Anubavangal: Arakkargalin Rajyam: "ஒரு இலட்சியத்திற்காகத்தான் நாங்கள் பாடு படுகிறோம் என்று அவர்கள் நம்புகிறார்கள். ஆனால் லட்சியம் இருந்தால் நல்ல வழியை தானே காட்டும். காட்டுமிர..."
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
The Parking Ticket
She was late to pick up her children. She rushed out with just her her wallet and her car keys.
On reaching the school, she found the road clogged with vehicles and people. She circled the school and parked in the first spot that was available.
She was fuming - at herself and the state of the roads. Her meeting at "Clean India" office had stretched beyond the scheduled time, and she had left behind the team discussing an article on how to avoid paying the traffic policemen the bribe.
"Madam," one boy had said softly. "One option is to go pay in the court. But when someone is rushing to work, late for an appointment or an equally valid reason..."
She had shaken her head vehemently. "That's no reason why! The process can be automated and the details noted down. The license number is there, and the registration plate. So the person can be let off then, but can pay later. If he does not within a day or two, the vehicle can be confiscated."
The idea found some supporters while others demurred on the cost of administration. She had had to leave then.
She walked into the school and saw her tiny tots near the gate, sulking. "All our friends left," they complained.
"Sorry babies," she hugged them and walked them to the car. The big lock in the front wheel infuriated her. She saw the traffic policeman talking to another owner whose car had been locked too. She walked up, her children in tow. She managed to swallow her anger and said, "My car..."
The man turned. "One minute."
He finished with the previous owner. As the two walked towards her car, she complained, "There is no No Parking sign here."
"There madam," he showed her one a few feet ahead, "and there," he pointed one behind.
She blushed. "But where is the parking space?"
He shrugged. "With minimum two cars per family, where can we find so much parking space?"
She stood uncertainly.
"License madam?" he asked politely.
She peeped into her car and remembered that it was in her handbag. And her handbag was in the office. One of her tiny tots started crying. She looked at the man, unable to meet his eyes. "It is in my bag at work."
He turned away. "I need it to punch it for receipt," he said, pointing to an POS billing device. She stood silently. "Ok, pay 150," he said.
She looked at him shocked and was about to protest. But the man was already on to the next defaulter, handing him the receipt. She reluctantly pulled out the money. "I can show the license in the police station later," she tried bargaining, her mind protesting against paying the man and encouraging bribery.
He shook his head. She knew he had no way to trust her. She handed it and wondered how "clean" she was.
On reaching the school, she found the road clogged with vehicles and people. She circled the school and parked in the first spot that was available.
She was fuming - at herself and the state of the roads. Her meeting at "Clean India" office had stretched beyond the scheduled time, and she had left behind the team discussing an article on how to avoid paying the traffic policemen the bribe.
"Madam," one boy had said softly. "One option is to go pay in the court. But when someone is rushing to work, late for an appointment or an equally valid reason..."
She had shaken her head vehemently. "That's no reason why! The process can be automated and the details noted down. The license number is there, and the registration plate. So the person can be let off then, but can pay later. If he does not within a day or two, the vehicle can be confiscated."
The idea found some supporters while others demurred on the cost of administration. She had had to leave then.
She walked into the school and saw her tiny tots near the gate, sulking. "All our friends left," they complained.
"Sorry babies," she hugged them and walked them to the car. The big lock in the front wheel infuriated her. She saw the traffic policeman talking to another owner whose car had been locked too. She walked up, her children in tow. She managed to swallow her anger and said, "My car..."
The man turned. "One minute."
He finished with the previous owner. As the two walked towards her car, she complained, "There is no No Parking sign here."
"There madam," he showed her one a few feet ahead, "and there," he pointed one behind.
She blushed. "But where is the parking space?"
He shrugged. "With minimum two cars per family, where can we find so much parking space?"
She stood uncertainly.
"License madam?" he asked politely.
She peeped into her car and remembered that it was in her handbag. And her handbag was in the office. One of her tiny tots started crying. She looked at the man, unable to meet his eyes. "It is in my bag at work."
He turned away. "I need it to punch it for receipt," he said, pointing to an POS billing device. She stood silently. "Ok, pay 150," he said.
She looked at him shocked and was about to protest. But the man was already on to the next defaulter, handing him the receipt. She reluctantly pulled out the money. "I can show the license in the police station later," she tried bargaining, her mind protesting against paying the man and encouraging bribery.
He shook his head. She knew he had no way to trust her. She handed it and wondered how "clean" she was.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Anubavangal: Maadu pola manithan - kavithai
Anubavangal: Maadu pola manithan - kavithai: "கழுத்தை நெருக்கியது வேலை அது இல்லை என்றால் மட்டும்? சொல்லுவோமா, நல்ல வேளை? ஓடி ஆடி திண்டாடி இங்கும் அங்கும் வேலையை தேடி அலைந்து திரிந்து மன்..."
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Toothbrush in the Bathroom
This is in public interest. Since I have noticed this in many houses, I am making a post of this (and escaping thinking too deep).
Whether true or false, this is one thing that I am not debating. Since most of our washbasins are placed alongside toilets, please make sure your toothbrushes are kept closed within a shelf or in a case. Within six feet of the commode, everything is vulnerable to infection by the germs around it, and I believe even the flush splashes enough muck in microcosmic proportions to pollute whatever lies around it.
