TGIF

"Thank God it's Friday"(TGIF)  expresses the joy one feels in knowing that the work week has officially ended and that one has two days off with which to enjoy. Through most of my career I was fortunate to have worked in companies that had a five-day week.While a two-day weekend sounds enjoyable it does have some pitfalls.

As a bachelor in Bangalore I did not have any friends, being new to the city.It was only so much that one could impose on kind-hearted uncles and aunts during the weekends.Some of the single men in our firm thought out-of-the-box.As a rule we were entitled to lunch if we attended office on holidays.So every Saturday I would land up at office on some pretended urgent work.Coincidentally this would end exactly at lunchtime. A few colleagues and I would make our way to a haven for creative people called Embassy Bar (sadly now defunct) near Shivajinagar.By the end of the third hour we would be giving our take on what ails the world.When I got engaged to be married I was horrified to note that the owner of the bar lived next door to my in-laws.

Many years later in Hyderabad,after my sons grew up and flew the coop I was at a loose end,particularly on Saturday mornings.My wife had her own agenda with domestic chores.I would start off from home and visit electronic and appliance stores.Successive salesmen would religiously brief me on the merits of various brands of televisions,fridges,washing machines and airconditioners.Each time I would give the excuse that I needed to consult my wife and that I would return later in the day.After a few months I had run through all the major stores without spending a  rupee.

It was then the turn of the car dealers.Hyderabad had a stretch of open road around the Tank Bund that was ideal for test drives.During the next few months I knew every bump and pothole on that road while I tested out the specifications of all the brands available at that time. I also discovered that car salesmen usually make four phone calls to a potential buyer after a test drive before giving up as a lost cause!

Even after  retirement , when every day is a weekend, I still yearn for a Saturday morning outing.Thanks to Bangalore’s burgeoning real estate,developers are bending backwards to sell their apartments and villas.The Friday newspapers feature advertisements for housing projects  and entice people to come and see their model apartments.One phone call is all that I need to arrange my Saturday schedule.The developer sends his vehicle to pick me up and show me various projects.This also has helped me understand common real estate jargons. Example: when a developer says five minutes from the centre of town, it is based on a speed of 100 km/hour.

During my working days I used to enjoy my afternoon siesta on Saturday as I knew I had one more coming on Sunday.I presumed that once I retired I would enjoy this luxury every day.Unfortunately,this did not turn out true.I wonder what is the medical term for “afternoon siesta insomnia”?

Fun in Toyland

The Oxford dictionary defines a toy as “an object for a child to play with”. In today’s context, I feel the word need not be restricted to the word ‘child’.

Recently my wife and I were travelling on the Metro in Hong Kong. Most passengers were playing either ‘Angry Birds” or ‘Candy Crush’ on their smartphones.Thus, an item of utility during working hours had turned into a toy later.This scene is replicated even in India among youngsters.

Despite all the hi-tech playthings like Xbox, PlayStation and Nintendo, there is still the excitement and thrill of playing with conventional toys.Generally, a child starts with building blocks and then progresses to activity books; then throws tantrums unless he or she gets the items that are displayed in toy shops. In fact, the biggest mistake parents can commit is to let their progeny run loose in a toy store. Through generations, it is also presumed that a boy needs cars and a girl her quota of dolls.

As adults graduate to parenthood it is likely that the toys that they buy for their children reflect some of their own desires.As my sons were growing I used to love browsing through toy stores and eye longingly at the remote control cars and trucks.The Americans are adept at trying all types of marketing gimmicks to make you spend your hard-earned money on useless toys, particularly if they are connected with movie promotion. On my trips to the USA I ended up buying a large rubber head of Godzilla (my grandchildren play with that now), and replicas of the gadgets used in the Star Wars series.

Young parents have also found an easy route to keep their child out of their hair while going about their chores at home. The iPad-generation kids seem to thrive on using the touch screen for hours without losing interest.

My wife probably has an unfulfilled desire to become a doctor like her parents. Recently she came home with a toy doctor set for our granddaughter, Janvi. We presumed that the little girl would enjoy playing ‘doctor, doctor’ and treat her grandparents.On her visits every Saturday we found she preferred being the patient. I later realised that I was the culprit.As a pretend-doctor I would operate on her stomach for a mysterious ailment.The treatment included either a jujube or marshmallow as ‘medicine’.This acted as an incentive for Janvi to become a patient every time.

