Move over AXE Effect and Fair & Handsome! The latest bus-stop advertisements are the local netas (read: goondas) and their "colleagues" (read: henchmen). I wonder the logic adopted by these guys in self promotion. Usually riding on a festival or a national event or a public holiday or even a dignitary's visit, these pompous rats will produce large banners (usually large plastic on wooden frames) and post them on every available bus stop and/or dangle them from every tree, roof, and tie them between lamp posts and even traffic signals.
Typically, its the main man's face that beams at you in its largeness. His face is 5 times larger than his subordinate, whose face in turn is twice as large as the 12-15 odd accomplices. Buckteeth, large lips, cross eyed looks, bad fashion, and desperately-need-haircut appearances greet you every morning when you're waiting for your bus.
Who allows such ridiculous abominations to be displayed? Power allows such ugly pigeons to strut their black feathers in front of the public eye, and what are we supposed to do? Adore them? We're already literally looking up to them. These political leeches appear to have only limited motives such as disrupting peaceful celebrations (Valentines'), showing superficial concern toward victims of floods, droughts and other calamities, and tirelessly working toward imprinting their ugly faces in our minds, most probably a month or so before any election.
Monday, September 13, 2010
Thursday, September 9, 2010
sputter croak fizzle
Crucifixes of tires on telephone posts adorning roadside garages, serve as signals for those suffering by impromptu punctures and engine failures. A mechanic almost always in a navy blue shirt and dark grey trousers with a greased napkin dangling from his pocket, a spanner in hand, and a motor-oil branded cap worn backward will step up to help you out.
A lifted bonnet and a quick survey later, he briefs you in your engine's shortcoming(s) and suggests alternatives to put you out of your misery. Fix this, turn that, spike this, pour that, blow this, push that, exchange this, refill that. Once he's done with his under-the-hood shenanigans, he asks you to start the ignition and a healthy rumble later, he triumphantly shuts the hood, always a little harder than necessary, maybe to punctuate his efforts and squeeze out an extra tip.
A lifted bonnet and a quick survey later, he briefs you in your engine's shortcoming(s) and suggests alternatives to put you out of your misery. Fix this, turn that, spike this, pour that, blow this, push that, exchange this, refill that. Once he's done with his under-the-hood shenanigans, he asks you to start the ignition and a healthy rumble later, he triumphantly shuts the hood, always a little harder than necessary, maybe to punctuate his efforts and squeeze out an extra tip.
Then, before you ask him how much that little session had cost you, he retreats to his 'shop' and gets his air tube and analyzes each tire's health. You sit back, waiting. And after short hisses and spurts, he creeps back into your rear view window, whistling some 90's Hindi movie song.
Retreat he does into his shop, and wipes his greasy hands on his greasy napkin, and with quick mental maths that you could never calculate or understand, he throws a 3 digit number at you, and even if you object to it, seeing his oiled burrows and stained cap, you rethink and decide to part with the said sum plus tip. A 'thank you boss' later, you're on your way, inevitably waiting to be serviced by the next mechanic a few hundred miles later.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
brass knuckles
Hostility seems to be the theme doing the rounds. Wherever you look, it has left its eggs that have been spawned randomly in the unlikeliest of places as well as the usual suspects. BEST buses, local trains, signal crossings, etc being the usual domains and footpaths, college gates, colony entrances being the newbie domains.
The recent addition of 3 reserved seats for ladies in BEST hasn't gone down well with the male populace in these buses. Technically, now, a healthy male below 60 years of age (more than 80% of BEST travellers) cannot sit in the front half of the bus. Most times, you can see empty reserved seats and 5 or 6 standing disgruntled males. To make matters worse, you'll often find women sitting on general unreserved seats, to simmer the hot n' sour soup I guess. All this adds up to bigtime hostility and eventually leads to tiffs, arguments, and even the occasional skirmish which most definitely involves the conductor and a heated exchange in high-pitched Marathi.
I don't even need to bother withe hostility on the local trains - its been done to death. Just visualize a minor bump while boarding a Panvel-bound train at Kurla at 6 in the evening.
These monsoons, like snails and baby frogs, potholes suddenly begin to show up. Its as if they survive beneath the road's crust and show up when the rains arrive. Potholes by themselves are harmless, but when compounded with water and tyres, then you have a party. The latest fad is potholes on footpaths and how pedestrians prefer to walk on the roads and bikers prefer riding on footpaths. Insanity is rampant!
People distributing flyers outside college gates must be locked in a cage and dipped into the ocean with 2 minute intervals. Its bad enough that they don't have lives, but to waste other's time as well as aid and abet the monumental waste of paper that will only be crumpled and tossed away? These are the real criminals.
And yes, hostility at its best can be seen in the vicinity of almost any vacant auto or taxi. The newfound attitude of the drivers of the same is undesirable to say the least. Its as if the drivers usurped control of their vehicles from their owners and now decide to ply only whoever they wish to wherever they wish.
Today morning, I saw this poor drenched crow sitting n shivering on my window grille, who had lost his 'caww' (thankfully) and was sporting a spiked hairdo. That's how I feel when witnessing such hostility in the monsoons - voiceless and pitiful
The recent addition of 3 reserved seats for ladies in BEST hasn't gone down well with the male populace in these buses. Technically, now, a healthy male below 60 years of age (more than 80% of BEST travellers) cannot sit in the front half of the bus. Most times, you can see empty reserved seats and 5 or 6 standing disgruntled males. To make matters worse, you'll often find women sitting on general unreserved seats, to simmer the hot n' sour soup I guess. All this adds up to bigtime hostility and eventually leads to tiffs, arguments, and even the occasional skirmish which most definitely involves the conductor and a heated exchange in high-pitched Marathi.
I don't even need to bother withe hostility on the local trains - its been done to death. Just visualize a minor bump while boarding a Panvel-bound train at Kurla at 6 in the evening.
These monsoons, like snails and baby frogs, potholes suddenly begin to show up. Its as if they survive beneath the road's crust and show up when the rains arrive. Potholes by themselves are harmless, but when compounded with water and tyres, then you have a party. The latest fad is potholes on footpaths and how pedestrians prefer to walk on the roads and bikers prefer riding on footpaths. Insanity is rampant!
People distributing flyers outside college gates must be locked in a cage and dipped into the ocean with 2 minute intervals. Its bad enough that they don't have lives, but to waste other's time as well as aid and abet the monumental waste of paper that will only be crumpled and tossed away? These are the real criminals.
And yes, hostility at its best can be seen in the vicinity of almost any vacant auto or taxi. The newfound attitude of the drivers of the same is undesirable to say the least. Its as if the drivers usurped control of their vehicles from their owners and now decide to ply only whoever they wish to wherever they wish.
Today morning, I saw this poor drenched crow sitting n shivering on my window grille, who had lost his 'caww' (thankfully) and was sporting a spiked hairdo. That's how I feel when witnessing such hostility in the monsoons - voiceless and pitiful
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