tumult

It has been ages. The fingers are rusty, the body is restless and the mind dazed. But, I made a promise to myself last year, that I will come back here. So here I am.

The time is nearly nine as I type. My thoughts are in a muddle and there is an all pervading sense of melancholy. Where am I? Where am I heading?... I'm Jack sparrow's compass. But in the muddled water that is my mind, I am reminded of people more desperate, sadder and much more in pain than I, who manage to put up a cheerful front.

Ruminations have become more philosophical. The prolonged battles with my pursuits, the family’s wishes and my desire for a better life – an idea that keeps getting more and more ideal and incredulous as days go by, have taken away a lot of my innocent happiness. These moments are now few and far between and mostly restricted to gastronomic satisfaction.

But, not everything has been blue. I did manage to change jobs. I took a decision that many considered unwise and unsafe, and managed to make it right. I learnt new things. I was exposed to interesting perspectives. I was taught to think. Think structurally, think logically. At the end of it, while, The world erupted in joy and indulged in permitted/controlled orgy, I wore the satisfied smile of Bhuvaneshwar Kumar after a 5-for.

Somehow I find the cliched metaphor of life as a "long drive" fascinating. A drive where you are guessing and second guessing the final destination A journey, sometimes off the beaten path, in other times taking wrong turns, all the while taking in the weather, the scenery and the music in the air. The last couple of years though, have not been about these wrong turns or rough weather. I have felt many a time, my hands slipping on the steering wheel or flailing about to find the right gears, like a puppeteer who has lost one too many of his strings.

Uncertainty has never scared me much. I have always found an inner resolve to stay on my feet to stay focused. This thing though, has been scary. I can’t find “me” to find the resolve within myself.  Things that were steady are now slippery. There’s the road, there is the car and then there’s me. It’s all a mess and I have no idea where to start to fix things. 

some thoughts on meals on wheels

This has been a post in the making for a long time. I never found enough will to sit down and put them into words. Somehow, I find myself mulling on this topic now, and am jotting down as it comes.

The following is based on some of my journeys over the past 5 years. A lot of changes have caught my fancy over these years. I may not be informed enough to cover it all chronologically or in depth but, I shall touch upon some that I have found interesting. To name a few : The introduction of Duranto as an addition to the then already existing rajdhani and shatabdi, the AC SF trains introduced much later catering the ‘posh’er crowd with great benefit to railways, the creative addition of mud cups for tea in one of the budgets (which sadly never took off) the improved signalling systems, excellent improvement in passenger facilities at stations (within the realms of possibility)....
Recently, day trains were converted to cater to 'en route' traffic rather than point to point traffic (of the top of my head, brindhavan exp, janmabhoomi, chamundi, exam special from sc to hwh). The replacement of reserved coaches in super-fast trains with unreserved coaches in a brilliant initiative. There is also the emergence of online portals, real time information,etc. which, though not robust enough for praise, are still commendable.

A lot of changes have also piqued me. Trip planning, route scheduling & introducing new trains are almost a regular part of improving the railways. They add more assets. But, I have a bone to pick with the maintenance of the rolling stock and passenger amenities inside coaches. The new inclination towards privatization makes me a bit uncomfortable.The perception that govt. and govt aided organisations that handle transactions are slow is a given. The quality of the work may or may not meet standards. True. I believe even if there are instances of malpractice, there is an argument for controlling the impending privatization.

Maintenance in Indian Railway was famously privatised a few years back. The catering and the cleaning were out sourced. The main issue that promoted this was probably the sub-standard to pedestrian quality of maintenance in certain sectors. Having traveled in the MAS HWH stretch when I was a kid, I can assure you that the food was hardly edible on those journeys. The coaches were rarely clean and with the old sodium vapour lamps, there was a general mood of Sickness and waste. Not all of them, mind you. I would take a train to trichy or Coimbatore after reaching Chennai and these day trains would offer delicious treats throughout the journey.

Almost 15 years hence, when I have started travelling again, this time because my job demands it, I’m sometimes taken back to those times and it is not a pleasant experience.I am going to base all the objections I have solely on my experiences and it may not be a trend in other sectors that I have not traveled.

The MAS HWH stretch that I now regularly take is served by a set of people who hound for tips, they over-charge and under-serve. There is just one option, A biryani for dinner. You can take a pick from egg, veg or chicken and if you are a vegetarian you are doomed. This biriyani, served by ‘meals on wheels’ is an abomination. The breakfast options consist of bread or upma,every morning and on every journey, everyday. I was shocked to find that the "prestigious and famous" TN exp had nothing better to offer either. The quantities are little and the quality is even worse. Aren’t we entitled to healthy meal? I remember , when they were introduced on these routes, the prices went up on the promise of food of better quality. So why are we being cheated?

A few years ago, I would have jumped on to the privatization bandwagon at the blink of an eye. Now, after a job change, after enlightenment( baptism probably), I have come to realize that there are no more chances for malpractice with private contractors than there are with the govt. sector. why? Simple, Profits.

