Kufri photos – will follow with a detailed account of the trip

Wishing a Happy New year to all my readers at One More Day in Life.

Running a bit busy, so not doing a complete post here. but will come back soon. Until then enjoy these treats from Kufri, Shimla, Himachal Pradesh.

View from our hotel room

Mall road, shimla

The municipal corporation building dates back to 18th century

The church on Mall road

Layers of mountains

Church again

Now it's really looking like a valley

Mhasu nag temple

Green valley

Preferred mode of transport are horses

More mountains

Kufri

Sunset lightening the snowy mountains

You can be a cowboy here for a free, complete with cowboy hat and a rifle

Beating about the (George) Bush

So Mr. Bush closely missed the shoe and although he laughed away the topic, it has greatly eroded his image. And it is the the journalist Muntadar al-Zeidi, who has become a hero overnight.

As if the shoe throwing incident was not enough, the internet world has come with more shoes for Bush.

Wired magazine has a big list of games where you can beat bush black and blue. On one of these games, the count of shoes for bush has gone up to 3,00,000.

This shows the unpopularity of Bush, the strongest person from the strongest country in the world.

However, there is one thing I would like to point out.

George Bush says he didn’t mind the shoe throwing from the Iraqi journalist.

However, the journalist was beaten and is still being held for the act, which was not a crime according to Bush.

Now internet companies are coming up with Bush beating games. Does the Bush-supporting parties contemplate a similar action on these companies and the millions of people who are now throwing shoes at him?

Bowled over by Financial Management

The first semester of the MBA class was relatively easy to compete, given that I had already covered the introduction to management in my undergrad days. It was the second semester that was to present the major hiccup – in the form of Financial Management – an advanced form of accounting.

Barely had we stepped into the second semester that the seniors started warning us about the subject. “Start preparing for it from now onwards”, advised a studious senior. “Is Wagh teaching you the subject? God knows how will you guys pass FM”, wondered another senior.

And although many of our nightmares circled around Financial Management or FM, hardly any of us studied the subject until a month before the second semester exams. There was the famous Pune Ganpati festival to attend. A lot many hit movies were released just in time. Just before Durga Puja, I started to feel the itch to return home. Good times fly fast – so did the time available with us to prepare for the exams and FM.

Ms. Wagh was true to the expectations of the senior. She spent most of the time teaching us the basics and rummaged through the important syllabus in the last few weeks.

A few seniors, specialising in finance, did attempt to help, but they too were busy with placements.

As the exams neared, we knew we were doomed, at least in one paper.

“Yaar tera kya hoga. First sem mey rank holder aur second sem me ATKT“, said my roommate P.

He was in no better situation either. At least I had a commerce degree and could dabble in accounts with a debit-credit. He being a science graduate had no such luxury; however he already had an ATKT from the last term and was a little experienced thus.

(I don’t remember the full form of ATKT. It meant keep trying in the next term)

Financial Management or FM was the centre of attraction of all talks – in the cafetaria amidst abuses for the lady teacher, in the library in hushed tones, between classes, and then late into the night between glasses of beer.

In one such discussion, where I was not a party, a boasting bihari (I hate biharis for this trait) suggested that he can bring the leaked paper from Singhad Institute (allegedly where MBA papers for Pune University are set) and they can prepare the questions.

The group instantly agreed. So did P who was part of the discussion. He also agreed to convince me to be a party to the plan.

But I didn’t. I was aghast at the suggestion.

“I am not that desperate to pass yaar. I have never done such a thing. I can never do such a thing”, I said.

“You haven’t ever got an ATKT too. But you will get one this time”, P challenged.

“Whatever. I am not going to do such a thing.”

“Think again. You still have time”, he barged out of the room saying.

Not that I am quite a moralist. Only that I couldn’t have imagined doing such a gory act and equated it with stealing (for whatever noble reason it might be). What if the police comes to know of this? Also if father would have known that I passed my MBA in this manner, he would have killed me. What’s more, I didn’t have that much of a money to spend at that time.

Yes, it was a lot of money by past standards – Rs 800 – which was subject to change if the partners in the crime decreased. To equate it by my expenses in those years, it was a one months food bill, two dresses, exam fees for two terms, to and fro railway ticket for home, and more.

So I decided to go for the exams without any illegitimate help, much to the annoyance of P, followed by a verbal battle and then no talks for a complete week until the exams ended.

Coming back to the leaked paper. Here were a few of the rules enlisted for those participating in the plan:

• The leaked paper would reach the students the night before the exams
• The participating students will spend this night in a room with no contact with any outside person
• Use of phones not allowed
• Each of them will have to give the money before hand
• The money will not be refundable

It was a secret plan, available to few other people including me; most of who had been offered a chance, but didn’t accept because of the fear of police and parents.

The D-day finally arrived. The night before the FM exam was spent studying. Tea was ready to drive away sleep. I had already solved the last five year question papers but the fear of FM was not leaving me. Finally, I set the alarm for 8 in the morning and went off for sleep – I badly needed one.

