Of Maximals and Minimals

Traffic rules exist and always there are quite a few who would think that they are there to be broken. This is a sad fact of life in countries like India. Recently the authorities are trying to do their best to ensure some sense of discipline and avoid unnecessary accidents on stretches in Mumbai and suburbs and also the expressways- down to the level of parading the accident –damaged vehicles to inculcate some sense in the public.

Having said that and giving the authorities due credit for the effort they are taking to instill discipline in this nation of unruly motorists, I cannot help but point out to what I recently spotted as a signage just before the start point of the -Pune expressway, which also has seen its share of peril in recent times.

Serious as the subject is, I could not but smile at the choice of words. What exactly is this minimum fine upto business ? Is it that one part of the bureaucracy wanted a minimum number while the other part screamed for a finiteness to the whole subject ?

Or is it that that originality of the idea to have a technically infinite fine clashed with the impending elections round the corner and the fear of “fined” electorate threatening to boot the government out to infinite space resulted in this maximalism ?

Or is it that some learned post doctoral fellow in mathematics in this country has decided to help the bureaucracy in providing up-to-date statistical data on fine collections via a complex software which can make ISRO seem like child’s play ? Maybe it is the government’s idea of starting to bring more and more people under the educational umbrella by quizzing the hapless motorist after he commits the mistake on the median, mode and standard deviation of the fine collection the past one month and the reprieve being proportional to the marks secured in this impromptu viva.

Being mathematically challenged, I decided to drive on….

Place a bet !

We all have the habit of taking bets , sometimes on trivial issues or just to have some fun. A playful bet, among friends is normal and is part of pure fun, albeit at the expense of the person who loses and has to pay up. So many of us have in the past placed bets on the outcome of cricket matches etc and have either coughed up and paid or have shared the spoils of the wager, be it a treat or whatever such inconsequential.

One of my lasting friendship with one of my Australian colleagues began as a bet , many many winters ago, on the outcome of India playing Australia in Test series, when both of us were working in cricket-less continental Europe, with only internet feed to give us updates. (With the current form of India, I do not want to delve into the details as to who had won that time, many may not believe it !).Such episodes are common-place and do not worth a mention at all.

However what has always intrigued me is the weakness of some to gamble and wither away all, throwing caution to the winds. Whether we have to go back to the mythological game of dice or newspaper reports about families having their life spoilt due to the reckless gambling or the 24x7 slot machines of Vegas, I have always wondered how anyone can get such a kick when the theory of probability stares at you hard and winks at you more than you think it should or would.

However some years back I did have the chance meeting with such an inveterate fan of the theory of probability and was really amazed. We were having a chat at a club with some of my colleagues and over harmless banter we were introduced to this rather smart looking person, who as he was introduced, lives to gamble. The fact that he was still a member of that famed club, had a good job with a reputed company and was not in rags, was proof enough that he won a few more than he lost.

He mesmerized us with his stories of winning some and losing a few over the next hour. He summed up that without at least one wager a day, he cannot even digest his supper. When we asked whether the pack of cards was his constant companion he surprised us more by stating that he can gamble on anything, with or without tools. On further explanation he gave a short demo which I will never forget. He asked if anyone of us had a five hundred rupee note. This being quite some years ago when the 500 was not so much in circulation , one of our friends confirmed that he had one in his wallet. The man of the moment immediately placed a bet which none of us had any courage to accept. His bet was simple: he placed a 1:1 bet on whether the last digit of the rupee note was even or odd.

Since none of us chicken hearted could match up with him the bet was never placed, but he demonstrated to our extreme amazement what an inveterate gambler can be.

Kodachrome

The strains of the beautiful song of the Simon-Garfunkel duo echo in my ears : “Mama don’t take my Kodachrome away…” as they crooned in harmony in Central Park many summers back.  

The business world is agog with the latest one that bites the dust “Kodak files for bankruptcy”- the papers screamed. Perhaps the writing was on the wall for past few years anyway. But as the obituary of the great iconic organisation is written and discussed, one can’t help but feel sorry for the fall of one of the greatest path-breakers in history of photography.

The tennis great Bjorn Borg had once said that both in life as well in a game of tennis the key lies in getting the right breaks at the right time. True as it is , one can perhaps extend it a wee bit by saying that not only is the time of the break important but also is to get on to the right wave at the right time.