During the four years of hostel, we got to eat both in govt. run messes as well as private messes. It was a period of transition and by the final year, all messes were let out to private caterers through 'open' tenders. In the third year of college, The food seemed tasty for the first few months. Thinking back, I realize it was more due to the change of hands rather than actual improvement in the taste or cooking. By the end of that semester the food had riveted to the old quality in addition to this: in the name of reducing wastage, a few people who came late did not get to eat after the mess hours. When enquired about the quality, the contractor explained “It is true that we cater to SASTRA as well, we charge them almost two times what we charge your college. Your tender is awarded to the lowest bidder and sometimes, we have to account for kickbacks too, so at the cost at which we are serving you, we are barely making profits”. He might have had a few more drinks than normal. But he was succinct in all his replies that day.

Government agencies are slow, ineffective and lethargic. But they are not driven by profit; in reality they are hardly driven. In some cases though, I find lethargy and predictability more comfortable than the disappointment in the promise of better service. Recently, I chanced to travel by the MAS SBC double decker. The prices were lower than the HWH MAS mail, that had dropped off at MAS in the morning. I asked him why I had to pay 10 for the same tea on board HWH MAS mail, and he remarked “I don’t know sir, we charge rates only based on what is set by the railways”. Now, does the prices vary from zone to zone? dunno....

Ironically though, I liked the cheaper one better.

dear dad...

Some families express their love effusively, through hugs, kisses and tears. In some, the expression is more sober. You are conscious of the fierce affection, but it stops with that. The expression comes out through the words, the way certain things are handled when you are around and the small smile every now and then that is reserved only for you.

We are the second kind, and you are my first teacher. I would always be your son even if you disown me. My decisions would always be slow, circumspect and calm. My tastes will always be a bit sedate. My tone will always be polite. Not because I can’t change it but because these are traits that idols instill insidiously. Your traits.

There are other things I aspire to be. To be responsible, to be regular and to take decisions confidently & face problems with conviction. I aspire to reach your high standards. There have been times in the past when I have felt that I have been dropped off at the deep end of the pool. But it did foster independence of thought and action, an independence that was always laced with a few shots of responsibility. I have sometimes cursed you under my breath for not taking my decisions when I faced a tough dilemma. But those were low points and I halve also cursed the cupboard in the hall and the lizard on the wall at other times.
Whether it is hero worship or genetics (or a bit of both), I have come to resemble you in a lot of ways. It gives me great joy when I realise accidentally that some of actions are very similar to yours. Though, the grip and the general writing style resembles that of mom’s, the ‘S’ on note I had scribbled the other day had an uncanny resemblance to my your ‘S’. That made my day. I had this small lingering smile for the next ten min. 

Trust grows over time. And with trust comes confidence. Once I had your trust and knew you that you were happy with my actions, I was confident I was making sensible decisions. I also knew that my thought process didn’t cross the imaginary lines of moral propriety. Unfortunately, independence of thought breeds opinions. As I grew up, I had my own take on the things around me, either backed by logic or by gut. I also knew that the core values carved in me through years of parental tutelage, would still guide me on my decisions subconsciously. It still does stand me in good stead when in doubt. But, when a decision is questioned - A decision that seems so easy on the surface, a decision so organic with the ethics that I have imbibed - it threatens to unhinge me. I lose my identity.

I have been brought up to be polite. I have been brought up to respect people. I have been taught not to discriminate. I have been taught to love; to be compassionate. I have been taught not to cry and throw a tantrum when rebutted but stand up and argue with my head than my heart. Are these worthless? Aren’t they absolute? Are they valid only conditionally? If yes, I didn’t know about this then. Aren’t we supposed to be consistent with who we are? Isn’t integrity a good thing? I don’t know.

The heart did take over this time. Once the heart takes over there is no control over your actions. You express it earnestly. Emotions are in its purest form(whatever that means) when it is straight from the heart.  I remember this story mom narrates about how you got me a folding cot because I wanted one. She also continued with some scorn, at the speed with which it was bought home because I had asked for it, without heeding her advice. That is love. That is all heart. That is me, now. I am just older and I happen to love someone else as much as I love the both of you. But, I let myself go only when the mind was ok with it. I knew then, as now, that I wasn’t crossing any lines of impropriety with my decision.

I am not fighting you now, I am not your enemy, I am just you, in a different time and at a different age. I am someone who has grown up with access to better things. It is a flip of a coin they say, this privilege. I am always thankful to you for that and always been proud of what you have managed to provide for me. But this is not a market. I don’t owe you anything. My love for you doesn’t have a cost. It exists, like yours for me. That doesn’t give you the right to my life. This is not arrogance. This is just me being assertive, something you taught me to be, and something that makes me who I am. By denying me this happiness, you are shaking the foundation of what you have built. Please, I beg of you, please, let me go. I will be ok, I know I will, you know I will be too.

Maybe I’m wrong. But let me learn for myself; find the world out for myself, like you always have. I am confident now and am better armed. I will be ok.

Love you,

son.