking. Then, crackling. Drops pelt the surface of the pool. You pause. Not because it’s raining. But because it’s raining silver. And then diamonds. The drops turn into little solitaires on impact with the pool water. Solemnizing the union of the water above with that below.
The sun and the rain today
Seem to be engaged in peek-a-boo:
One hour, we see one,
The other, it’s gone “Shoo!”
So, you don’t know whether to take a brolly or not,
Or a car versus a scooty,
And decide best to stay at home,
Reading, or watching the TV;
But by the end of the day,
You see the ploy to their play:
“Keep people guessing –
Waste their Sunday!”
A few months back, the city corporation again brought up the suggestion of renaming city roads presently named after Englishmen from the Raj’s time to names celebrating the heritage, culture and past luminaries of the state.Now, I am one to leave alone things that are not deal-breakers. Also, somewhere, I like the charm of the existing names: they ring of the same quaintness as the roads and also take you back to that time. Finally, if you change the name and can’t alter a thing about the structures on these roads (many of these have heritage buildings, which the authorities in fact need to keep the same way as originally), there ends up being a dissonance. (Case in point being Anna Salai, which was Mount Road earlier, but which has the same appearance as from the earlier name’s time, apart from of course the havoc caused by the metro’s work.)
But I started living with the renaming idea, and am beginning to see some merits to it. The first positive is, it will no longer have Messrs Wren and Marten and all those English gentlemen turning in their graves.
Wren and Martin first. Halls, Peters and Whites, among others, were not like the Joneses – they didn’t have their names ending with ‘s’. There needed to be an apostrophe between their name and the ‘s’, indicating that it was a road built/named in their honour and so their road – not as a possessive pronoun (the road didn’t belong to them; they had passed away by then, after all), but more as a commemorative pronoun, if you will. Now, the authorities at that time either didn’t know about the apostrophe (since it doesn’t exist in any of the Indian languages) or were the forerunners to today’s smartphone-wielding, micro-messaging millennials, who abhor the apostrophe (as well as giving a response longer than 10 characters and looking up from their devices). So, Hall’s became Halls, Peter’s became Peters, and White became red with disdain.
But the Raj gentlemen had it worse twice over. (Guess this was our way of getting back at them for two centuries of rule.) Since it seems only the tight-lipped Englishmen could pronounce their names and not the open-lipped “natives”, Graeme’s Road became Greams Road, Yeldham’s Road became Eldams Road, and I’m praying Cooks Road came from Cook’s Road itself and not some mispronunciation.
Another reason for welcoming the name change is if it could address any possible misogyny of the past and any possible misunderstanding in the future. Misogyny: I can’t think of any places named after women except Besant Nagar (after Annie Besant; but because she was British, will that now change?). There is JJ Nagar, but that’s a recent renaming anyway. I thought the new name for Lloyds Road was a step in this direction, but history is obviously not my strong point, for I confused Avvai TK Shanmugam (the renowned theatre artist) with Madurai Shanmughavadivu Subbulakshmi (the legendary singer). And misunderstanding? Butt Road. Need I say more?
And then, I had a thought. A city’s roads and other infrastructure as well as residential and commercial areas often get their names from the people and their practices therein: Saidapet from Sayyid Shah, the Arcot general who received this land as a gift from the Nawab, Sowcarpet from the sowcars or sahukars (merchants) who came there from other parts of India, and Chromepet from the Chrome Leathers factory there. These names were also representative of their times. So, what if we do the same? Rename these places and structures based on people and their practices at present. If so, things will look something like this…
Since we no longer have potholes amidst roads but roads amidst potholes, and Ridley Scott could have actually filmed The Martian here: Ravaged Road/Ruinous Road
Because we are now so many people who generate so much bio-waste that it doesn’t just flow underground but above ground too: Sewage Street
As Indian men believe that a man’s got to go when a man’s got to go and don’t believe in waiting to cross the street to get home or to work: Chiruneer (Urination) Cross Street
Since Indian men (and ok, some women too, not to be biased) have other liquids they like showering on the roads: Spitting Salai
Continuing the, um, trashing, since garbage now overflows from and into every nook and corner: Kuppai Corner
Because water bodies now have almost every other entity apart from lotuses, fish and ducks: Dumpsters’ Tank/Eri/River
Since we have groups of smokers standing and chatting for hours on the footpath, or loner guys lying dead-drunk there for days, and when neither, then two-wheeler riders ascending to get one second ahead: Anti-Pedestrians’ Pavement
Because this is essentially what parks and beaches become after some time: Kadhalar (Lovers’) Park, Romeo and Juliet’s Beach
As secluded stretches seem to be a hotspot for miscreant activities: Thiruda Theru (Thief’s Street), Aval/Eve-teasing Avenue
Earlier, it was just the festivals and the release of a big star’s movie, but now, thanks to IPL, ISL and any other ’ell I can’t recall right now, there are many reasons to celebrate – read, make noise – throughout the year. So, many of these areas can be called: Sathampet
And just in case you thought this list is benevolent to the rich and classy… For arranging for the home dog’s/dogs’ (note the uses of the apostrophe) walks but not the clean-ups after: Pet-Poop Boulevard
And finally, the people who rule the city and reign over its residents more than any politico or hero – the fleecing, overcharging, harassing, abusing, threatening autokaarans… They should have the entire city renamed after them: Cheatnai
You know, it’s a good thing we’re going with the historical and heritage names, after all.
Find out what ‘Ire’ is here – Ire: Here’s Presenting
Meets rolling camera from corner of eye,
Meets horrifying thought: ‘They can only see my eye’,
Meets angry thought: ‘How dare this guy’,
Meets Zuckerberg’s arm,
Meets firm pull,
Meets moving Zuckerberg (Sucker-berg!),
Miffed at Natty Nadella’s seeming insult, Mr Modi does not want to allow the camera to insult him a second time. And so, he takes matters into his own… hand. Check out his sleight of hand below.
Meets Natty Nadella,
Meets Nattella’s hand,
Meets Nattella’s handshake,
Meets Nattella’s reaction of hands-wiping,
Meets horrifying feeling,
Meets horrifying thought:
‘Is my Swacch Bharat Abhiyaan’ (Clean India Mission)
not working for myself?’
Did Microsoft CEO, Satya Nadella, of Indian origin, actually wipe his hands after meeting Narendra Modi, because he thought they got soiled? Find out for yourself in the video below.
Meets world leader 1,
Meets world leader 2,
Meets world leader n,
Meets selfie n,
Meets flak from public back home: ‘Less photo-op, more tough talk’’,
Meets decision: ‘Let’s announce the next nation-wide mission, Digital India’,
Meets public with announcement,
Meets short-term-memory public,
Meets pacified public,
Meets advisors for next round of world-leader meetings…
Check out this Huffington Post post on Narendra Modi’s “selfie diplomacy”: Modi’s Surprisingly Successful Selfie Diplomacy