The alarm bell woke me from the worst ever nightmare.

I was at the feet of Ms. Wagh, pleading for an extra mark, while my father was whipping me badly in front of the entire public.

I woke up flustered from the terrible dream. Early morning dreams are believed to be true. Does that mean I will not be able to pass the exam? Was I wrong not to accept the offer?

Whatever! It’s very late now. Whatever is destined will happen. So I left for the examination hall.

At the exam gate, I met P. He quietly passed me a chit with the questions that were to come in the exam. I took the chit but knew it was very late.

P and his accomplices entered the exam hall some 10 minutes after the exam had begun. He knew it from the look on my face that the paper was very tough. However, this was not the only message I intended to communicate.

He understood this as soon as he went through the paper and banged his head on the desk with a loud ‘SHIT’.

The paper was entirely different from the one provided to P and group.

He remained in that state for the another ten minutes. Then he began to scribble things on his sheet and left the examination hall some 1 hour before the exam ended.

I was no better. The exam paper broke all past patterns and had taken a completely different and analytical style. One thing was for sure, very few would be passing FM this year like all years.

Outside the examination hall, everyone was talking about the super-tough FM paper. P was nowhere to be seen. I found him at the room, sleeping in the dark with his face covered. He was depressed and it would have been bad to make fun of him then.

But I did make fun of him. I forcibly took him for dinner and as soon as he calmed down a little, I started to make fun of him and his plan. He was furious on that bihari classmate of ours (the guy had mysteriously gone into hiding after the FM exams).

A month later, the exam results were declared. As expected P had an ATKT in FM and one more subject. I had a number less than the passing marks. 80 per cent of the class was with us.

Financial Management had once again bowled many MBA students.

Bhoot

Having fought with my last room partner, I was on the roads and looking for a new room with a new room partner.

After checking and declining many rooms, we finally found a room of our choice. In fact, it was a big house, fully furnished over two floors, a small garden in the front, at just a meagre Rs. 1,000 per month, all to the two of us – the landlord (he lived in the city) wanted us to find more partners but apne pairon par kaun kulhadi marta hai. We never let any other person to share space with us.

I was quite happy. In our first week in the house, I would always ask my partner “Yaar, why didn’t we get this place early”.

I got the answer very soon. The sweeper accidentally blurted it out one day. The landlord’s youngest son had died in this house (out of some disease) and ever since they shifted to the city. We were the first to rent the house after some 5-6 years.

Suddenly my outlook towards the house changed. Is the house haunted?

I was afraid to go upstairs. We kept to the ground floor while the upper floor was often closed.

It was on the upper floor where the landlord had stocked his other belongings. Among these was a small portrait of a crying boy and painted in dark red, as if in blood. The caption was even more frightening – “I will come back”.

Come back to suck my blood – who knows.

In God I found succour. I became a devout with my book rack having more gods than books. This was nicely placed beside my bed so that I could instantly call the gods for any help. Rarely did I miss puja any day.

This was the only time that I dared to go upstairs (I have heard that bhoot (devils) fear gods). While I was chanting the gayatri mantra, I was worshipping Jesus Christ (Did I tell you my landlords were christians?).

However, it was not just god who was assigned my security. There were always some extras – so that they could be some help when the bhoot strikes.

Months passed and the bhoot seemed to have no problem with two mortals living along with them. Never did they strike … until one night.

There was some competition at college and my room partner had to go prepare for the competition at night. Since there was no other substitute, I insisted on going along.

When friends heard of our fear, they began to narrate some of their own experiences with bhoots. So afraid were we that we forcibly took one of the friends along with us.

Back inside the house, the partner said he isn’t afraid. It was just that he wanted to talk to this friend that he asked him to come along. I, on the other hand, never hide my fears. Yes, I am not the one who will go to the graveyard just because you have challenged my manliness.

While we made ourselves comfortable on the bed, the partner went to attend to the nature’s call. And just then it happened.

Lights went out all of a sudden.

I had seen this happening in movies and TV. I knew it was the bhoot.

It is dangerous to be inside the house on such occasions. I ran for the door. And so did the friend. But as soon as we were ready to flee, we banged on the door. What we had just opened was the mosquito trap door.

The partner, who was in the washroom, thought that we were playing a prank on him by switching off the lights.

While he was shouting from inside the washroom, we were shouting in the hall.

Finally, the front door opened and we ran out of the house shouting bhoot bhoot.

The neighbours who were already perched on their balconies and windows seemed little pleased with our idea that there’s some demon inside the house. Instead they scolded us for creating a ruckus at 1 in the night. The next day we met the landlord who was particularly aggreived at thinking badly about their dead son.

I felt bad for the landlord and slowly the fear started to fade off. I lived in the house for more than a year and the bhoot never struck.

