Valour....21st Century style...

You must have met Mein Jhabavi, our JV partner in Jordan. a very suave but tricky guy! He was made a partner to sell and service our Automotive Dealership software application and he was genuinely trying to con the auto dealers in to buying our software. As part of sales promotion, he convinced us as well as Microsoft, Middle East that an event must be held in Amman and he successfully managed to put the tab on us and Microsoft to bear the cost!

" Zaghu! you need to be here, without fail". He always called me with an Z rather than an R!

Though my presence was purely unnecessary, I took the opportunity to go because of my desire to see  the Dead Sea!

Amman as a city was reddish in colour, the tone of its sand. The event was a flop with just 4 dealers being present to devour the delicious lunch and Mein had his own innovative reasons for the poor show, which almost bordered on stupidity.

That evening Mein hosted us a dinner in another fine restaurant where the group had its first taste of hookah in flavors like strawberry and vanilla. I am sure you would not believe if I were to promise that I did not smoke!

Next day we visited the Dead sea. The long ribbon-like highway was empty and on either side, there were a few lazy camels who looked up to notice our car and within a fraction, turned away with a condescending look of pure disgust!

From where we stopped the car, there were  long rows of steps that led to the waters. All along the way, the clay mud is being sold for an atrocious dollar price. You need to apply it on your body and float in the waters of Dead sea.The unusually high salt content in water lets you float without drowning and we could see a few bikini clad white skins floating lazily with a book in hand!

At a distance, the land which we could see was explained by Mein as Palestine and it wore quite a clam sight, in those days.

It happened as I went to the rest room and on my way back to the car. Somebody called me out and I could see a middle aged man in dirty working clothes with a shovel in hand. His face had too many wrinkles and there were bruises with fresh blood oozing.

"Are you from India" - The voice was broken and in tattered Tamil. 

"Yes"

" Please help me! I have been held in captivity and made to work for over 16 hours. They  feed me only once a day. I am dying, please"

 

I was nervous and a bit apprehensive.

"what can I do"

"Please take me in your car and drop me near the airport. I will manage"

"Are you Srilankan Tamil?"

"No Sinhalan. I can speak broken Tamil as I have Tamil friends"

I turned away and ran to my car and we sped away.

The question rocking my mind even today is whether I would have helped if he were a Srilankan Tamil.

I am unable to answer myself till this moment.

The writer in me....a distinct 3 decades ago...

"If anybody wearing a red shirt, stands atop his terrace on a house alongside the tracks, this bloody train would stop"

This was the regular exchange whenever we friends used to discuss about the Bokaro Steel City Express - I do not know if this train has changed its habit now.

I was crying all alone in this train on that mid afternoon in the June month of 1977!

I was on my way to Jamshedpur to join XLRI with a host of friends and relatives  back home praising me for my studious academic accolades! Had they known that I would rush back home after three months to join my dream course of Chartered Accountancy, they would not have wasted so many of the adjectives from their closet of vocabulary!

What happened at XLRI that made me leave - that's another story folks and I do not intend to spill it for it would come in handy for an exclusive post in my blog. 

At XLRI campus, life was enjoyable with lots of activities and the one that came close to my heart was the campus magazine that fed the creative thirst of students.

The magazine was edited by this girl, a year senior to me but she got closer to me - er, intellectually and not the way you rush to imagine..! I could narrate a few episodes of our interactions that belie my earlier statement but then, tell me, is it fair to offend her grand children now!

Well, let us put paid to the romantic escapades and focus on the instance I am referring to.

She cajoled me to write something for the then current issue and after some deep thought which included unintended sleep sessions, a couple of dosas and a tepid coffee (tell me, would you ever try coffee beyond the Vindhyas, I did and that was the last time!), I wrote an essay  and gave it her. she squealed with delight and said, Rags! Never knew you could write so well! Maja kiya hain, meri pyaar"

Two days later the issue was out and I was anxiously waiting for feedback.