The corner of my TV room is Janvi’s toyland.Almost every item from the time she was born is stored there in various condition of disrepair.Most children who visit our home make a beeline to that hallowed place and freely use the toys.Now there are some additions to the collection courtesy our grandson, Shantanu when he makes his yearly trip from London.Thanks to the TV serial, we now have the complete collection of Chhota Bheem miniatures, too.

But,I am yet to fulfill my grand dream.On my compulsory trips to Toys”R”Us in the USA or Hamleys in London I make a beeline to the train section and eye longingly on the electric train sets.I picture  a room in my home with rail tracks complete with stations,crossings,tunnels,signal cabins…Heavenly.

Matter of Justice

Recently my wife and I spent a day in a court to give moral support to a close relative. That experience stirred memories of my unfulfilled desire to become a legal eagle. Regrettably, I ended up becoming a more mundane mechanical engineer.

After I graduated from Enid Blyton, my early teens brought me in touch with Perry Mason, the lawyer character created by Erle Stanley Gardner. I devoured all his books and even contemplated pursuing law as a career. I used to be fascinated by Mason’s courtroom strategy and practiced saying in front of the mirror,”Objection on the grounds that it is irrelevant, immaterial and incompetent”. His repartee with the District Attorney, Hamilton Burger was very enjoyable. I later encountered Henry Cecil’s books that drew on the quirks of the British legal system in a humorous way.Now,of course,John Grisham is the flavor of the season.In my TV viewing schedule the raving and ranting anchors and panelists on the 9.00 pm news have lost the contest for my eyeballs as I prefer watching “Boston Legal”.

However, during those student days my access to law was restricted to scenes from Bollywood films.I was not sure whether the screen shots actually reflected the real proceedings in a courtroom. It was thrilling to watch Sunil Dutt as a lawyer defending Raaj Kumar in “Waqt” mouthing, “Objection Milord”.  I understand that lawyers are no longer required to address the judge with that honorific. Invariably the camera would pan to the blindfolded statue of justice or the judge would bang his gavel and call out “order, order”. I also wondered whether a judge needed to break  the nib of his pen after passing a death sentence as shown in several movies.

Coming back to my visit to a Bangalore court, I was a bit disappointed that that there was no fanfare when the court began. It was pretty matter of fact. Our lawyer turned up late and we missed our turn when the relative’s name was announced.This meant that we had to sit inside till it was almost lunchtime.My wife was admonished by a court attendant for sitting with her legs crossed, a strict no-no in court etiquette.We whiled away our time till the afternoon hearing.

One case was rather interesting because it involved cross examination by the defendant’s advocate.The legal luminary was straight out of a Hindi film. A young woman was in the witness box.Our man would sarcastically ask her a leading question and when she fumbled with the answer he would gaze triumphantly at all of us sitting on the benches at the rear of the room. This time I was chastised by an official for talking loudly when the session was in progress.Luckily, our case came up for hearing soon and the judgment was favourable.

Despite Mr. Preet Bharara’s open disdain for the Indian legal system, there is something positive to be said,too.Yes,it may be time consuming.In fact, there are over 30 million cases pending in Indian courts.But,eventually justice does get delivered,thanks to the well laid out procedures that have stood the test of time.

Romancing the four-wheeler

Recently some of our neighborhood kids and I were competing to identify brands of cars passing outside our complex. I felt it was a rather easy exercise as there are just around a dozen brands today in India. In the early ‘50s there were a plethora of international makes of cars on Indian roads. You had the MG, Studebaker, Humber, Morris, Austin, Vauxhall, Desoto, Plymouth, Dodge, Skoda (yes, the same brand that is ubiquitous on our roads now), Citroen, and so on. Sadly, several of those brands have bit the dust since then.

When I was a kid, every Sunday my father would open the bonnet of his Hindustan 14 (the Indian version of the Morris Oxford) and check the levels of distilled water in the battery; the oil dipstick and radiator water. For any long distance drives, he would carry a spare fan belt and radiator hosepipe in the boot for emergencies. Invariably on hill roads the fuel pump would get heated and he would wrap a damp cloth round it to cool it down. Today with our advanced technology cars I am not sure how many of us even know where the bonnet lever is.