George Eastman, the prolific founder and Kodak, had many firsts to their credit. The irony remains that although they started the digital wave they failed to recognize the full potential of it and lost its way at some point. The phenomenon is not entirely new and we have seen organisations having a head-start lose in the race in failing to catch on to the very innovations that they create.

Organizations are created by visionaries and steered by stalwarts and in business it is always a matter of survival of the fittest, so logically if Kodak could not get it right, they lost the way.  However one cannot help feel a tad of melancholy as the iconic Kodak film and Eastmancolor touched and influenced so many of us in our formative years that we cannot forget so easily.

Simon & Garfunkel had it right when they sang:

Kodachrome, they give us those nice bright colours
They give us the greens of summers
Makes you think all the world's a sunny day, oh yeah
So mama don't take my Kodachrome away…….

Land Ho !

Today’s headline in the Times of India literally shook me up from sleep : “Alliance Air pilot mistakes Kochi for Kozhikode”.  Great way to start the day, I thought.

We have had stories about the fumbling of the airlines, particularly the state owned ones so many times that we have ceased to laugh. But this one tops it all. The pilot has announced after the landing that he thought he had landed in Kozhikode ! Nowadays we have expat pilots from Eastern European countries and we have had a few cases where they had problems with their English. Maybe he thought Kochi was the short form of Kozhikode ! A few days back we read about the bungling of Kingfisher Airlines where they put hundred odd passengers (sorry, guests) in a wrong flight.

But it raises bigger questions : what was the ATC doing ? Did the ATC think it was sitting in Kochi or did they dream of sitting in Kozhikode ? Very soon an enquiry will be called for, the pilot will be de-rostered and our minister will say something on TV to save the face. And all will be forgotten- till the next one comes up.

But serious as it is, we also must give it to the airlines for making our drab mundane life adventurous- just imagine you board a flight not knowing where it will land. It maybe in Kochi or Kozhikode this day, Imphal the next morning and Jaipur in the afternoon, back in Chennai just in time for dinner.

You can have a real bohemian trip- the real magical mystery tour. Maybe this can shore up our foreign exchange reserves- we can promote this as the ultimate tourism for India: please come to this mythical world, take a flight and land you do not know where ! What a catch-line for the ITDC guys. Just arm yourself with a good quality of binoculars and keep looking out of the window and yell “Land Ho !” when you see the terra firma ! People will fly for the sheer novelty of it.

Hey the pilot should not be de-rostered, he must be given an award for shoring up the economy.

Something fishy about it !

The other day I was sucked into a discussion on the benefits of fish eating and Omega 3 fatty acids and other such medico-gastronomic discussion over lunch with a few of my colleagues. What with stress and other such urbane issues plaguing most of the population, there was a stormy discussion on the lunch table one day where few of my colleagues were animatedly discussing the benefits of eating the right food to ensure that the plaque sits elsewhere and not on your artery wall.

Although I did not happen to be a part of the discussion from the beginning , what with joining on the table a trifle late, I kind of stormed into the scene when the vegetarian folks were trying to advocate the benefits of being so for the sake of the artery at least. Fiesty protests followed from the colleagues who were not so and it was somewhere around this juncture that my timely action of pulling a chair and joining in veered the discussion to the benefits of savoring fish and the Omega 3 etc.

Since almost all have read sometime or other in the papers about this oily substance that fishes possess and the benefits thereof, the discussion somehow came to the issue of when and how much fish should a person eat to keep your artery in shape.  Much to the chagrin of my Tam-Brahm and Gujju friends, the non-vegetarians on the table proclaimed that they consumed fish pretty regularly and this kept them healthy fit and fine. Due to my origins in Bengal, a kind of opinion was being sought from me as to what should be the optimum frequency of consumption. Fortunately no one asked for co-relation to the statistical data of coronary diseases in Bengal.

The lunch at canteen was anyway coming to a close so gathering up my plates I gave my dictum clearly. I told them “Guys, Bengalis generally do not give a damn on Alpha Beta Omega. We believe in eating fish only two days in a week…” Their jaws dropped as they had heard much to the contrary about it being a staple daily food in that part of the country.

As I gathered to get up from the table I completed the sentence “ …the day it rains and the day it does not”.