Another old world wisdom? Keep toilets separate from bath/wash areas? Yeah, but till architects and designers do it, or we start demanding it, let's make these small adjustments.
Whether true or false, this is one thing that I am not debating. Since most of our washbasins are placed alongside toilets, please make sure your toothbrushes are kept closed within a shelf or in a case. Within six feet of the commode, everything is vulnerable to infection by the germs around it, and I believe even the flush splashes enough muck in microcosmic proportions to pollute whatever lies around it.
Another old world wisdom? Keep toilets separate from bath/wash areas? Yeah, but till architects and designers do it, or we start demanding it, let's make these small adjustments.
Saturday, July 9, 2011
Anubavangal: Ippadiyum Silar
Anubavangal: Ippadiyum Silar: "என்னடா இன்னும் ஒரு முறைக்கூட நான் வேலைக்காரியைப்பற்றி எழுதவில்லை என்று நினைத்தீர்கள் என்றால், கவலை வேண்டாம். இதோ, எழுதப்போகிறேன். ஆனால் அவள்..."
Friday, July 8, 2011
Inheritance
"Where are you going?" mother asked.
"Don't keep nagging him!" father intervened. "Where are you going?" he asked. The tone was different, the purpose different too.
Promptly, the boy came closer and said, "I need some money, babuji."
The man smiled indulgently. "How much?" He dug into the pocket and handed the boy two 1000 rupee notes. "Go," he ruffled his boy's hair.
"Tch, baba! Don't spoil the style," the 16-year-old boy complained.
He laughed indulgently. All that he was earning was for the boy.
"Can I take the car, baba? Just this once?"
His mother tried to say no, but father overrode her objections. "He drives well," he pointed out.
"Is that wise?" mother asked, only to be dismissed peremptorily. Shaking her head in dismay, she walked in to her room.
He followed her and said reasonably, "I am earning for him only, after all."
"But 2000 at this age? And the car?"
"When I was a kid, my father would count every pie he gave and count it again when I returned the change. I don't want to penny pinch. Are we going to take this money to the next world? It is all for this boy only."
Mother rolled her eyes. "You have to teach him the value of money too," she pointed out.
He pooh-poohed it. "Don't worry. He will. When he spends, he will understand the value automatically."
It was getting on to be midnight and the mother became uneasy. "Isn't it late? He has been gone five hours now."
"They must be at a theatre! Stop nagging," he said angrily. "There," he said as his cell rang. "That's him."
It was an unknown number. He became numb. It was a stranger. His son had met with an accident. Drunken driving.
His son wasn't taking all the money to the next world either.
"Don't keep nagging him!" father intervened. "Where are you going?" he asked. The tone was different, the purpose different too.
Promptly, the boy came closer and said, "I need some money, babuji."
The man smiled indulgently. "How much?" He dug into the pocket and handed the boy two 1000 rupee notes. "Go," he ruffled his boy's hair.
"Tch, baba! Don't spoil the style," the 16-year-old boy complained.
He laughed indulgently. All that he was earning was for the boy.
"Can I take the car, baba? Just this once?"
His mother tried to say no, but father overrode her objections. "He drives well," he pointed out.
"Is that wise?" mother asked, only to be dismissed peremptorily. Shaking her head in dismay, she walked in to her room.
He followed her and said reasonably, "I am earning for him only, after all."
"But 2000 at this age? And the car?"
"When I was a kid, my father would count every pie he gave and count it again when I returned the change. I don't want to penny pinch. Are we going to take this money to the next world? It is all for this boy only."
Mother rolled her eyes. "You have to teach him the value of money too," she pointed out.
He pooh-poohed it. "Don't worry. He will. When he spends, he will understand the value automatically."
It was getting on to be midnight and the mother became uneasy. "Isn't it late? He has been gone five hours now."
"They must be at a theatre! Stop nagging," he said angrily. "There," he said as his cell rang. "That's him."
It was an unknown number. He became numb. It was a stranger. His son had met with an accident. Drunken driving.
His son wasn't taking all the money to the next world either.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Two Drops, One for Each
It is strange
The eyes are wet
Not a cross word
Has passed the lips, yet
Just the thought
Of those little ones
Struggling to learn
To face the world
Making friends
Making enemies
Challenging work
That test their abilities
Will they be able
To cope with them all?
I wonder if I have
Prepared them well.
When to intervene
When to step back
When to be firm
When to be slack
Who gives training
To mothers to deal
With the day-to-day
Upbringing ordeals
To be the god
They are made out to be
Hiding their feet of clay
Under the wings
That keep their little ones
Up in the air
Till they sprout
The wings to fly.
The eyes are wet
Not a cross word
Has passed the lips, yet
Just the thought
Of those little ones
Struggling to learn
To face the world
Making friends
Making enemies
Challenging work
That test their abilities
Will they be able
To cope with them all?
I wonder if I have
Prepared them well.
When to intervene
When to step back
When to be firm
When to be slack
Who gives training
To mothers to deal
With the day-to-day
Upbringing ordeals
To be the god
They are made out to be
Hiding their feet of clay
Under the wings
That keep their little ones
Up in the air
Till they sprout
The wings to fly.
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