By the time I reached college we were stuck with the Padminis and Ambassadors. However, thanks to our Bollywood films there was always a longing to own a post office red Chevrolet Impala convertible. This craze lasted till the time I went to work in Hyderabad and saw a whole fleet of them in the main market being rented out for the baraat at weddings.

My first car was a two-door Standard Herald, because that was the only one available within my affordability index. People who are familiar with the Herald would remember that this car had a peculiar technical issue. The rear axle nut would loosen every now and then and fall off. Once while my wife and young son were driving up the Safdarjang flyover in Delhi, the inevitable happened. It was a bit of a harrowing experience sliding backwards down the slope without control.

Further, the left door handle wouldn’t work from inside so I would need to get out from my driver side and open the passenger door from the outside and release my wife. For several months my neighbors thought I was a very chivalrous guy till they learnt about the real reason. I managed to sell the car to my neighbor who worked in a Public Sector undertaking. Apparently as per government rules an employee would be entitled to a tax-free conveyance allowance whether the car was operating or not.

Recently I sold one of my cars through a popular online site. Most of the pre-owned cars advertised used uninteresting and matter-of-fact language.Gone are the days when classified ads for cars carried such terms as “single-owner-driven by doctor” or “army officer owned”, thereby proclaiming that cars were well maintained.

The present day cars are trouble free (in spite of all the global recalls) so there is nothing adventurous to write about. But then again, when you drive a Lamborghini…

Marriage musings

When I was a kid I remember my parents talking about their wedding that was spread over four days.I could never imagine how the guests spent their time for such a long period and also the strain that must have been on the hosts.By the time it was my turn to wed the whole process took just over a day.That was more or less the norm for south indian marriages during that era.

However, of late the saas-bahu serials and surfeit of Bollywood films extolling the ceremonial virtues of north indian weddings seem to have penetrated the mindset of people in the south, too. Thus, Mehendi, Sangeet and Bidaai seem to have become an integral part of most nuptials that I have attended in Bangalore.

Recently, not realizing the enormity of the situation, I agreed to be part of the baraat at the wedding of my friend’s son.I was ordered to come for dance practice at his house.We were met by a professional choreographer imported from tamil films.The briefing given to us was that we were to beat the bride’s family in the dance face-off at the Sangeet. The next few days revealed to me the number of disused muscles in my body.Some of us oldies had a tough time keeping steps with the younger members.Meanwhile, my wife was busy as she was part of the mehendi group.Unfortunately, we were trounced at the dance competition as the opposition had younger and more energetic members, plus they wore matching costumes.

The other custom imported from the north is the practice of the bride’s side hiding the groom’s footwear and then selling it back to him at a price.At my nephew’s marriage in Mysore,in their innocence the bride’s family,who had been raised in the north did just that.Unfortunately,they had not reckoned on my sister-in-law’s reaction.When she got the the information of the filching she marched purposefully to the bridal party’s room and in a no-nonsense tone demanded the chappals back.Taken aback,the other side meekly returned the footwear.

With many NRIs holding their weddings in India, some of the western procedures have also been adopted. One such is the Toast, normally delivered at the reception or Sangeet. Thanks to having raised Toasts a couple of times at my Rotary inaugural functions, I seem to have been targeted by friends and relatives to write one for them. In most cases, depending on whether one is from the bride’s side or the groom’s the idea is to pass light-hearted comments about the pitfalls of marriage and the opposite sex. Thanks to online bookstores I have a large collection of quotations to draw from. Without a qualm I pilfer liberally from them. Needless to say, some of the quotes could be termed chauvinist.

Overall,these weddings are great fun for the guests but pretty tiring for the hosts.But one regret that I have is that I have never been invited for a ‘Destination Wedding’ where guests are flown in chartered flights to exotic islands. Maybe someday…

Waisted effort

I noticed the problem creeping in over the weeks but ignored the warnings. Probably it was too late. Finally, I could not put off accepting the ominous signs.Yes,one day my trouser waist could no longer be buttoned.

The questions before me were two fold.One,should  I buy new trousers - an expensive proposition or,two,reduce my waistline,seemingly a big challenge?As an interim measure the alteration specialist in our building was commissioned to increase the trouser waist by an inch.Then I went about looking at alternative methods of reducing my girth to more manageable proportion.My wife,of course,suggested the obvious.A crash course in dieting,which I nixed immediately as being impractical.

