Year-end sortie

Damaned

Having a car at your disposal and a spouse who uses the house only for sleeping and bathing, the latter occasionally, is the perfect recipe for a nomadic life. And so we set out on Christmas morning at 6:00 AM to western India, and in particular the picturesque town of Daman. One of our friend Sachin hails from there and he was happy to accompany us. In turn we were glad to have company and add the fact that our stay was taken care of at his home :) it was a symbiotic trip.

The drive was quite pleasant given that the roads were excellent, but an hour from Daman there was a huge jam because of a couple of overturned trucks. In spite of that we made good time and reached by 1:00 PM. Owing to to the Idlis and Poha we had for breakfast we were in no particular hurry to lunch immediately. After a few leisurely hours spent in chatting with Sachin's dad and the seraphic Sajjan who takes care of everything in and around the house, we lazed in the garden playing Scrabble.

Daman was no different from any other town, but when you are a visitor you are awed by the most mundane things which don't appeal to you in your own city. So we duly clicked away at all and sundry - roads, bridges, boats, churches. On our way to see the lighthouse, we first tasted faluda. It is the single most delicious thing I had tasted in a long long time. Needless to say it became the de facto drink throughout our stay. After spending a peaceful hour at the Jampore beach and listening to a bunch of enthusiastic but unmelodious kids belt out carols, we retired to our room but not before a sumptuous meal and an engaging conversation with Sachin's dad.

Uncle was one of the few people we had met to whom we took an instant liking. Not only because he immediately put us at ease, but he is one of those rare people whose actions speak louder. If not for him, Sajjan might have been roaming the streets of his native village leading a life of ignorance and probably turning out to be an uneducated youth. But thanks to uncle, he now has a place to live, a vocation to pursue and a teacher to groom him.

The entire place is so tiny that we could travel from one end of Daman to the other in a matter of minutes. So the second day we just decided to catch a movie in the morning and then go around the market and Devka beach in the evening. The most interesting thing though happened when we returned home - we decided to learn how to play bridge. Poor uncle oblivious to our learning skills proceeded to explain in great detail the basic rules, variations and strategies. It was so horribly hard for us that we just gave it up as a bad job.

The next morning we left again early at 7:30 AM and on an impulse decided to visit the nearby union territory of Dadra & Nagar Haveli. We hardly spent 30 mins in its capital Silvassa. In fact all we did there was to have breakfast and a heavy one at that including Khaman, Samosa, Wadapav, Gajar ka halwa and topped it with tea. The return from there to Pune was uneventful with one break for lunch and we were home well in time for the evening tea. From a journey perspective we probably didn't see anything new, but having met two diverse characters in Sajjan and Sachin's dad has more than made up for that. The trip is captured here in pictures.

Give and take

Comeuppance

Its a national syndrome with the rickshaw drivers. They refuse to ply short distances, demand exorbitant fares, drive recklessly and are in general abusive. The only time I care for their existence is when they get in my way or during the once in a while trips to the railway station. But Amudha's story is different. She has to deal with them at least thrice a week. Her gym is in a so near for a ride yet too far for walking kind of location. Given she leaves at 6:45 AM its a foregone conclusion that I can't help her. At that time of the day or should I say night, nothing can keep me outside my quilt.

She has to deal daily with the drivers in the rickshaw stand next to my house. For a 10 minute 30 bucks ride they usually either turn her down or quote 50 to put her off. And given the way unions work, its more or less the same set of drivers in that stand so they know her by sight and also where she wants to go so early in the morning. There is one particular fellow who steadfastly declines her request saying he doesn't get a ride back from her gym because its so close. So I was surprised when I heard she approached him the other day. He must have been happy to hear the first part of her statement although I'd have loved to see his face after the next. "I have to go to the railway station. I will not ride in your rick, but wanted to tell you I'm going far."


Unfair Exchange

The thing with regrets is that it usually serves no purpose. To make someone else believe you see the folly of your actions or to appease your own conscience, saying that you are sorry might be sufficient at times. But actually feeling remorseful is something that you can only go through personally. I had one such humbling experience recently.

Driving daily to the office through the chaotic traffic is one thing and having reached there, going to the parking lot is another. In the wake of terror attacks elsewhere, security had been beefed-up at the entrance. What it means is an extended waiting period often on the road. The days when there isn't a huge pile of cars ahead of me are far and few, so I gladly welcome those. It was one such day that I encountered a van parked right at the turning of the entrance driven by an elderly gentleman.

"Do you have any sense?" I bellowed, regretting the choice of words the moment they left my lips. I didn't need Amudha's sharp rebuke asking if that is the way to talk to elders. It didn't help to see the hurt in his eyes while he responded with, "no, but I'm sure you have all of it." I tried several reasons in my head to justify the outburst, but they all sounded hollow leaving me acutely uncomfortable.I spent a miserable morning fidgeting at my desk, unable to forget the face or forgive myself. The only thing I could recollect were Omar Khayyam's words :

                                     The moving finger writes; and, having writ,
                                     Moves on: nor all your piety nor wit
                                     Shall lure it back to cancel half a line,
                                     Nor all your tears wash out a word of it.