Winters

Last night as our eye-balls were following the hero’s moves in the movie Matrix, our attention was suddenly diverted to a thud sound coming from the terrace. After a heavy dinner, as we were neatly tucked inside our quilts, no one wanted to go check the source of the sound.

“It must be the cat”, said bhabhi.

“No, the sound was of something heavy”, it was me.

“Might be some bricks from the neighbour’s terrace”, brother said.

“How come? Not a windy night for such things to happen”, me again.

“If you are so anxious to know, why don’t you go upstairs and check for yourself”, brother’s turn.

“Leave it. Kuch hona hoga to hoga hi, abhi se kyon pareshan hon (Whatever has to happen will happen. Why to worry now)”.

We got back to enjoying Matrix.

Come winters and such lazy behaviour is commonplace.

The water is so chilled that I cut its usage to a bare minimum (The worse is when the maid is not home and I am the one who has to do the dishes. The worst is when there is the unclean saucepan and its my duty to prepare tea in the morning.)

Once inside the quilt, I seldom come out. There have been instances when I have controlled the pressure until the morning.

Only recently have I started to bathe regularly in the winters. I used to take advantage of the fact that I sweat very little, even in summers. Somehow colleagues knew of this fact and would doubt me even on days when I bathed. Even now I don’t take a bath on weekends or days when I am not going outside. Don’t know why but it gives me a sense of freedom.

There are many more changes in routine during the winters.

Mumbai under siege

When I arrived office on Thursday, Mumbai was the focus of all talks.

Why Mumbai? Has something gone wrong there?

Don’t you know there have been blasts there?

Blasts! When? I did surf the news channels in the evening yesterday before sticking to a Hollywood movie.

It was after 9 in the night.

After 9! That means it is not safe to venture out at night too (The recent blasts had a few things in common – they were on weekends and in the evening, closer to 6).

Are we safe anywhere and anytime?

…………………………………..

Deep was the first friend I called in Mumbai.

Arre…blasts are common in India these days. Didn’t you recently have one in your city (he meant Delhi)?

Yeah but they have continued till today. Isn’t that a cause for concern?

Not a bit. Waise bhi I am not going to office today. Isi bahane mid-week mey relax karne ka mauka mil jayega (will get a chance to relax).

But as the day proceeded, his concern was palpable when I called him in the evening that day.

Yaar, I am afraid now. How can this be so prolonged? Also schools, colleges, offices, local trains, and shops too are closing. My parents want me to immediately leave the city.

I had no assurances.

———————-

Later in the night, Star Movies was airing ‘Babel’.

Starring Brad Pitt and Cate Blanchett, the movie busted the long held belief of Americans that they are a superior race and that they are born to fight all evils afflicting the world.

Brad Pitt finds himself in Morocco with his wife (played by Cate Blanchett) badly wounded by a gun shot by two curious boys (which everyone believes is the work of terrorists).

While the natives attend to the wounded women, there is no help received from the American embassy, not even an ambulance. Even fellow tourists, with who the couple were travelling, refuse to stay any longer, complaining of non functional AC.

At the same time, there is the illegal Mexican help, who saves the life of two American kids, at the cost of her own life.

Why I mention this film now has a reason.

Raj Thackeray and team has forever looked down upon people from the north, especially UP and Bihar. At a time, when Mumbai was undergoing the worst ever crisis, and Raj and goons decided to be mute spectators, it was people from all over India (Maharashtra included) who decided to give their support. The NSG had not the sons of the Maharashtra soil as the only fighter. They were sons of the entire Indian soil. All of us, from different parts of the country, had their eyes glued to our TV sets, waiting with bated breaths, when the bloody battle would come to an end.

—————————–

The battle of Mumbai is won. But the cost that India has to pay is massive

• 195 dead and over 300 injured.
• Initial cost of attack Rs. 50 Crores (approx)
• Loss of foreign exchange $20 billion
• 10 foreigners among those killed
• 15 police personnel lost their life
• Among them were Hemant Karkare (ATS Chief), Ashok Kamte (Additional Commissioner of Police), Vijay Salaskar (Senior Inspector), Major Sandeep Unnithan (National Security Guards), and two commandos.

And how the policy makers want to compensate for all these losses?

• By making a scapegoat of Shivraj Patil, the Home Minister of India
• By pressurizing the Maharashtra CM and Deputy CM to part with their chairs
• By suggesting a new anti-terror law that is yet to be agreed upon by allies, leave apart the opposition.
• By suggesting more policies that show no immediate effect.

And then follows the reactions of people who have no faith in politicking:

Hemant Karkare’s wife declines any compensation from Narendra Modi. During his living years, he was heading the Malegaon blasts case, the bone of contention for the BJP.

Major Sandeep Unnithan’s father declined to meet Kerala CM.

And then the common man

“After each blast, you tell me this was the last. This was the last time my life was terrorised; life will be safe hereafter, the government assures. Since I have no choice, I go about my life as ever. The media praises me, says that life is once again back on track. And just then there’s another blast – not the last one though”.