Walking would be the next best option as per my friends.I told my physician that I walked over six kilometres each time on the golf course.He dismissed this by saying that covering the distance in five hours was not an exercise.Besides,he said that I would recover more than the calories lost in the clubhouse after the game.So,a brisk walk was the treatment recommended.

I signed up with a neighbor to accompany him to Lal Bagh every morning.A couple of days later he declined my company.Apparently,that guy preferred listening peacefully to devotional music through his headphones while walking.Whereas,I looked upon this activity as a social occasion where I could discuss with him subjects of global importance like why our cows on the road were of a different colour than their counterparts in Europe.Or, why six out of ten cars we passed on the road were white.

Most mornings I would see our off-duty security guards taking our building dogs for a walk.This gave me an idea.A couple of my neighbours agreed for me to take their canines for their daily constitutional.I supposed they were relieved that they would not have to pay for this service.One Monday I set off with a sedate Labrador and frisky Pomeranian.Initially there was a feeling of camaraderie amongst the three of us.Soon I found that the dogs were actually taking me for a walk.Plus,they insisted on renewing their acquaintance with every lamp post on the route.But a bigger danger lurked round the corner.There were a whole lot of street dogs snarling at the intruders to warn them off their territory.The Lab cowered behind me but the pesky Pom insisted on taking on the bigger rivals.Very soon I was entangled in both the leashes.Finally,thanks to a passing newspaper boy a modicum of peace was restored and we hurriedly made our way back home.

It was then suggested that I join a fitness centre under a personal trainer.As there were several establishments near our apartment I began to do some market research.But I had no love for any such physical activity.Then one day an advertisement in the paper caught my eye.It was exactly what I was looking for.

So,here I am for the last one week in an alternative medicine spa near Whitefield.They do not starve me nor force me to do hard labour.I even managed to skip the morning yoga classes.What I look forward to most is the daily massage and the steam and sauna bath after that.Whether I will lose weight or not is a moot point.But,I am beyond the point of caring.

Fashion Statement

Recently I was on a forced sabbatical from golf as the course was closed for a tournament. Not having anything more useful to do I armed myself with a pack of wafers, parked myself on the La-Z-Boy and switched on the TV. Unfortunately on weekdays, particularly during daytime, Hindi movies are dated. However, it stirred up memories of the sartorial selection of heroes over the decades. Regrettably, I realized that my dress sense too was aligned to the same fashion during that period.

When the Beatles were at their height of glory I took a picture of their jacket and had a similar one stitched by a tailor in Basavanagudi.  I then went to Old Poor House Road and got made elastic-sides boots that the quartet wore. I skipped my visits to Odeon Hair Cutting Saloon for several months and I was good to go, with matching skintight trousers.

Nevertheless, one fashion of mine that I still claim was copied by Rajesh Khanna had its origin at my engineering college in Surathkal. One day, having no clean shirt, I wore a kurta over my trousers. Imagine my surprise when a few months later I saw that Mr. Khanna had copied my style in his movie, ‘Kati Patang’ without even a by your leave.

During the seventies, the latest fashion in the US was a stretch, knitted fabric, mostly with checks that was used for either jackets or trousers. A well - meaning relative gifted me a suit length of that material. I had it stitched at a venerable tailoring house on MG Road and inaugurated it at a friend’s wedding soon after. I was wondering why everyone was giving me strange looks. It was much later that I realized that a suit with dark blue, red and white checks was normally only worn by comedians in films of that era.

By this time, it was my turn to copy Mr. Bachchan and his bell-bottom trousers. A tailor in Malleswaram aided and abetted me in this endeavour. Unfortunately, the flapping bottoms would be covered with grease after a ride on my motorcycle. Further, the realization struck that with our height difference, what looked good on the Big B was not in consonance with my physique. In fact, my wife still comments about her shock when she saw me for the first time wearing ‘bell-bots’ much before our marriage.

But one item of dress that I am still proud about my reading of the fashion movement is ties. I Realized that the width of the tie is cyclic. If you saw the villain Ajit wearing a particular tie, you could be sure that ten years later a modern day villain would wear a similar one. I have preserved five ties of varying width over the last thirty years. They have served me well during this period without anyone calling me an old fuddy-duddy.

Today, I have accepted the realities of my shape and buy only ‘comfort fit’ trousers. It would be foolish to contend with those young tyros in the movies who wear their trousers below the waistline. I am no longer in competition.