It was the evening, I recall. The summer heat has waned and the season was windy. The campus had a large park-like arena where I was lazing in a bench and trying to work out a Calculus problem that Mike Vanjour had given, when I heard a ruffle close to me.

She was walking towards me with a bright smile.

A simple looking but a very lively face with instantly changing expressions. I had seen her in the office corridor a few times but never could go up to say Hello.

"Excuse me, Can I ....?"

" oh Please.." I moved aside leaving a substantial space on the bench.

" I have read your essays! Brilliant!"

" oh! Thank you!"

" How do  you write such interesting essays?"

"well, er.. it just happened!"

Too good! The words were apt, the expressions were realistic and the emotions that got evoked..oh! I have no words!"

"Oh thank you thank you!

"Could you please give me your autograph?"

Needless to say, I was traversing cloud nine and concealing my excitement, " well, I am not that famous yet.."

No no, you don't realize! Please sign and give me, na?"

She handed over an autograph note which had several signatures. I noticed those of Vengsarkar, Shakthi kapoor ....

Elated, I opened an empty page and scribbled my name.

She received it with reverence and lovingly read what I had written.

'Oh! You have signed as Raghu! Are you not RK Narayan?"

"For the next issue, What did I write?"

You must be joking.

Kumbakonam Venkatramana Hotel

As the train chugged into Kumbakonam station, it was already 2 PM and my stomach had begun its grumbling. After the usual mobile calls,I located the car driver who was, till the train arrived was there and at the spot-on time, had to go out for a cup of tea - he ended up further delaying my lunch.

" Saar! we go straight to Venkartramana hotel, you get super lunch! They give payasam everyday, saar!"

The taste buds started doing over time and after some 15-odd minutes we entered the dingy street where the famed hotel was located.

The congested road was further narrowed by a row of cycles and scooters parked in not-so-orderly manner and none seemed to bother. They were busy zig zagging and trooping into the hall where a fine aroma of sambar and rasam were emnating.

The hotel was an oblong shaped building with tables and chairs fully occupied by noisy eaters of lunch and hawkish waiting population, breathing down on their necks!

The servers were moving in a medley of noise and confusion.

" rice here!"
" I asked for vegetables!"
" baby! come here"
" way please"

The cacophony of sounds reminded me of a railway station with a train about to leave. 

Looking at my city attire, a server asked me to go to the AC room.

Except being a little cooler, the room was no different in its state of confusion, but yes, there were a couple of tables and chairs empty, beckoning me.

The first taste of the vegetable was heavenly as my stomach had long lost its ability to assess quality or cleanliness. As a bowl of rice was dropped on my plate and hot sambar poured on top, I could notice a long line of hair slithering on my plate. Had I been the Nala of Dhamyandhi, I could have used my imagery prowess and caricatured the face of the woman to whom this long strand of hair once belonged. 

Well, now I could only complain.

i must appreciate the server who redressed my complaint so effortlessly - he thrust his hand in my plate, deftly removed the strand and waved it away in another direction and beamingly said, " there you are"!

Suddenly there was a rush of people entering and occupying the empty chairs and in that melee, the cup in which curd was kept was wiped away from my table and the cup found its abode on my lap, spilling its white contents on my black trouser. The nearby middle aged lady, with a bucket and a long broom, rushed towards me. With a deep apologetic look, said "sorry sorry" and producing a dirty cloth from nowhere, she approached me with the object of wiping my trouser. As the area of the spill on trouser was close to being sensitive, I quickly withdrew and said" its alright"!

Had you been there on that moment, you could have seen a 50 plus old man blushing crimson red on a mid afternoon - not an easy sight to catch, you know!

I finished my lunch, got out and inside the car, on my way to Thiruvarur, the driver enthusiastically with the pride of having taken me to the best restaurant in town, said, " "You would never have experienced such a lunch, am I right sir?"

I had to agree.