Imagine

My kid daughter is expectantly waiting for Christmas. After the Durga Puja and Diwali celebrations have been over in October and the memory of the festivities at the Puja pandal and the firecrackers have taken a backseat in her memory, the next big thing for her is to await the arrival of Santa Claus with bated breath. At her age she is not yet fully conversant with the concept of time more than a few days away and although the names of the months are well known to rote, the time interval of two months it is not yet comprehensible for her.

She has been questioning us constantly on such queries that plague her young mind. As is normal for kids of her age, she is unable to play the waiting game of another couple of month or so before the day comes when the grand old man in red will bring cheer and gifts for her. It is with this expectant tone that she walked up to me one day and asked me why Santa Claus cannot come now and must wait for so long. I explained to her in all its profundity that all things have a time in life. However the logic was lost on her.

Her next question stumped me “ Does Santa Claus live in the same snow covered mountain where Maa Durga stays with her lion ?” she asked, eyes big with curiosity. I immediately assured her that yes indeed it was the same mountain which seemed to satisfy her curiosity for next few minutes. Then she came up with the next one “Then Santa Claus and the lion must be good friends !”

With a twinkle in my eye I told her that they indeed were- they were the best of chums I assured her.

I was thinking about this rather amusing episode the other day and wondered that yes all kids the entire world over must be thinking in the same simplicity and living in their imaginative worlds like her and the life revolves around teddy bears and lions and Santa Claus etc. Yet every other day at some part of the world we have ethnic clashes, discrimination on divisive grounds over caste creed color or fights over religious beliefs. I wonder when and how does this wide eyed wonder and love-all attitude of a child yield to such a bitterness between human beings that they fight with severity worse than wild boars ?

I remember the irreplaceable song of Lennon “Imagine there’s no countries it isn’t hard to do, nothing to kill or die for and no religion too…You may say I am a dreamer but I am not the only one , I hope someday you will join us and the world will live as one…”

The Misty Eyed Goddess

One of my favorite columnists, Jug Suraiya proudly calls him a Hon Bong (Honorary Bengali), having spent his formative years in Calcutta and willingly succumbing to its charms before shifting base to Delhi. Taking a cue from that perhaps I can say I am a Bon Bong (Born Bengali), born and brought up in the city and state, however have not stayed there much after that except for a short stint what with career options forcing me to drop anchor in Mumbai for several years now.

There are many like me everywhere else in the world who have chosen to move out of the city or the state but there is always one time of the year for a Bengali, Hon or Bon, when the Bangaliana (the essence or spirit of Bengali-ness) comes out to the fore most and that is when Goddess Durga comes for her yearly trip with all her entourage to be with us for five days to bring cheer to every home.

During this time of the year, my mind flies back in time to those days when as a kid I used to wait patiently for these five days. I remember as kids we used to take pride in monitoring every progress as the neighborhood pandal used to go up in height with its bamboo structure, then watch with bated breath as the artists used to mould the cloth to replicate some monument or some other piece of architecture with such care. From the day of arrival of the idols to the day of their immersion used to of great significance and excitement all through. As children, one of our major sources of happiness during the Puja days used to be the new clothes and gifts. In the evenings was the sheer joy of going from pandal to pandal watching the Pujas.

I remember an old song eulogizing the deity which goes on to express that the eyes of the Goddess Durga change during the days of the Puja with each day. The first day or Mahashashthi when she arrives and is welcomed in the pandal her eyes are happy with expectation and they depict a sheer glee to be with her children on this earth once more. The happiness and joy increases with each day leading to a sublime grace to her face on the day of Mahashtami which is considered as the pinnacle point of the Puja festival. The gaze becomes a little somber, a shade sad by the night of Mahanavami , as the inevitability of the end of the stay draws nigh and a long wait till next year again beckons. On the morning of the Dashami , the last day, the eyes turn tearful, blessing the devotes always as ever, but with a tinge of melancholy as the time has come to go back. I remember in my childhood as I listened to the song and carefully checked the face of the Goddess every day I could actually see it happening and my heart reflected the same feelings from deep within with same synchronicity.

Long after I bade farewell to my childhood I have tried to watch the face with equal attention and have relentlessly searched for the misty eyed Goddess on the day of Dashami and have increasingly failed to spot it.

Alas, the harsh realities of mundane life have dried the mist from my eyes.